Murder Most Howl: A Paws & Claws Mystery (13 page)

Leo made a beeline for Shadow and wound around his ankles, rubbing his head against Shadow’s legs. Shadow bent over and scratched behind Leo’s ears.

Zelda nodded at Weegie. “It’s the attitude in Wagtail. Visiting animals know it’s not their home, so they don’t feel they have to defend their territory. And the people in Wagtail send out vibes of acceptance. We love dogs and cats. They sense that. It lets them know they can be friends with other animals.”

“You’re the pet psychic, right?” asked Myrtle.

“Yes. Would you like me to tell you what Puddin’ and Leo are thinking right now?”

The group gathered around her, murmuring their agreement.

Zelda took a deep breath and rotated her hand just below her chin. “Leo is happy to see Shadow. They’re old buddies. Puddin’ thinks Leo is a very cool cat and would like to eat one of the treats that Weegie bought in town.”

Sylvie and Myrtle appeared skeptical but Weegie gasped. “There’s no way you could have known about that. I have a peanut butter dog cookie in my bag.” She spoke to Puddin’ in a high voice. “Puddies can has da’ cookie as soon as we go up to our woom.”

Puddin’ wagged her tail as though she understood.

Myrtle laughed. “What a cute parlor trick. I have to remember that for parties at home.”

Shadow glanced at me with big eyes. “This is gonna get ugly. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

I thanked him again, and he hustled out the door as though he feared the group of ladies were about to start a war.

“It’s not a trick,” said Zelda. “I realize some people have difficulty imagining that I know what animals are thinking but—” she shrugged “—I do!”

Sylvie inhaled sharply. “Can you read our minds, too?”

Myrtle scoffed and addressed Zelda. “Not to offend you, dear, but that’s nonsense.” She turned to Sylvie and whispered, loud enough for us to hear, “It’s impossible, Sylvie.”

To her credit, Zelda smiled and spoke in a calm voice. “I can probably guess what most of you are thinking right now, but I can’t read the minds of people.”

Weegie tilted her head thoughtfully. “Wouldn’t it be awful if someone knew what everyone was thinking? Talk about no privacy! We’d all have to hide in our homes.”

Sylvie shook her fingers through her hair, loosening it from hat head. “I’m glad you’re here, Holly. We found some very odd clues today. Maybe you can help us make sense of them?”

“I’m so glad you asked. We’ve instituted a new policy, and you can win prizes for some of those clues.” My words
were magic—every single member of the book club started searching pockets and handbags for clues.

Sylvie handed me her two clues first.

The Baron von Rottweiler poisoned his second wife.

I unfolded the next one.

Shadow Hobbs has a criminal record.

Eleven

A chill rattled through me right down to my bones. Why hadn’t I checked around? Why hadn’t I asked people about Shadow? He had been so helpful. Maybe it wasn’t true. Maybe the vicious person who had written these clues had mixed the truth with lies.

Or maybe not.

Gathering myself, I spoke as cheerfully as I could. “One of these is a fake clue. You win a prize! Everyone follow me, and we’ll go through all your clues.”

We trooped to the main lobby where Val was just coming through the door.

“Our first customers, Val,” I said with fake glee, hoping no one would notice my distress.

She dumped the prize slips into the bowl. I mixed them up and held the bowl out to Sylvie while Val made a notation that Sylvie had turned in a clue.

“Good luck!” I said.

“A drink! I get a free drink at Hair of the Dog tonight!”

Her enthusiasm attracted more people, and before I knew
it, Val and I were checking clues, making a list of who had turned them in, and telling everyone to spread the word.

Mr. Huckle was fired from his last job.

I knew all about that. It wasn’t because of anything he did. How dare someone malign that sweet old man when it was all the fault of that cranky Peaches that he lost his position?

The Baron von Rottweiler conned his business partners.

That I could believe. But which players were the baron’s business partners and might have wanted to kill him?

The Baron von Rottweiler drank Scotch from his flask every evening.

Zelda York cheated a neighbor out of $1,000.

Uh-oh. I hoped that wasn’t true!

The poison in the Baron von Rottweiler’s flask is an overdose amount of acetaminophen with codeine.

Aha! So that was what the faux bottle of poison contained. That was a significant clue.

One of the women, who had brought a sleek ruddy-colored Abyssinian with her, stopped to ask if cats could find clues. I directed her to the indoor agility center and The Cat’s Meow.

Robin Jarvis stepped up to the desk. She handed me three clues in red envelopes. “Am I doing this right? I don’t recall seeing any mention of fake clues in the handout you gave us.”

Val groaned and answered with a snap in her tone. “They weren’t in the original plan.”

Robin recoiled a little and seemed surprised.

I interceded fast. “It appears that someone in town is playing a little prank on us by adding clues. But the game is still on.” I read her clues quickly, hoping Val wouldn’t rant.

The Baron von Rottweiler left his first wife so destitute that she had to live in her car.

The Baron von Rottweiler accused an innocent man of murder.

Liesel Miller is a busybody who pokes her nose where it does not belong.

Hey! Now I was offended. That was my Oma they were talking about. Okay, I had to admit that Oma had a natural curiosity but it stemmed from her inclination to want to help other people. I feared I leaned that way, too. But that was no reason to call her a busybody!

I handed Robin the two real clues about the baron. “Only one fake clue,” I said with a smile. “Please select your prize.”

Robin chose a piece of paper from the bowl and read it aloud. “
Free teatime at the Sugar Maple Inn!
That sounds wonderful.”

The second Robin walked away, I turned to Val. “You know, there was an easier way to do this. I haven’t seen one fake clue that mentioned the Baron von Rottweiler.”

Her eyes narrowed. “So it was probably someone who wasn’t fully in the loop when we were planning Murder Most Howl.” Val’s mouth pulled into a bitter line. “All I can say is that the perpetrator is a dead man if I ever figure out who it was.”

“Val!” I’d never seen her so upset. “You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t I? I haven’t been so angry since . . .”

“Since what?”

“I haven’t been so upset in years.”

Another player rescued her from having to explain. I stared at the little red envelopes he presented to me.

The Baron von Rottweiler’s third wife’s mother recently had an upper respiratory infection.

Holly Miller was fired from her last job.

That wasn’t exactly correct. Whoever wrote the notes about local people was taking liberties and presenting information in the worst possible light. Still, it was highly annoying. And some, like the one about Peaches and Larry, could have serious consequences. Larry’s marriage could break up because of it.

When the man left with his prize slip in hand, I asked Val, “Where did you buy the red envelopes?” I fervently hoped she wouldn’t say she purchased them online. If that was the case, we’d never figure out who wrote the ugly clues.

“At Pawsitively Decadent. They have a section in the back with wrapping paper and stationery. The red envelopes are meant for gift enclosure cards. I thought they were just the right size. And the red color would make it easier for people to find them.”

Val jumped up. “What am I thinking? I have to open the pub!” She shot out the door in a rush.

Half an hour later, Holmes showed up. “Val sent me over. I hear I can be useful checking clues.”

Perfect. I explained to him how it worked. As soon as he was up to speed, I retrieved my jacket and Trixie’s from the kitchen. Back in the lobby, I looked around for her. “Trixie?” I called.

“When I came in, she was heading upstairs with the little black and tan dog,” said Holmes.

I trudged up to the stair landing and called Trixie again. She appeared at the second-floor railing and looked down at me like a little kid who had been interrupted at play.

“Let’s go! Walkies!”

She scampered down to me. Back on the main floor, I helped Trixie with her jacket and called Gingersnap, but she
was thoroughly engaged in a petting session with Robin. Her tail swished across the floor in delight.

As I walked by Holmes, I said, “Thanks for manning the fort.”

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To Pawsitively Decadent. I bet they don’t sell those little red envelopes in bulk to many people.”

On the porch, I ran into Blanche and Charlotte. For once she wasn’t carrying Ella Mae.

Charlotte stopped me. “Look what we had done!” She flitted her fingers in front of me like a new bride showing off her ring. Her fingernails had been painted with a glittering snowy white background. On alternating fingers were dog bones, dog paws, and tiny paintings of Ella Mae.

Blanche seemed subdued. At Charlotte’s prodding, she showed off her fingernails. A glittery blue background was perfect for miniature paintings of her saluki.

“We had such fun!” Charlotte said. “Our husbands have been obsessed with the clues, but we’re having a great time.”

They hustled into the inn, and I took off with Trixie. Dusk was moving in fast. The cloudy skies probably didn’t help. I wondered if more snow was headed our way.

The sidewalks of Wagtail brimmed with visitors. Dogs in a variety of sweaters and coats plunged through the snow with glee, Trixie among them.

She tired of it soon, though, probably because it was up to her chest. She ran along the sidewalk, stopping occasionally to sniff things that I couldn’t see.

At Pawsitively Decadent, I held the door open for her, and she readily ran inside. I was greeted by two unfriendly faces. The owner of the store and my own Aunt Birdie glared at me.

“I’m surprised that you dare to show your face around town, Holly,” sniffed Aunt Birdie. “It’s a good thing your grandmother isn’t here to see this mess you’ve made. You
and Val are just spiteful and mean. You’ve libeled everyone in Wagtail.”

I tried to overlook her hatefulness, but I couldn’t help tweaking her just a little. “It’s not libel if it’s the truth.” Hah! That ought to shut her up.

I hadn’t thought Aunt Birdie could look more enraged, but I was wrong. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Somewhat more meekly I added, “Besides, neither Val nor I wrote those clues.”

The store owner grumbled, “I should hope not. They say that I drink!”

“A dipsomaniac!” exclaimed Aunt Birdie.

He frowned. “There’s not a thing in the world wrong with a little Scotch at night.”

I tried to soothe him. “Of course not. Actually, the offensive clues are why I’m here. Val said she purchased the red envelopes from you. Do you remember anyone else buying some recently?”

“Only the people involved in your disastrous game.”

My breath caught in my throat. Shelley? Zelda? Surely not. They wouldn’t do anything to ruin Murder Most Howl. Could it be Hollis Hobbs, Shadow’s dad? “Oh?” I tried to sound casual but my heart was beating like a chugging train. “Who besides Val?”

“Not very organized, are you? Norm, obviously.”

Twelve

Aunt Birdie reached over and shook my arm. “Are you okay, Holly?”