Ten

“Um …” I began, ready to tell Mysha that I appreciated her desire to have a quick answer but that I could make no promises—and that I hadn’t really wanted to get involved in solving all those murders in the first place. But instead, seeing the plea on her face—plus, she’d knelt down on the patio to look straight at me as I sat there—I couldn’t just brush her request off.

And I was certainly curious about what her relationship with Henry had really been. Was she only his dog walker? Based on her emotionalism, I doubted that. Unless she was just generally an emotional human being.

Neal bent down to help Mysha back to her feet. “We’d like to have what happened resolved as fast as possible, too, but let’s leave those details to the cops, okay?”

“But—”

I interrupted, since Mysha was resisting Neal’s efforts to help her up. “Here, please have a seat.” Although I was happy she’d agreed to join us, I also hoped she would calm down and become less emotional. Most of all, I hoped she would give us some helpful information.

“Would you like a drink?” I asked. Mysha appeared young but not too young to drink—maybe early twenties.

“Oh. Yes. Yes, I’d love some wine. Like yours. And oh, Ms. Kennersly, I’ve been wanting to talk to you. When you told me that you own Barkery and Biscuits, I knew you must love dogs, especially since you’re also a vet tech, as your brother told me. I’m a dog walker, you know—and Mr. Schulzer was my main client lately. I need to find more now.”

In other words, she was kind of out of work.

Could I help her? Maybe. Did I want to?

Again, maybe. She was so sad, so emotional, that I didn’t think she could be the murderer.

Then again, all of this could be a ploy to send my suspicions in a different direction. Not that my opinion mattered much. The cops would have to agree either way.

But word had somewhat gotten out about my prior successes in solving murders, so much so that someone like Mysha could assume that convincing me of her innocence would go a long way toward convincing the authorities as well.

Within a minute, Neal had brought three more chairs to our table. I assumed Janelle would join us soon, too. One of the bartenders came over and jotted down our orders, and then there we all sat, looking at each other again.

I had my questions for Mysha ready. “So, how did you get the job walking Prince and Duke?”

Her expression lit up. “Oh, you know them! I’m not surprised. They must have stopped by your Barkery, right? Anyway, Henry moved to the resort a few weeks ago and had his dogs with him. I was already doing some work for another guest, so I went over to Henry and gave him my card—and he called me. From that point on, I spent a lot of time with his dogs.”

And with Henry? My suspicion about whether there’d been more to their relationship than dog walker and owner continued to grow. Otherwise, why had Mysha been so emotional?

But that didn’t matter, unless she’d killed him.

“Yes,” I told her. “I met Henry at my shop, and I saw his dogs this afternoon, too.”

Mysha half stood. “Really? Where are they? I’ve been wondering since … since yesterday.”

I explained to her that the authorities had turned the dogs over to Mountaintop Rescue, with the understanding that relatives of Henry would be sought first to see if they would adopt the dogs, and if not, this wonderful local shelter would take care of them till the right new dog parents could be found. “Mountaintop Rescue is the greatest,” I assured her.

I half wondered if Mysha would make an offer to adopt the dogs but doubted it. Owning dogs was more expensive than walking them for profit.

Her drink and Neal’s arrived then, and behind the server came Janelle, who also sat down. She shot a curious glance toward Mysha and I introduced them.

Then the dog walker said, “Well, I’m really glad that Duke and Prince are being taken care of, but—”

“But I’m sure you’re concerned,” I acknowledged. “You know, I agree with you that it would be a good idea if Henry’s death was solved quickly. That might make it easier also to rehome the pups.” I saw that Janelle, Neal, and Les had entered into a conversation, among themselves—one I couldn’t hear. That was probably a good thing, since I could take advantage of the situation. “You’d been working for Henry and the dogs for a while,” I said to Mysha. “Do you know of any people he met here, or who he otherwise had contact with? Of course, there was the situation with the man who was convicted of killing Henry’s wife many years ago, but did Henry argue with anyone else that you’re aware of? You might not think one of them could be his killer, but it would be helpful for the police to know of anyone like that.”

“They’ve already asked me,” Mysha replied. “But because you … well, since you’ve helped them before, here’s what I told them, though it’s not much. I saw that Mr. Schulzer was friends with some guests here at the hotel.”

“Really? Do you know their names?” I knew that Neal would be a good source for finding out more about these guests, whoever they were.

“No, but they were apparently staying at the resort for a while, as … as … as poor Henry was.” Mysha’s voice choked up and tears ran down her cheeks. “I think their room was next to his, or at least close by.”

That might not be enough for Neal to go on, but he was listening now and I glanced at him.

“I did see Mr. Schulzer in the lobby several times with some guests I believe were his neighbors here,” Neal said. “I’ll talk to them and ask them to get in touch with you, Carrie.” In other words, he was protecting the hotel guests’ privacy, which I understood. That was part of his job.

But Neal clearly knew priorities around here—at least mine. The sooner I could talk to as many people as possible who potentially had knowledge of the murder victim and what might have happened, the better. With another glance at me, Neal excused himself as if to head for the restroom, but I suspected he was going to make a phone call related to this latest info.

Meanwhile, since I knew I’d be able to speak with everyone else at the table later, I encouraged Mysha to keep talking about the various dogs she walked and their owners, especially Henry and anyone who might have known him.

Sipping my wine and toasting Henry, Duke, and Prince now and then, I learned a lot about Mysha’s favorite paths around the resort area and even around downtown Knobcone Heights. She seemed to relax, and even to enjoy the conversation. She asked me more about my Barkery and how I created the treats I sold there, and I told her a little bit of my background.

But having a fun discussion wasn’t exactly on my agenda. Eventually, I motioned to our server and requested that he bring us more wine, and some of the others at the table requested more, too.

Then, before our new drinks arrived, I said to Mysha, “You know, I only met poor Henry recently. He went through a lot here in Knobcone Heights all those years ago when he lost his wife. I take it you’re aware of this now, but did you know it when you first started working for him?”

“Well, sort of. My other customers who knew him a little have lived in town for a while, and they let me know that horrible story. But I never learned the details.” There was no sorrow on her youthful face now. Instead, her wide-eyed expression appeared—well, fascinated. “He was such a nice man—most of the time. He sometimes chewed me out for being late to pick up the dogs or whatever, but—well, I understood, in a way. People hadn’t always been kind to him. I still can’t believe that someone killed the poor man’s wife when she was mayor of this town.”

“Right,” I said, shaking my head sadly. “At least it appeared the guilty man was punished for it.” I was still looking straight at Mysha, but she didn’t react, so maybe she didn’t care that the confessed killer of Henry’s wife had recently been paroled. Not that it mattered.

What did matter right now was who’d killed Henry.

“And now … someone … someone just murdered him.” Mysha swallowed a sob. She seemed genuine, and yet …

“Do you think it’s because he got angry with someone, the way he did with you?” In other words, I wanted her reaction to Henry getting angry with her, in order to sense whether his anger had sparked anger—or revenge—in Mysha herself. She might just be a darned good actress … and murderer.

“You never know, do you?” Her voice was still choked. “I always apologized to him if he got mad at me. It was usually justified, you know? I never meant to be late, but it happened, especially when I’d walked other dogs first. They sometimes took their time, and—well, you know. And the stuff I saw Henry get upset at other people for—well, they deserved it, too.”

But did they react to it as she claimed to, and accept it? Or did they use it as an excuse to kill him?

There had certainly been anger between Henry and Mike Holpurn—and maybe between Henry and Holpurn’s brothers, too.

And, justified or not, he had also become angry with Dinah about her research and had spewed his venom at her.

Dinah wouldn’t have killed him for that, or anything else.

I hoped.

Okay, maybe it was out of line, or too soon, or—well, inappropriate, but I decided to ask her directly. “You said Henry sometimes got mad at you, even justifiably.” I took a sip of wine as I looked Mysha in her big brown eyes. “Did you ever get mad at him?”

Those eyes widened even more. “Did I—how did you know that? I always try to keep it to myself if I get upset with people or I’m liable to lose their business. I love their dogs most of the time, but—” She scowled suddenly, apparently recognizing what I was doing. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Carrie, like I said. You figure out who killed people. Is this how you do it, put them on the defensive until the bad guys actually confess?”

I just raised my eyebrows and smiled without answering.

Still holding her wine glass, Mysha continued to glare at me. “I’m not confessing, Carrie Kennersly. I really liked Mr. Schulzer, even if I sometimes got mad at him like he got mad at me. And if you think I’m going to confess to killing him—well, you’re wrong.”

“I understand,” I said. But if Mysha didn’t confess, that wouldn’t mean she hadn’t done it.

And in her rant against me and the way I was acting toward her, she had become defensive.

Which might mean nothing other than that she remained emotional over Henry’s death, the loss of payment to walk his dogs, and whatever else was on her mind.

But she hadn’t exactly denied that she was the killer.

Good thing I’d pretty much completed what I’d wanted to ask Mysha about, since she suddenly stood up. “You know, I think it’s time for me to leave. I know you’re just trying to be helpful and all that, but I’ve told you everything I’m aware of about Henry and his dogs. If you happen to hear of anyone else needing a dog walker, please let me know.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a business card.

Interesting. She was a professional of sorts.

The card had Mysha’s phone number on it, as well as a website address, but it didn’t say where she lived. It could nevertheless be helpful if I needed to find her again … or send the cops after her.

But I had no reason to do that, at least not now.

“Thanks,” I told her. “And you know where to find me, at my shops, if you think of anything else that might help us figure out who killed Henry.”

That was hopefully bland enough to indicate that I wasn’t pointing to her as the murderer. Not yet, at least.

But if the detectives were zeroing in on Dinah, or even if they weren’t, it wouldn’t hurt to at least let them know there might be more to Henry’s relationship with Mysha than her being solely his dog walker. I still suspected this despite Mysha’s story.

“So.” Neal slid to sit across from me once Mysha was gone. “Did the dog walker know anything helpful?”

“If she did, she didn’t tell me,” I told my brother. “She may just be an innocent dog walker, as she said.”

“I gather from the way you phrased it that she might not be.” Neal could always read my attitude even if I didn’t express all that was in my mind.

“Exactly,” I said.

Janelle had scooted over closer to Neal. “And you hope she at least knows more for Dinah’s sake,” she said.

“You got it.”

I glanced around and noticed that Reed and Les were standing inside near the bar, talking. I wondered if they’d rejoin us anytime soon.

Neal, Janelle, and I talked a little more about Janelle’s interview with Detective Morana. The cops hadn’t revealed anything to her while she was at the station, but she recognized that she hadn’t been very helpful to them, either.

“Are you going to talk to them some more?” she asked me.

“Probably, although I’d rather they talked to me,” I said with a wry grin.

We continued sitting there, drinking a little as Janelle described their questions in more detail than I’d heard before. Then both she and Neal looked over my shoulder, and I thought I knew why.

I turned. I was right. Dinah had just hurried in. She sat down with us in the chair Mysha had vacated, her skin pale and her expression haunted.

“I need a drink,” she said. “Now.”