Escape Route (Murder Off-Screen Book 1) by GA VanDruff

hose and I stumbled backward. “Any sign of a dog? Did they try to smuggle one into their rooms?”
    “Dog? The only dog they had was all over the fellow’s jacket. Yellow hair. About an inch long.” She put on her ball cap and straightened the bill. “I’ve got to get a move-on. I’d love to have them come back. I think the chubby one flirted with me. The skinny one has on a wedding band.”
    “Want me to help?” Two boarders at Bo Peeps—a chubby one, a skinny one with dog hair and a patch in need of mending. I could mend. I was almost sure of it. I kept my tone nonchalant. If Gertie smelled a plot thickening, she’d turn into Miss Marple, and two female detectives only worked well on TV. “I’ll sew while you cook. Deal?”
    “You sure can and I’ll thank you for it. Put that bike of yours in the backseat ‘cause I’m driving,” she said and vaulted to the ‘Vette.

CHAPTER 12
     
     
    Bo Peep’s Bed-and-Breakfast fits a number of categories in an online search.
    — Where do Ken and Barbie live
    —Cupcake that resembles a house
    —What does a migraine look like
    If you love purple-and-pink-and-more-purple, then you’re prepared for a weekend in Gertie’s lavender house, and its turret festooned with pink gingerbread dripping from the roof line. Even in March, Bo Peep’s shimmers like a sunny day at the beach.
    The exception is the concrete-block bomb shelter in the basement. It’s pink. ‘I’m a survivalist. Pink is calming. How’d you expect Al and me to remain calm in the event of a nuclear disaster without pink?’
    Gertie patted the sign attached to the picket fence like she always did. For luck. Bo Peep’s for a Good Night’s Sleep. Her brother designed and crafted the wood plaque before he passed. Lavender background, gold lettering in a curly-q of a script so curvaceous it rendered the message indecipherable. The painting of a four-poster bed with a pair of tucked-in sheep and ZZZZZs drifting to the stars cleared up confusion for potential guests.
    A plain, four-door sedan with Pennsylvania plates sat parked at the curb. Morning mist condensed into rivulets that trickled down the windshield in zigs and zags and dotted the door handles, undisturbed. The boys had not come down yet.
    On the front porch, the storm door screeched as Gertie unlocked Bo Peep’s main door—an old-timey cottage number, thick with layers of white paint and panes of wavy glass outlined in pink.
    I cupped my hands and suctioned my face to the passenger windows, front and back. “Dog” was written all over the backseat.
    Marsh grass plastered on with tidal muck speckled the windows on the inside, and nose prints the size of a fifty-cent piece stamped an art-nouveau pattern across the glass.
    Doofus had been in this car from Pennsylvania.
    Was Doofus the Cuthbart’s dog? Or did he simply belong to these men? Where was he now?
    Gertie motioned me in. “Come on,” she whispered.
    I kicked myself for not remembering the condition of his coat or toenails while he slobbered on my knee. His nail-polished ear was dry was what I could swear to. Some detective you are .
    “Jaqie, hurry up.”
    That was an understatement.
    ~~^~~
    I squatted on a footstool in the corner of Gertie’s mudroom and pinned the cell phone between my ear and my shoulder. It hung up twice when I twitched. Needles are the enemy. I stuck my finger in my mouth while the phone rang off the hook at Dumford’s Marina. Dell got bombarded every March and April. All the locals wanted their boats in the water at the same time. I really didn’t expect him to pick up.
    “Marina. Dell.”
    “Gweat.” I popped my finger out of my mouth. “Great! Dell, it’s Jaqie. How are you?”
    Dell’s big voice boomed through the phone. “Jaqie! Hey, Little Bit. Where are you? Frank said you’d be here today. Can’t wait to see you. You bringing that saucy Gertie with ya’?”
    Dell Dumford is Oakley Beach’s permanent bachelor. His Robert Redford looks