Free The Ghost and Mrs. Mewer (A Paws and Claws Mystery Book 2) by Krista Davis Page A

surprise, I discovered a rack labeled
Shutter Dogs
mounted on a wall. I had no idea that was the name of the metal scrolls that held shutters open. Trixie pulled me along to the rear of the store, where they stocked a large assortment of food and treats for cats and dogs. “Your nose always finds the food, doesn’t it?”
    Not that I faulted her for that. I was a little bit too fond of food myself, and I had never starved like she had.
    Trixie gently pawed at a package of bat-shaped cookies made in Wagtail. I acquiesced and picked up one of the cellophane bags. “But you can’t eat one until we pay for them.”
    She jumped up, placing her tiny front paws on my knees and cocking her head.
    “Good try, sweetie. You still have to wait.”
    Back on the first floor, I collected the keys and waited in line to pay for them, the treats, and the bolt lock.
    The woman first in line at the counter must have clipped up her long blonde hair in a hurry. The barrette had gone askew. Her tresses hung lopsided and tousled as though they hadn’t been brushed. A fashionable sleeveless white dress clung to her thin frame. More appropriate for summer than fall, it appeared oddly out of place in the hardware store, as though she were heading to a cocktail party. The snazzy high heels had to be designer, and a hefty gold bracelet of linked horse snaffle bits hung on her thin wrist.
    I edged to the side for a better look at her face. “Clementine?”
    Her fingers, busy in a quilted leather Chanel wallet, froze. She winced. Sucking in a deep breath, she turned toward me. Her entire frame appeared to sag with relief. “Holly! Uh, just a sec.”
    She paid for three cans of cat food in quarters and dimes, thanked the clerk, and took her bag before stepping aside and reaching out for a hug. “Gosh, it’s good to see you. I’d heard you were moving to town.”
    We had played together as children when I came to stay with my grandmother during summer vacations. Clementine had grown up with all the luxuries of wealth. Her father was well known as the richest man in Wagtail. They bred beagles and horses on a gentleman’s farm just outside of town. But horse-crazed Clementine had never played the princess. She mucked out stalls, was always present when a horse gave birth, and could handle just about anything on the farm.
    She winced at the sound of a crash in the back of the store. “I’ve got it,” she yelled to the cashier as two young boys dashed by her. She reached out and grabbed the collars on their shirts. They squealed but she reeled them in. “Say hello to Holly.”
    “Hello, Holly.” They choked out the words with complete disinterest and wriggled out of her grasp to pet Trixie.
    “Where’s your sister?” she asked them.
    The boys looked at each other. They appeared to be twins and a handful of trouble.
    “I’m so sorry. The D-I-V-O-R-C-E”—she spelled the word—“has been hard on all of us, and I’m afraid I’ve been too indulgent.” Speaking to the children, she added, “I thought we weren’t going to act like wild monkeys anymore.”
    They giggled and ran down the aisle.
    “I’m sure they’re very sweet. How’s your dad?”
    “Off to a major dog show with Babylicious and her last litter. He’s convinced that Baby is a star. I think your grandmother’s Great Dane, Dolce, is at the show, too.”
    She winced at the sound of another crash. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe we have a mess to clean up in the back. We’ll have to get together for lunch sometime.”
    “I’d like that.” I watched as she rounded up her little boys and hustled them toward a girl about the same age. Triplets? Her daughter was trying to rebuild a pyramid display out of cans that were rolling on the floor. She carried a stuffed dog, old and threadbare in spots, that looked exactly like one Clementine had had when we were kids.
    Clementine set the boys to work picking up cans and did her best to restore the display.
    A tall,