Praise for the New York Times bestselling Paws & Claws Mysteries
“Davis has created another charming series with a unique setting, an engaging heroine in Holly Miller and her furry sidekick, Trixie, and a wonderfully quirky supporting cast of characters—two- and four-legged.”
—Sofie Kelly, New York Times bestselling author of the Magical Cats Mysteries
“Davis has created a town that any pet would love—as much as their owners do. And they won’t let a little thing like murder spoil their enjoyment.”
—Sheila Connolly, New York Times bestselling author of the County Cork, Museum, and Orchard mysteries
“Davis has penned a doggone great new mystery series featuring witty, spirited Holly Miller and her endearing canine sidekick, Trixie . . . the intriguing plot twists will keep you guessing to the very last page.”
—Kate Carlisle, New York Times bestselling author of the Bibliophile Mysteries
“A charming blend of small-town eccentrics and big-city greed, Murder, She Barked touches all the bases of the cozy mystery—including a bit of romance—and does so with style.”
—Richmond Times-Dispatch
“Well-written dialogue, fun characters, and romantic complications that never go as the characters—or the readers—expect . . . Readers will enjoy this skillfully plotted mystery and its biting humor.”
—Kings River Life Magazine
Berkley Prime Crime titles by Krista Davis
Domestic Diva Mysteries
THE DIVA RUNS OUT OF THYME
THE DIVA TAKES THE CAKE
THE DIVA PAINTS THE TOWN
THE DIVA COOKS A GOOSE
THE DIVA HAUNTS THE HOUSE
THE DIVA DIGS UP THE DIRT
THE DIVA FROSTS A CUPCAKE
THE DIVA WRAPS IT UP
THE DIVA STEALS A CHOCOLATE KISS
THE DIVA SERVES HIGH TEA
Paws & Claws Mysteries
MURDER, SHE BARKED
THE GHOST AND MRS. MEWER
MURDER MOST HOWL
MISSION IMPAWSIBLE
BERKLEY PRIME CRIME
Published by Berkley
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
Copyright © 2017 by Cristina Ryplansky
Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.
BERKLEY is a registered trademark and BERKLEY PRIME CRIME and the B colophon are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
Ebook ISBN: 9781101988572
First Edition: February 2017
Cover art by Mary Ann Lasher/Bernstein & Andriulli
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
The recipes contained in this book have been created for the ingredients and techniques indicated. The Publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require supervision. Nor is the Publisher responsible for any adverse reactions you may have to the recipes contained in the book, whether you follow them as written or modify them to suit your personal dietary needs or tastes.
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Dedicated to veterinary technicians and technologists everywhere
Acknowledgments
As always, there are so many people to thank. The members of the Nose for Trouble Facebook group came to the rescue when I was looking for a name for the animal shelter in Wagtail. I believe Bree Herron and Stephanie Evans were the first to suggest the word Guardian. Several others suggested it or variations, as well. Thank you all! It is now officially the Wagtail Animal Guardians or WAG.
But it was the members of Delicious Mysteries who helped me work out the phonetic pronunciation of “Darling, put your puppy down” in a deep Southern accent. We Southerners have a tendency to make two syllables out of one. It was Rae Ann Barnett who nailed the crucial missing link of “put-chore.” I can just hear Macon saying it, and I hope my readers will hear him as well.
You may have noticed that Trixie and Twinkletoes grow larger with each cover. I thank my wonderful cover artist, Mary Ann Lasher, for capturing them so beautifully!
I would be remiss if I did not thank Betsy Strickland, Susan Smith, Amy Wheeler, and my family for listening to me drone on endlessly about my stories and for always being so supportive.
Special thanks to Julie Mianecki, who edited this book, and to Michelle Vega, who saw it to completion.
And finally, my gratitude to my agent, Jessica Faust, for always looking out for me.
Contents
Praise for the Paws & Claws Mysteries
Berkley Prime Crime Titles by Krista Davis
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Epigraph
List of Characters
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Recipes
The greatest love is the mother’s, then the dog’s, and then the sweetheart’s.
Polish proverb
RESIDENTS OF WAGTAIL
Holly Miller—co-owner of the Sugar Maple Inn
Liesel Miller (Oma)—Holly’s grandmother, co-owner of the Sugar Maple Inn, and mayor of Wagtail
Shelley Dixon—inn employee
Zelda York—inn employee
Mr. Huckle—inn employee
Casey Collins—inn employee
Paige McDonagh—Wagtail Animal Guardians employee
Bob Lane—pharmacist
Aunt Birdie Dupuy—Holly’s aunt
GUESTS OF THE INN, VISITORS, AND PARTICIPANT
S IN ANIMAL ATTRACTION
Gustav Vogel—inn guest
Macon Stotts—professional matchmaker
Ben Hathaway—Holly’s old boyfriend
John Adele
Cooper, his yellow Lab
Nessie Jamieson
Celeste, her daughter
Lulu, her papillon
Sky Stevens
Maddie, her daughter
Laura Pisani
Marmalade, her orange tabby
Hank Abernathy—Zelda’s ex-husband
Randall Donovan
Axel Turner
ANIMALS
Gingersnap—Oma’s golden retriever, canine ambassador of the Sugar Maple Inn
Twinkletoes—Holly’s calico cat, feline ambassador of the Sugar Maple Inn
Trixie—Holly’s Jack Russell terrier
Duchess—white and tan mix, available for adoption
One
By six o’clock on Thursday afternoon, one Gustav Vogel had failed to check into his room at the Sugar Maple Inn. Ordinarily, this would not be a matter of concern or great consequence. But it wasn’t an ordinary day. It was the first day of the Animal Attraction matchmaking event in Wagtail. All our other guests had arrived and were already participating.
Located on popular Wagtail Mountain in southwest Virginia, the Sugar Maple Inn was always booked in the summer, and this particular week had filled up especially fast. Gustav had a mere three hours to go before he forfeited his reservation and we could give his room to someone else.
It was my turn to take over the Live Love Bark table. I left the mayhem at the reception desk as people poured through the door, hoping we still had rooms available. But Gustav had until nine o’clock to arrive, so we had to turn them away until then. I stepped out onto the front porch that spanned the main building of the Sugar Maple Inn and observed the crowd that had collected on the plaza.
Maybe there truly was someone for everyone. People of every possible shape, size, and description milled about, alike only in the fact that a dog or cat accompanied almost every one of them. Yet all these people hadn’t found compatible human mates. Why was it so much harder to find the right person than it was to find the right cat or dog?
I was no exception. My dog, Trixie, left my side to scamper down the stairs and join the fun. The little Jack Russell terrier I had rescued at a gas station had blossomed and become my constant companion. White, except for black ears and a black spot on her rump that extended to her tail, which had not been cropped, Trixie had a knack for finding corpses. She had developed a bit of a reputation around town because of her nose for trouble.
My calico cat, Twinkletoes, observed the commotion from the safety of the front porch. Her face was white, with a patch of dark chocolate and one of caramel on her forehead, almost like she had shoved sunglasses up on her head. Her chest and front paws were white too, but her fluffy tail was black. Twinkletoes had chosen me as her person. I would have readily adopted her, but as cats do, she was the one who’d made the decision that we belonged together.
Trixie and Twinkletoes were my nearly perfect darlings. Granted, they did get into trouble now and then, but for the most part they behaved very well. It was my first summer in Wagtail since my childhood, and my first summer in a long time that wasn’t spent cooped up in an office. When my grandmother had offered to make me a partner in the Sugar Maple Inn, I had jumped at the opportunity.
Once a resort town where people came for the waters, Wagtail had had to reinvent itself, and it had quite literally gone to the dogs and cats. Not only were they allowed in lodgings and restaurants, but there were special menus and dishes created just for them. The stores in town accommodated them too, selling clothes, collars, leashes, beds, and every conceivable item that any spoiled dog or cat could want.
Trixie and Twinkletoes had learned to play with the guest dogs and cats, though Twinkletoes wasn’t always the best feline ambassador of the Sugar Maple Inn. There were times when she insisted on hissing and stalking away. So inhospitable!
Watching the people on the plaza meeting each other and making connections reminded me that my love life was a miserable mess. Nonexistent, really. Maybe I shouldn’t have balked at the notion of being matched to a guy this weekend. My grandmother, whom I called Oma—German for grandma—hadn’t pussyfooted around. She had come right out and told me this was my chance to meet a man. I was a little bit sad that she pushed me because I knew she had hoped I would end up with Holmes Richardson, a childhood friend. No one else had ever stolen my heart quite like Holmes. I wasn’t sure I was ready to give up on him yet. It was complicated, though, because he lived in Chicago and was engaged to be married. It wasn’t in my nature to chase a man who was engaged to someone else, so like a fool I waited for his relationship to implode on its own. Sometimes I wondered if it was time for me to abandon that hope.
The daily Yappy Hour parade had ended. I spied Oma at a table on the plaza with Macon Stotts and walked toward them. Wagtail was set up in a long rectangle. In the center, a park, known as the green, ran from one end of town to the other. Paths meandered through it, benches were available for resting, and fenced areas allowed dogs to play off leash. Sidewalks ran around the perimeter of the green, where stores and restaurants were located. At the south end, in front of the Sugar Maple Inn, the sidewalks merged into a plaza large enough to accommodate events like Animal Attraction.
Oma and her best friend, Rose, had come up with the Animal Attraction matchmaking idea after hearing about a famous matchmaking week in Ireland. They had hired Macon Stotts, a Southerner who claimed to be matchmaker to the stars, to arrange the various events and help match people up. I assumed he meant Hollywood stars, and wondered if they really needed matchmaking help.
Animal Attraction was a literal name because the people attending were bringing their dogs and cats with them to help with the matchmaking. The benefits, according to Oma and Rose, were that the animals would break the ice, making it easier for their people to meet, and the human participants would know up front that they all shared a love of animals. Their dogs and cats would help them connect.
“Holly!” Oma waved at me. “Still no sign of Gustav?” She hated that she spoke with a German accent in spite of the fact that she had lived in the United States since before my father was born, over fifty years. Most people found her accent charming, but I was so used to it that I didn’t notice it much anymore.
“Not yet.”
She glanced at her watch. “There is still time. You are here to relieve me?”
“Just tell me what to do.”
Oma held up a slip of paper. “Macon has set up a Live Love Bark app and a Live Love Meow app. Here are the addresses and passwords.”
I took it and frowned. Wagtail was notorious for its poor Internet connection. Only one cell phone carrier worked at all, and it was iffy at best.
“If they have trouble,” said Oma, “these are the forms they can fill out instead. Make sure they know there will be other matchmaking events. This is only one option. When they bring them back, they go into this box. Macon will pick them up and make the matches.”
Macon jumped to his feet. “My word! These people are clueless.” He swept by me, reminding me of a plump penguin. His straight black hair was combed back and gleamed with some kind of gel. He was short for a man, broad through the middle, and waddled when he walked rapidly. In a slightly nasal Southern accent, he cried out, “Dahlin’, put-chore puppy down!”
I couldn’t help smiling when he dragged out down into two syllables, day-own.
The stunning young woman he was addressing, who had skin the rich color of honey, appeared surprised. A fluffy little dog rode in her shoulder bag, his face peering out like a tiny white Wookiee.
“Put him down, sweetheart. He can’t do his jo
b matchin’ you up if he’s confined to a bag.”
“On the ground?” Her brow furrowed. “He’ll get dirty paws.”
“Anybody with a fancy bag like that must surely have booties.” Macon held out his hands, palms up.
He’d nailed it. She produced tiny blue dog booties and slid them onto the feet of her dog with Macon’s help. Once on the concrete plaza, the dog wasted no time at all mingling with the others.
“They’ll bite him!” she said with a desperate look at Macon. “He’s so tiny. That big black dog will think he’s a snack.”
The other dogs seemed very interested in him, but not because of his size. Even my Trixie wanted to know what those funny things were on his feet.
“I have to rescue him. Look what they’re doing!”
Macon placed a hand on her arm. “Honey, that’s just what polite dogs do. Sniffin’ is how they shake hands. Don’t you ever let him play with other dogs?”
A group of young men distracted Macon. He raised his hand, pointed at them, and waddled away, shouting, “Young fella, your dog is tryin’ to introduce you to the pretty girl with the cat.”
The man standing beside me uttered dryly, “Is that Macon Stotts? I thought that old fraud was dead.”
Two
“Fraud?” Oma stood up so fast she nearly toppled the table. “What do you mean fraud?”
“Your reaction suggests that you must be the imbecile who was suckered in by him. Don’t blame yourself. He’s quite skilled. How much are you paying Macon?”
Oma was in her seventies, but she was not one to trifle with. She still looked great, with short, thick hair that gleamed silver in the sun. And my Oma was always impeccably dressed in what she liked to call Wagtail chic. In other words, elegant casual. She drew her head back, clearly appalled by what he was saying.
He didn’t appear to care. “Must be good money. Macon doesn’t go anywhere unless he’s hauling it in.”
Oma scowled at him. “Why do you say he is a fraud?”