Murder Most Howl: A Paws & Claws Mystery (4 page)

Zelda was manning the reception desk. Dogs ran around the room, playing with Gingersnap, Oma’s golden retriever, who was the Canine Ambassador and official tail-wagger and nose-kisser of the inn. A tiny black and cream dog raced in circles through Gingersnap’s legs and around a bloodhound puppy, who seemed confused and apprehensive.

A large mixed breed with long yellow and white fur stood out of the way near the love seat. He took in the bedlam with worried eyes, and his tail wagged ever so tentatively.

“Are these the dogs for If the Dog Fits?” I asked. The Wagtail Shelter, a no-kill facility, had come up with an idea to match people to dogs. The idea was that the shelter would drop off a few appropriate dogs, and the participating person could select one to try out for the weekend. They would spend the weekend together, and hopefully fall in love and adopt.

“Now don’t get mad at me,” said Zelda. “I know they’re supposed to be in crates but they all wanted out and promised me they would behave.”

I had my doubts about Zelda’s alleged animal psychic abilities. “Zelda, what dog wouldn’t lie to get out of a crate?”

Zelda gasped. “Dogs never lie. They’re more honest than any human I know.”

“Uh-huh. Even the little black and cream tornado who is racing around getting everyone else riled up?”

“Ella Mae. Isn’t she adorable?”

The automatic glass door slid open. Guests walked in with more dogs, who happily joined the fun. It was too late to corral them all. I shrugged off my bulky jacket, helped Trixie ditch her little coat, and tossed them into the office before I rushed to Zelda’s aid.

One of the women had already snatched Ella Mae into her arms. She cooed at the little dog, who rewarded her with kisses.

Gingersnap trained her eyes on Ella Mae. The little dog’s coloring resembled a miniature Doberman, black with cream that started on her paws and extended to her chest.

The woman clutched Ella Mae as though she feared Gingersnap might harm her.

“Don’t worry about Gingersnap,” I said. “She’s very friendly.”

“For Pete’s sake, Charlotte, put that dog on the floor and let her play. Nothing is going to happen to her.” The man who uttered those words was attractive in a friendly way with neatly trimmed hair brushed back off his face. A glimmer of gray had crept into it. One eyebrow was up a little higher than the other, imparting a slightly impish look that I bet extended to his character. He was reasonably trim, and looked like someone who probably had a responsible kind of job.

Charlotte held on to the dog and ignored him. “Charlotte and Geoffrey Tredwell,” she said to Zelda, who glanced at me as soon as Charlotte said the name. “We’re part of the If the Dog Fits weekend.” She planted a smooch on the little dog’s head.

Her husband quickly added, “We’re also playing the Murder Most Howl game. Char, how about the big yellow dog?” He walked over to the timid dog, bent, and ruffled the dog’s fur. “How about it, big boy? Would you like to be our dog? Do you like to run? I need a running companion.”

“That’s Rooster,” said Zelda. “He doesn’t like that name, though, and won’t be upset if you change it.”

The yellow dog wagged his tail, but Geof Tredwell gave Zelda a curious look. “Char, I bet Rooster is already housebroken. Look how friendly he is.”

Char shook her head.

“Do you expect me to run with that little dog? People would laugh at me. He’s smaller than a cat.”

“Ella Mae is a girl, and she’s adorable.” Char held her up and cooed at her, which resulted in a dog kiss on Char’s nose.

The Tredwells were our first guests to participate in the If the Dog Fits program. “Congratulations! So you and Ella Mae are spending the weekend together to see if you’re a good fit?”

Geoffrey hacked and turned away coughing. When he recovered, he said, “Char. Be serious. We need a real dog, not one the size of a rat.”

“Geof, if you say one more bad thing about this dog, you better hope they have an extra room. She’s not a rat. She’s part miniature pinscher and part rat terrier. It says so right here on the papers. I don’t know anything about rat terriers, but I’m betting they hunted rats. Which is more than you can do.” She glanced past him out the window. “Will you look at that snow? Ella Mae is going to need a coat.”

Geof turned his eyes toward the ceiling. “Saints above, spare me! Now she’s going to buy the dog a wardrobe.”

Char demanded, “Which room is mine, please?”

I picked up her luggage.

Geof looked down at Rooster. “I’m sorry, fellow. Really and truly sorry.”

Rooster’s tail flicked in a sad wag. The bloodhound puppy who had been ignored by the Tredwells sat in a corner looking sad and bewildered. I wanted to adopt him!

I asked the Treadwells to follow me.

Geof trailed along behind us as we walked to the elevator.

“C’mon, Char,” he said. “You know I’m not fond of tiny dogs that can fit in a purse. We should choose a real dog like Rooster.”

“You better get another room if you don’t want to sleep in the snow, Geof. I’m not putting up with disparaging remarks all weekend. I love this little doggy!”

Ella Mae’s ears stood up straight. She turned her head, looking around and taking everything in with bright eyes. I wondered if she knew instinctively that Geof didn’t care for her. Probably. Dogs were amazingly adept at picking up on emotions. If it bothered her, she didn’t show any sign of it. Would she snap or growl if he tried to pet her?

Then again, Ella Mae had been cooped up at the shelter. She was probably thrilled to be out in the world. Maybe she would try to win him over.

I unlocked the door to Stay and swung it open. Char entered first, and I could hear her exclaiming about it.

Geof studied the word on the door. “Stay? Does that change to Leave when you’re done with us?”

I laughed at his interpretation. “All the rooms are named after dog and cat activities. Sit, Stay, Fetch, Pounce . . .”

“Swell,” he muttered unenthusiastically.

The room featured a bay window, from which we could see the snow falling. A stone fireplace in the corner was ready to be lighted. Silky curtains hung off the frame of a mahogany four-poster bed piled with inviting pillows. Their wildflower pattern matched the window seat cushions.

Two welcome baskets rested on a coffee table, one chock full of dog toys and goodies, the other loaded with wine and munchies for the Tredwells.

“Does the fireplace work?” asked Geof.

“It does. If you need help with it, just give us a shout.”

His wife shot him a glance. I expected another retort about finding a room of his own, but she released Ella Mae, who ran around sniffing every corner, her tail curled over her back.

“The initial meeting for Murder Most Howl is at Hair of the Dog at seven thirty tonight. It’s marked on the map Zelda gave you. Let me know if you need anything.”

I walked out of the room wondering about them. I hoped that Ella Mae would win over Geof during the weekend.

When I returned to the registration lobby, fifteen women who couldn’t stop talking about the murder mystery weekend crowded the registration lobby. Two had brought their dogs along and two held cat carriers. The dogs, a poodle and a basset hound, mingled with Gingersnap, Trixie, Rooster, and the poor bloodhound puppy who had been ignored by the Tredwells. All tails flew high with excitement.

From the chatter, I gathered the women were all part of the same book club, called The Thursday Night Cloak and Dagger Club. One even wore a Sherlock Holmes–type hat. Mostly in their forties and fifties, they seemed to be good-natured and spirited.

“My word, but it’s cold here. I hope there are some nice stores in town. I didn’t pack any long johns.” The speaker held the leash of a miniature poodle, whose apricot coat very nearly matched her own hair in both color and curl.

“Honestly, Weegie,” said a short woman who held herself very erect. “We’re in the mountains, what did you expect?”

Weegie’s expression showed polite disdain for her friend. “We’re from North Carolina,” she drawled to Zelda. “I can’t recall when it was this cold at home, Myrtle.”

Myrtle’s jaw tightened. I guessed she had been a dark brunette, because her hair had turned silken gray with dark streaks. The set of her jaw made me think she was a no-nonsense type. She looked at a friend who had obviously anticipated the chilly weather, because she wore a black puffer jacket. “Sylvie,” said Myrtle, “are you sure you won’t room with Weegie?”

Sylvie chuckled in a good-natured way, revealing sweet dimples on her pudgy face. Her round cheeks pushed up the oval wire-rimmed glasses she wore. Sylvie edged near the registration desk and pulled off a cap, revealing super-short two-tone blonde hair. Blondish bangs hung at the top of her face but had been trimmed a good inch above her eyebrows.
Her hair grew darker in tone toward her ears and the nape of her neck.

“Honey, I’m a terrible roommate,” she said. “Sometimes I wake in the middle of the night and flick on the TV or read.”

“I should have booked a single room,” Myrtle grumbled.

Weegie didn’t bother turning around. “You know that I can hear you, right?”

Sylvie squealed when Leo jumped on the counter right next to her. She sucked in a deep breath and staggered back a step.

“I’m so sorry. Where did he come from?” I asked, lifting him off the registration desk.

Myrtle giggled at her friend’s shock. “He followed us inside.”

Leo didn’t seem perturbed. He strolled to the small landing on the stairs and watched us.

“Would you like a Sugar Maple Inn GPS collar for your dog?” I asked Weegie.

“GPS? You mean it tracks her?”

“In case she gets lost. There’s no charge for it. You just turn it in when you leave.”

“Well sure, if it’s free.” She turned her head to face her dog. “Would you like that, Puddin’?”

Puddin’ didn’t seem to mind when I latched the collar on her.

I had just settled Myrtle, Weegie, and Puddin’ the poodle in Swim and returned to the registration desk when Zelda handed me the phone with dread in her eyes. “It’s not beginning well,” she whispered.

I took the phone from her. It was Val. Her voice sounded oddly controlled, as though she was making an effort to be calm. “We have a problem. A tree fell on electrical wires and half of Wagtail has no electricity—including Hair of the Dog.”

“That’s terrible! Do you want to sleep over here tonight? You can stay in my spare room.”

“Holly! You’re not getting what I’m saying.” Suddenly she sounded panicked. “We have to start Murder Most Howl at the Sugar Maple Inn tonight!”

Three

“No problem,” I said to Val. “We would be happy to have the initial meeting here. We’ll just have to notify everyone. Put a sign on the door of the pub, and we’ll give people an extra twenty minutes or so to walk over here. Does that sound okay?”

Zelda bit her upper lip and watched me. “This is going to be trouble,” she hissed.

“Nonsense,” I whispered. “Val, just let me know what you need.” I hung up the phone. “It will be fine. We have enough room to accommodate everyone. You start calling our participating guests to let them know. I’ll round up Mr. Huckle and Shelley, and they can help me get the Dogwood Room ready. No problem.” I’d said that twice in just a few seconds. I hoped I wasn’t saying it to convince myself.

I trudged up the stairs to Oma’s apartment. I’d been resentful when she told me that Mr. Huckle would be staying there during her absence. I loved Mr. Huckle, but having him live in the inn to watch over me was the equivalent of having a babysitter. Formerly a butler for a wealthy family in Wagtail,
he was ancient and proper in a way that made me want to pull my shoulders back and stand straighter, but he was a dear man. Oma claimed he lent a dignified air to the inn, which was undoubtedly true, but the reality was that she wanted to give him a job when he found himself unexpectedly unemployed.

I knocked on the door. The moment Mr. Huckle opened it, Trixie jumped up and placed her paws on his knees. He bent to pat her. I was surprised to see the wizened little man in the formal attire he favored for work. It was almost as though he’d been waiting for me.

Mr. Huckle jumped at the opportunity to help. I wasn’t sure if it was just his nature or years of being a butler that made him eager to be of assistance. Whatever the reason, I was glad to have him around in spite of my initial resentment.

While we walked downstairs, I told Mr. Huckle about losing our handyman. “Know of anyone who might be interested in the job?” I asked.

Mr. Huckle took a beat too long to respond. “Perhaps that’s something your grandmother would prefer to take up upon her return.”

Hmmpf.
I hadn’t expected that response. We needed a handyman now. Besides, this was something I could handle. I was perfectly capable of hiring someone. I let the topic slide and moved on to the project of setting up chairs.

Mr. Huckle, Shelley, and I formed an assembly line of sorts to bring extra chairs up from the basement. I refrained from mentioning to Mr. Huckle that a handyman would have been helpful. In the basement, I hauled the chairs onto the elevator and pressed the button for the main floor. Shelley took them off the elevator and carried them to Mr. Huckle, who arranged them in the Dogwood Room and the adjoining lobby.