Murder of a Creped Suzette by Denise Swanson Page A

and claim him, but she had a bad feeling that wish wouldn’t be granted unless a genie popped out of her milk carton later that morning during breakfast. Considering how likely that scenario was, she’d better come up with an alternative. Hmm. Nope. No brilliant ideas.
    She’d think about that later. According to the clock, she had more than an hour before the alarm would ring. Closing her eyes, she tried to go back to sleep, but too much occupied her mind.
    Last night, having decided not to bother Wally about the weird message she’d received, she’d given Toby a bath, using that time to consider her interspecies problem. The only solution she could come up with was to lock Bingo in the bedroom with her for the night and keep the little dog in the sunroom. The drawback was that none of the downstairs rooms had doors, and constructing a barricade to keep Toby contained had been a challenge. In the end she had settled for a folded card table, which she had duct taped flat across the sunroom’s entrance.
    As if he knew that his human was thinking about a D-O-G, Bingo meowed from the pillow next to Skye. She turned her head and discovered the cat watching her, but when she extended her hand to pet him, he moved a few inches out of her reach and meowed again.
    “Good morning to you, too.”
    Bingo glared.
    “Hey. You usually sleep with me anyway, and I lugged your litter box, not to mention your food and water bowls, up here, so what’s your problem?”
    Bingo rose, hopped off the bed, and sat facing the closed bedroom door, his tail twitching.
    “Fine.” She swung her legs over the side of the mattress. “But you’re staying in here until I work out what to do with Toby.”
    Which reminded her—she’d better check on the dog. Thank goodness he appeared to be house-trained, but it had been seven hours since his last walk.
    Skye padded barefoot down the staircase and groaned when she stepped into the foyer. Sometime during the night, Toby must have escaped the barrier she had constructed. Up and down the hall, shredded magazines and books made it look like a huge confetti balloon had burst.
    In the parlor, throw pillows had been chewed and tossed around, and the air swirled with their feathery remains. But by far the worst mess was in the kitchen. Whatever had been on the counter or table was now on the floor. Canisters of flour and sugar had been knocked to the tiles and broken open. Torn tea bags were strewn everywhere, and ribbons of cloth chewed from her pale yellow place mats added a decorative touch. How in the world had a dog less than two feet tall jumped so high and done so much damage?
    Following the trail of telltale paw prints, Skye found Toby asleep in the sunroom—right where she had left him the night before. Bits of what might have been her favorite candy-apple-red lace bra adorned his fur. It was obvious that Toby could not be trusted alone while she went to work.
    As Skye leaned against the wall, her head spinning from the extent of the demolition, Toby opened one bright brown eye and gave her his best canine smile. Her shoulders slumped. It wasn’t his fault. Yesterday had been traumatic for him, and last night she’d left him alone too long. A bored doggie was a destructive doggie.
    When she scooped him up, he yipped excitedly. “Do you need to go outside?” she asked.
    He yelped again, and she carried him to the back door. Shoving her feet into a pair of neon orange Crocs, she clipped on his leash and trudged down the back steps. It crossed her mind that if she were to keep Toby, she’d have to have her backyard fenced.
    Once his immediate needs were taken care of, the little dog ate his breakfast and settled down for a nap. Hoping he stayed asleep, Skye cleaned up the mess he had made, then hurried upstairs to get ready for work.
    After a quick shower, Skye walked into her bedroom just as the radio alarm she’d forgotten to shut off clicked on. As she stood looking into her closet, trying