The Ghost and Mrs. Mewer (A Paws and Claws Mystery Book 2) (13 page)

No wonder Dave woke Felix to question him the next morning. That didn’t look good for Felix at all. But he was so nice. He couldn’t be a killer!

Contemplating the implications, I headed for breakfast, Trixie by my side.

She ran straight to Shelley. My smart little girl knew exactly who served the food at the inn. Shelley laughed. “All the dogs remember me because I’m the lady with the food. Tea?”

“Yes, thanks! Is Oma up yet?”

“She ought to be here any minute.”

I pulled out a chair at a table and sat down. Trixie came to me when I called and tempted her with a mini treat.

Shelley paused as she walked by. “It’s a little slow today. I guess the ghost hunters are sleeping in.”

“They were out late last night.”

“Country ham and Asiago cheese omelet is our special this morning.”

That sounded almost healthy. “Wonderful. Do you have the same for dogs?”

Shelley eyed Trixie with a sly grin. “Of course.”

Trixie wagged her tail. I blamed her insatiable appetite on her weeks alone, lost and hungry.

Shelley brought my tea immediately. Steam rose from the Sugar Maple Inn mug. “People all over town are still reporting seeing Becca Wraith’s ghost in the Wagtail Springs Hotel this week.”

I leaned toward her. “Shelley, that was me. I dressed as Becca for the ghost walk.”

Shelley nodded her head but squinted at me. “Oh really? I suppose it was you they saw the night before the ghost walk, too?”

I whispered so no guests would overhear. “They’re just trying to pump up business for the town by spreading silly rumors.”

“You go right on believing that. I’m telling you, honey, you’re in for a big revelation. Something will happen that will change your mind about ghosts.”

She winked at me and grinned, so I knew we were good. But she was wrong.

I poured milk in my tea and stirred in sugar.

Trixie roamed a bit, her nose to the ground. Twinkletoes danced over to her and, after a quick investigatory sniff of the floor, playfully smacked Trixie, who promptly chased her through the pet door that led into the private kitchen.

Had Mark left the inn that way the night of Mallory’s death, leaving the door unlocked? Was he the one who had let Trixie and Twinkletoes out? They might have zoomed past him underfoot. But why? Why not leave through the front door of the reception area? His behavior that night seemed peculiar. Wouldn’t a normal person have departed by the door in the registration area where he came in? Why search through the inn for an alternate exit? Had he gone straight home? Was that why he never reported Mallory missing? Because he didn’t go home? I was being silly. He could have returned home and fallen asleep, so he didn’t notice her absence. Or not . . . He definitely spent some time with Eva last night.

Oma arrived as I ate my first bite of savory eggs with salty ham. What a perk to have a gourmet breakfast fixed for me every day. And no dishes to do, either!

Oma patted my shoulder and sat down. Gingersnap deftly avoided Trixie, who was snarfing the omelet in her bowl. The sweet golden retriever approached me from the other side, wagging her feathery tail. I stroked her broad head and cooed good morning greetings.

“I’m surprised you are already up. It was a long day for you yesterday. How is the unpacking coming?” asked Oma.

“I’m hoping to find a few hours for unpacking today. Eventually all those boxes will irritate me, but right now, I’d rather jump into my new job.”

She rewarded me with a big smile. “I’m so glad you took me up on my offer. It is a very big weight off my back to have you here. Thank you for buying the lock yesterday. I’m quite impressed that you knew how to install it.”

I gasped.
Clementine!
I’d forgotten all about her!

Oma frowned at me. “Is something wrong?”

“I saw Clementine yesterday.”

“Yes? I always liked Clementine. You should invite her for lunch.”

Shelley poured coffee for Oma, who took one look at my omelet and asked for the same.

“I will. She mentioned getting together. Do you know anything about her ex-husband? A man seemed to be following her.”

“What?” Oma’s spoon clanked against her coffee mug. “You are certain about this?”

“She hid from him and asked me if he was gone.”

Oma gripped the mug. “I do not like this at all. Her father is away at the dog show. You should go out to Fireside Farms this morning to check on her.”

“I
could
just call. Excuse me.” I rose from my seat and hustled to the office. The Wiggins’s telephone number was in the Rolodex. I dialed and waited. No one answered. Not even a machine.

Shelley was serving omelets to Oma and Gingersnap when I returned.

Trixie raced to Gingersnap’s meal to eat again. That was a good way to get bitten. I quickly fastened the leash on Trixie. She would have to learn to stay out of other dogs’ food. “Be glad that Gingersnap is so nice. If you do that to the wrong dog, you’ll be very sorry.” I turned to Oma. “There’s no answer at the Wiggins house.”

Oma shook her head. “Go to see Clementine. On the telephone it is too easy to deny anything is wrong.”

“What do you know about her husband?”

“I never met him personally, but I understand that they were very well off. Now I am worried about her alone out there on the farm. Perhaps you should check on her as soon as you finish breakfast.”

*   *   *

A scant half hour later, I took off in one of the inn’s electric golf carts. Orange and gold leaves still dotted the woods in between trees that had already shed their foliage. I recognized Fireside Farm right away. The white fence with long crossed rails seemed to go on forever. The paddocks and sprawling fields were impressive. Even as a child I had been in awe of the massive white horse barn with a chandelier visible through a lofty window. Four white cupolas lined the long peak of the roof.

The Dutch Colonial manor house sat back off the road, surrounded by ancient oak trees. Double white pillars on either side of the front door soared up two stories. Clementine and I had loved playing on the second-floor balcony. I recalled the view between the pillars. The red brick sidewalk stretched almost out of sight between dogwood trees and perfectly manicured boxwoods. Clementine’s home had seemed like a palace to me, insulated from everything else in the world.

I turned down the long drive to the house, clutching Trixie’s leash tightly in case she was tempted to leap off the golf cart and chase a rabbit or a squirrel. I parked, and we walked up to the white front door. It seemed to me that the boxwoods weren’t quite as perfectly trimmed as I remembered. I banged the door knocker.

No one answered. I didn’t hear footsteps inside. I tried again. Still no answer.

I turned and gazed at the sprawling farm. She was probably in the barn tending to the horses.

We walked around the side of the house and across to the horse barn. Fallen leaves crunched under my feet.

“Stop! I have a gun, and I
will
shoot you.”

I stopped in my tracks and shouted, “Clementine? Don’t shoot! It’s Holly!” I glanced around. “Where are you?”

Clementine peered over stacked hay bales. She stood up, let out a huge breath of air, and dusted off her trousers, holding a revolver by her right leg. “Sorry about that.” Dark bags hung under her eyes, unmistakable against her delicate complexion.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, sure. What brings you out here?” Her eyes darted around, as if she expected someone else to suddenly appear.

“Oma and I were concerned about you. Was that your ex-husband following you yesterday?”

Clementine stared at me blankly for a moment, as though she didn’t know what to say. “Oh, that.” She flipped her hand casually. “It was nothing.”

It didn’t look like nothing to me. “I see. That’s why you’re hiding behind hay bales with a gun.”

Her mouth pulled to the side. “I don’t know who he is.” She heaved another sigh. “He just seems to turn up everywhere I go.”

“Have you told Officer Dave? Maybe he can talk to the guy.”

As soon as I mentioned Dave, Clementine appeared panicked. She waved a thin forefinger. “No, no, no. Not Dave. I’m fine. I can handle this.”

I was getting a little peeved with her. “Clementine, what’s going on?”

“Okay, look”—she brushed her long ponytail back with her free hand—“he’s someone I dated in college. He heard I was divorced and simply wouldn’t take no for an answer. I thought he’d give up when I moved back to Wagtail, but he found me.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “You’re such a lousy liar. If you dated him, why do you need a gun?”

“And you’re a pill. Haven’t you ever dated someone who seemed obsessed? I have kids to protect. What if he flips out?”

Hmm, okay. I could buy that. I didn’t hear any wild children, though. “Are the kids in school?”

“I’m homeschooling them this year. Maybe next year too. I’m not sure yet. But I know my limits—they’re in Wagtail, learning French this morning. Kids pick up languages so fast. I’d hate to miss this window of opportunity when it’s easy for them. Outside of menus, my French is pretty limited.”

I knew that feeling. “How about lunch at the inn today before you pick up the kids? Oma would love to see you.”

Her expression softened. “Really? I would like that. You have no idea how much I would enjoy that.”

“You sure you’re okay out here alone? It’s so quiet without any dogs around.”

“No kidding! I’m used to them setting up an alarm if anyone comes on the property. Don’t worry about me. I’m getting ready to muck out stalls. No one will mess with me if I have a pitchfork and horse poop at my disposal.”

At least she hadn’t lost her sense of humor.

Trixie and I drove back to the inn. I parked the golf cart and strode toward the reception entrance. The doors whooshed open automatically, and Trixie ran inside, but I stopped, stunned. I could hardly believe my eyes. Zelda was twirling a lock of long hair around her finger, coyly looking up into the face of the very man who had followed Clementine.

Trixie didn’t share my hesitation. She ran to him, all wiggles and wags. He stooped to pet her, telling her what a cute dog she was.

I wanted to rip her away from him. Couldn’t she sense that he was an enemy?

Zelda called me over. “Holly, this is Parker Colby. He’s staying in
Swim
.”

He was a guest at the inn? I reluctantly offered my hand, forcing a cheerful innkeeper’s smile. “Holly Miller. I hope you’re enjoying your stay.”

He still wore the day-old beard. He must have one of those shavers that leaves stubble on purpose. He’d ditched the army jacket for a brown leather one, though. Had I been asked, I would have said he needed a haircut, but given the stubble, I suspected he wore his hair tousled and tumbled intentionally.

“I certainly am. Everyone in Wagtail has been friendly and welcoming.”

Really? Clementine’s gun hadn’t been exactly welcoming. I played innocent, though, and changed the subject fast. “What brings you to Wagtail?” This ought to be interesting.

He smiled, revealing white teeth that seemed a little too perfect. “I’m looking for a town to locate the headquarters of a new dog magazine. Wagtail seems like just the place.”

I hadn’t expected
that
response. Then again, who would admit that he was chasing an old girlfriend? Especially when he appeared to have been flirting with Zelda? He’d said it so smoothly. He hadn’t stammered as though I’d caught him by surprise. He must have had that line prepared. I looked around. “Where’s your dog?”

“I’m on my own this trip. But I hope to bring them soon.” He flashed the pretty grin at me again. “Tell me, who would I speak with about real estate in Wagtail?”

Zelda jumped in, rattling off names and handing him a brochure.

Meanwhile, I was thinking that he played his game very well. I’d bet he had suckered everyone in town. A con man, perhaps? We needed to be wary. Would I be betraying Clementine somehow if I mentioned Parker to Dave? Of course, Dave was so busy with Mallory’s death that . . .

I gave a little jolt that Parker noticed. What if Parker had something to do with Mallory’s demise? I had no reason to think Mallory had any connection with Parker, but there was something smarmy about this guy, no matter how gorgeous he was.

With Clementine on my mind, I spent the next few hours taking care of business at the inn.

Shelley nabbed me when I passed through the dining area. “I just took three pumpkin raviolis with sage sauce down to your office for lunch. Clementine is there with your grandmother.”

As if she understood, Trixie stood on her hind legs and gazed at Shelley with desperate eyes.

“Don’t worry, little Trixie. There’s a doggie version for you, too.”

Trixie wagged her tail and raced along the corridor toward the office.

“How could she know?” I asked.

Shelley shrugged. “Beats me. They understand a lot more than we realize. Or maybe she smells the food.”

I joined Oma, Clementine, and Trixie in the office. The sun had burned through the clouds, turning it into a beautiful fall day. Lunch had been set up on the small terrace outside, complete with an orange tablecloth and matching purple napkins printed with orange jack-o’-lanterns.

Clementine was carrying Twinkletoes in her arms upside down, like a baby. I could hear her purring.

“I’m so glad you came!”

“I think I’m suffering from mommy syndrome. It’s a treat for me to talk with adults. Not to mention to eat with people who don’t throw their vegetables.”

Oma placed a gentle hand on Clementine’s arm. “Enjoy these years, liebling. They go all too fast.”

“I’m sure they do. It’s tough herding triplets, though. Especially two rowdy boys.”

We were about to take our seats at the table when Mr. Huckle entered carrying a tray laden with beverages.

Clementine rushed toward him. “Mr. Huckle!” She waited until he set the tray on the buffet. But when he turned around she embraced him, sobbing.

Their affection for each other was so evident that my eyes welled up, too.

“Now, now, Miss Clementine. We don’t make scenes in public.” But no sooner was his back to us than he reached into a pocket for a handkerchief to wipe his own eyes.

He served hot coffee and iced tea while Trixie ran in frantic circles, impatiently waiting for her food.

Mr. Huckle served Trixie and winked at Clementine before he left.

“I miss him so much.” Clementine sniffled. “I think it broke Daddy’s heart to let him go.” She looked at Oma. “Thank you for giving him a job. At his age, not many people would have taken a chance on him.”

“He is wonderful!” Oma gushed. “The guests love him. And he’s very classy in his uniform. It takes the whole inn up a notch. Yes?”

We caught up a little bit, with Oma asking questions about Clementine’s children. In typical nosy fashion, she asked in a matter-of-fact conversational way, “Your husband—he was having an affair with another woman?”

Ouch. Nothing like coming right out and putting it on the table.

Clementine speared a piece of ravioli. “That’s all behind me now.”

Deftly avoided, Clementine.

But Oma didn’t give up. “Holly tells me that a man is following you.”

“Oh! It’s nothing.”

Oma focused on her and waggled a finger. “Your father is away, and you need our help. Now you be truthful with me, Clementina.”

Clementine beamed at her. “No one has called me that in, gosh, over a decade!”

“Don’t change the subject. What is the story with this man? Who is he and what does he want with you?”

Clementine glanced at me. I just grinned. She clearly wasn’t used to Oma’s no-holds-barred interrogation style. I took another bite of the fabulous ravioli. I wasn’t about to step in to save Clementine from Oma, though. The man was following her, and that couldn’t be a good thing. I waited for her response, concentrating on the creamy pumpkin ravioli filling, which didn’t seem like it should go with a savory sage sauce, but the combination was delicious.

“Oma,” said Clementine, “don’t make a fuss. He’s simply someone I used to date. You probably had a lot of admirers. You must know what that’s like.”

“I still have admirers.”

We all burst out laughing. But I was thinking how cleverly Clementine had distracted Oma by turning the subject to her.

Oma sipped her coffee. “What is this man’s name?”

Clementine blinked too many times before answering.

“Russell Lake.”