Witch Doggone Killer Read online

  “He was alone. I mean, it was just him and Rocky when I got up here.” I bounded to my feet, panic rolling through me. “Where’s Rocky?”

  Korbin waved a hand. “I took him back and put him in a kennel while you were doing CPR. He’s okay.”

  I sighed in relief and rubbed my arms. “Thank you. Poor little guy—he just lost his owner.”

  A man entered the lobby, stopped to look around for a minute, and then went straight to the body. He wore plaid pants, a tucked in polo shirt, and pointed brown shoes. The man knelt, pulled out a stethoscope, and listened carefully to Arthur’s chest. After a few moments, he straightened and scanned the room until his gaze fell on Crosby. “This man is deceased,” he announced. “You can take his body to the morgue.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Klein. Do you have any early ideas about what may have killed him?”

  Klein shrugged. “Most likely explanation is a heart attack, but I won’t know for sure until I do a thorough autopsy.”

  “Great.” Crosby scribbled in his notebook. “And when can I expect a full report?”

  He shrugged again. “I’ll follow the ambulance over to the morgue and get started right away.” Klein glanced at his watch. “I have dinner reservations, so hopefully, I’ll have something to tell you in an hour or so.”

  “Wow. That’s fast,” I said.

  Klein gave me a cool look. “I’ve had a lot of practice.” He spun on his heel and left, pulling his car out right behind the ambulance, without its flashers on, that carried Arthur’s body.

  Crosby stuck the notebook in his pocket and studied my face. “You okay, Will?”

  I nodded. “I’ll be fine. It was a shock, but I can handle it.” I lifted my chin, trying to portray strength I didn’t feel. My eyes slid over to the chair where I’d found Arthur slumped over. I couldn’t believe someone had died in my waiting room.

  “Okay, well, I’m going back to my office to write this up. If any of you think of anything else, give me a call.”

  Crosby hadn’t been gone for a minute when the phone rang, and soon, all the lines were lighting up. My staff jumped into action, and I wandered back to the kennel to look at Rocky. “I’m sorry.”

  Rocky didn’t answer. He put his chin on his paws and whined softly. My heart clenched.

  “I’ll figure out what to do with you as fast as I can. You’ll have someplace warm and soft to sleep tonight,” I promised the Jack Russell.

  Once again, he didn’t answer—just continued to cry softly.

  As I left the kennel room, Catherine approached. “We’re getting lots of cancellations for this evening.”

  “Really?” I was puzzled. Earlier, people couldn’t get in fast enough for their last-minute records and vaccines for the dog show. “Have they been saying why?”

  She smoothed the hair at the base of her neck. “Because of Mr. Wiggins.”

  My eyes popped open. “People know about that already?”

  Catherine nodded. “I don’t know how it got out, but it did. The whole town knows.”

  I groaned. That was all I needed. I couldn’t afford to lose any business.

  That’s when I realized I hadn’t had time to talk to Arthur about the hike in rent. I wondered if he’d made it official with his accountant yet. The thought was immediately followed by a stab of guilt. How could I think about my own money trouble when a man had just died?

  Feeling slightly miserable, I went to my office. The half muffin looked lonely sitting on my desk, so I stuffed it in my mouth. It was far staler than was appetizing, and I had to chase it with cold coffee to keep from choking.

  I hate cold coffee. It’s really awful. I gagged and then plopped into my office chair.

  What a day.

  I looked around, trying to think of a way to keep myself occupied. My eyes landed on a stack of files I needed to update, so I got to work.

  An hour and a half later, I’d finished the files. At the periphery of my attention, I’d heard the phone continue to ring. My staff hadn’t come to get me to see any appointments, so I figured either they’d all cancelled or Jeremy had seen them.

  Then the intercom on my desk phone buzzed. “Dr. Morgan, your aunt is on the phone.”

  I felt my face break into a wide smile. Aunt Dru was my favorite person. I grabbed the phone. “Hi! What’s up?”

  My aunt’s voice came over the line, worry evident in its heaviness and trepidation. “Willow? Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. Why?”

  “Dory Weston just called me. She said Arthur Wiggins died in your clinic. She said he died of poison.”

  I felt my stomach clench as though the muffin I’d eaten earlier was a rock instead of a baked good. Poisoned? Didn’t that mean murdered?

  Chapter 2

  After I’d sat staring at the picture of me and my three best friends on the desk for ten minutes and then realized I was no closer to making sense of the information my aunt had given me than when I’d hung up with her, I grabbed my sweater, logged out of the computer, and made my way to the front desk. “Catherine, if there’s nothing else on my schedule, I’m going to head out early.”

  “Everything got canceled, Dr. Morgan. You’re good to go.”

  “Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow. Let’s hope for a better one, okay?” I paused as my hand hit the front door and glanced over my shoulder. “Did everybody cancel their appointments tomorrow too?”

  Catherine winced. “Most of them.”

  I sighed. “Maybe people will call in the morning. I know there’s got to be some folks still needing last-minute dog show stuff done.”

  “Maybe.” She didn’t sound convinced but gave me an encouraging smile and then waved me out.

  On the sidewalk in front of the clinic, I stopped to put on my sweater and look around, blinking a bit in the sudden brightness. As much as I tried to keep things cheerful and well-lit in the clinic, it was an old building with low ceilings that had an unfortunate, persistently dim character. But the outside was quaint and cute, with flowerbeds in front of each window and petunias lining the sidewalk. I was super proud of my business, even though it was a money struggle most of the time.

  If I hadn’t hired Jeremy, things would have been easier, financially. But as a solo vet in a small town, I’d been on-duty all the time. Jeremy lifted some of the weight from my shoulders, and it was a valid trade-off for the extra monetary stress.

  I headed up the sidewalk. I’d had a five-year plan to get into a bigger, better building, but between Arthur’s rent hikes and customers deciding to go to the clinic in Red River, I wasn’t going to meet it. I’d have to make due with the dark, dingy building for the foreseeable future.

  Superior Bay bustled like it always did in the late afternoon of early summer. Right on the banks of Lake Superior in Michigan’s upper peninsula, my hometown thrived on tourism. In the summer, people came to enjoy the big lake, hiking, and biking. In the winter, they showed up for ice fishing, skiing, and snowmobiling.

  And then there was the Superior Bay Dog Show. It was the town’s claim to fame—the biggest money-making event of the season, drawing people in from several states and even Canada. Everyone looked forward to it, and anyone who had a business in Superior Bay made money from it.

  I thought about Arthur Wiggins as I wandered along the paved bike path next to the lake. To say he’d been a difficult man would be understating it. He was the kind of person other people tried to avoid. But the majority of people in Superior Bay, at least those who rented homes or businesses, had to deal with Arthur regularly. Like me.

  It felt odd to be out in the lovely, bright sunshine, listening to people chat and laugh as I passed them, as though it were a normal day. It wasn’t. Someone had died in my veterinary clinic, and it felt to me like the world shouldn’t be going on its usual merry way.

  I didn’t know I was headed toward Stroves’ Bakery until I stood in front of it. Maybe my body knew my soul needed baked goods. With a chuckle, I headed inside. The b
ell over the door played a sweet, jaunty tune that, oddly enough, made me feel a tiny bit better. The familiar aroma of sweet treats felt like a balm to my senses too, and I skirted around the long counter to slip through the door to the kitchen.

  Julia Jones looked up from her work. She was barely five feet tall, with thick, curly red hair that I knew fell to her waist, though it was contained inside a black sparkly hair net at the moment. Julia could never get by with a plain hairnet. She was sparkles and bright colors all the way.

  I’d known her as long as I could remember. She was sweetness, sass, and fierce loyalty in a small physical package that never failed to remind me of a fairy. Currently, her face was smudged with flour, but that didn’t slow down the bright smile that spread over it. “Hey! You’re out early today, huh? Slow day?”

  I sank onto a stool across the large island from her and reached over to nab a truffle that sat on a plate looking lonely. I popped it into my mouth and groaned happily when I realized it had peanut butter inside. “This is amazing.”

  When I opened my eyes again, Julia was setting a glass of milk in front of me. How did she do that so fast? “Thanks. And, yes, it was a slow day. I mean, no, it wasn’t.” I frowned and grabbed the milk, gulping half of it down.

  My friend laughed, and it sounded so much like the tinkling bell over the front door that I leaned back to peek through the doorway and make sure no customers had entered the front of the store.

  “That answer doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Sorry.” I wiped off my milk mustache. “We started out busy, but after Arthur Wiggins died in my waiting room, everyone canceled their afternoon appointments.” I drank more milk, slower than the first time.

  Julia blinked a few times. “Arthur Wiggins passed away?”

  I nodded and looked around for any more stray baked goods needing a good home. Coming up short, I leaned forward onto my arms. “I thought it was a heart attack, but the coroner quickly determined it was poison.”

  “He was murdered?” Julia’s eyes were wide, and she used a hushed tone, as though saying the words would somehow attract a killer to the kitchen where we sat.

  The thought sent a chill skittering up my back, and I glanced over my shoulder at the empty shop front again. “Sounds like it.”

  “Wow. How are you feeling about that?” Julia removed the big stainless steel bowl from the automatic mixer, grabbed a spatula, and started folding the dough by hand.

  I groaned and put my head down, my voice coming out muffled. “Weird.”

  “Okay, well, I guess weird is a valid emotion.” Julia snorted. “Anything else?”

  I lifted my face to rest my chin on my folded arms. “Freaked out, I guess. I mean, he was poisoned, so maybe that means there wasn’t a killer in my veterinary clinic. He could have been slipped something before he arrived there, but still. Seems close enough for discomfort.”

  “Julia!” The shrill voice came from the back room of the kitchen, and I recognized it as belonging to Delilah Stroves, the bakery’s owner.

  I winced, and Julia rolled her eyes. “Yeah?” she called.

  Delilah popped her head through the doorway. She wore black jeans and a plain pink knit sweater that seemed too warm for the weather. Her hair was the color of dull brass that redheads often faded to, and she had the sides pinned up with red barrettes that clashed with it. Delilah was what you may call a tiny woman, barely five feet tall and probably about ninety-five pounds fully clothed. She sniffed and rubbed her nose with one hand. “I thought I ordered more oven cleaner. I used the last of the other this morning. Have you seen the full bottle?”

  Julia shook her head. “No, sorry.”

  Delilah pressed her already thin lips together. “Well, I never. Now I’m going to have to pay for more.”

  “Maybe it will come tomorrow.” Julia beamed.

  Not for the first time, I marveled at how well my friend dealt with her dragon lady of a boss. Delilah was unpleasant on a good day and downright horrible on a bad one. But Julia had a way of handling her. Me, I would have quit a long time ago.

  Delilah huffed. “Well, call me if it comes. I have to go. Oh, and don’t expect me to open the place for you tomorrow like I did today. I’ll be busy all day getting Sadie ready for the dog show.” Her sharp gaze landed on me. “Nothing else to do today, Doctor?”

  I sat straighter. “I’m just taking a break. I won’t keep Julia for long.”

  She didn’t look convinced but spun on her heel. We heard the back door open and shut, and I sighed in relief.

  The bell over the door went off, and we both bent our necks to watch Alyson Crane walk into the shop. She made her way around the counter and into the kitchen and took a stool next to me. “What are you doing here? And what are we talking about?”

  Alyson was the final musketeer in our group. Crosby, Julia, Aly, and I had been virtually inseparable since childhood. Aly was the ice to Julia’s fire, always providing a cool, well-reasoned opinion every time our redheaded friend gave an off-the-cuff one. Aly was the biggest reason we’d all managed not to get arrested or otherwise into heaps of trouble doing the stuff Julia got us into when we were younger. She was five feet, nine inches tall, with waist-length, stick-straight blonde hair and naturally pink cheeks and lips.

  “We’re discussing who killed Arthur Wiggins in Willow’s clinic,” Julia said, using a spoon to dig out a bit of dough for a taste test.

  Aly’s eyebrows rose so high they disappeared into her fringe of bangs. “Killed? You mean, like, murdered?” Her eyes slid to me, still wide.

  “I guess so. That’s what the coroner seems to think, anyway.” I shrugged. “Unless Arthur poisoned himself.”

  Seemingly satisfied with the dough, Julia clanged around in a cupboard, pulled out two baking sheets, and started spooning out cookies. “So, what’s next? Everybody canceled their appointments for the afternoon—I bet they’ll keep doing that for the foreseeable future. How are you going to figure out who killed him?”

  I straightened, shocked. “Figure out . . . why would I try to figure out who killed him?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Because your business is probably going to go under if it isn’t solved fast. I mean, you don’t have a lot of leeway on bills, do you, hon?”

  Aly shot me a sympathetic look.

  Grudgingly, I mumbled, “I guess I’m behind on a few payments here and there. But I still don’t see why that means I have to figure anything out. That’s why we have a police department.”

  Julia’s expression made it clear she thought I was being obtuse. “It’s dog show season. You really think the cops are going to have much time to spare figuring out who killed the town’s least favorite slum lord?” She shook her head. “Nope. They’re going to shove that onto a back burner next to the slow-cookin’ beans.”

  I shook my head. “You’re not from the south, Jules.”

  She stuck out her tongue. “Whatever. I’m just saying that, if you don’t want to lose your business, you’re going to have to do some digging around and try to figure out what happened to Arthur yourself.”

  I shot Aly a pleading look, hoping she’d jump in and rescue me from our mutual friend’s temporary insanity. But she totally let me down, shrugging apologetically. “I mean, maybe she’s right. It kind of seems to me like you may find yourself on the suspect list before too long. You or someone who works for you.”

  Alarm shot through me like a jolt of cold water to the belly. “My staff?” I only had a few people working for me, but I considered them family. Surely, none of them could have poisoned Arthur.

  Aly moved closer and put an arm around my shoulders. “You said yesterday that Arthur was raising your rent again and you didn’t know what you were going to do.”

  Was she saying what I thought she was saying? “So, I had a motive?” My voice was a lot squeakier than usual, and I cleared my throat to get it under control. “Or someone in my clinic did?”

  She shrugged, gave me a squeeze
, and then rounded the island to grab a chunk of raw cookie dough off Julia’s sheet, deftly avoiding her friend’s swat. “You know I don’t think any of you did it. But the police might.” A puzzled look crossed her face as she munched. “Hey, who do you think is going to be your landlord now?”

  That question hadn’t occurred to me yet. Did Arthur have family to inherit his properties? I’d never heard of them if he did. “Maybe I can talk whoever it is into lowering my lease.”

  Julia winced and pointed her spoon at me. “See? That’s motive talking right there. You’d better get your behind in gear and start tracking down someone else with a bigger reason to kill Arthur than you have.”

  With a groan, I hauled myself to my feet. “You two were exactly zero help. Actually, you were negative help. You actually made me feel worse. Thanks a lot,” I threw over my shoulder as I left the kitchen.

  But once I was on the sidewalk in the sun again, I paused and thought about what my friends had said. I had to admit that my staff and I did have a reason to wish Arthur was out of the picture. I chewed my bottom lip for a second. It was a bad habit from when I was young. I did it when I felt nervous. Apparently, thinking about being accused of murder was making me anxious.

  I squared my shoulders and marched down the sidewalk. Aly and Julia were right. I couldn’t sit around and eat bonbons—or peanut butter truffles—and let the cops circle around and wind up pointing a finger at me. I had to be proactive.

  SUPERIOR BAY’S POLICE department was small like everything else in town. Crosby was one of only about a dozen officers, and there were usually only six on duty at any given time. Of those, two manned the station and four were either out on the street or working on cases.

  The building itself was a one-story, square, brick number that was about two thousand square feet. I knew there were a few jail cells in the back where officers could hold people temporarily before transporting them to the prison in the city. Sometimes, those cells served as a spot where people could sleep it off if they drank too much and had a bit of a rowdy evening.