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The Dog Who Knew Too Much by Krista Davis Read Online (FREE)

The Dog Who Knew Too Much by Krista Davis Read Online

Read The Dog Who Knew Too Much by Krista Davis full novel online free here

MEMBERS OF THE SUGAR MAPLE INN FAMILY

 

Liesel Miller (Holly’s Oma)—co-owner of the Sugar Maple Inn

Gingersnap, a golden retriever and canine ambassador of the inn

Holly Miller—Liesel’s granddaughter and co-owner of the inn

Trixie, a Jack Russell terrier

Twinkletoes, a calico cat and feline ambassador of the inn

Zelda York—front-desk employee of the inn

Shelley Dixon—waitress at the inn

Mr. Huckle—elderly “butler” at the inn

Casey Collins—night manager at the inn

WAGTAIL RESIDENTS

 

Runemaster, “LaRue”

Sugar McLaughlin

Augie and Glenda Hoover

Stan, their son

Dolly, their Yorkshire terrier

Diane Blushner

Stella, her boxer

Clara Dorsey

Tavish, her Scottie

PIPPIN & ENTOURAGE

 

Pippin—a border collie and Labrador mix

Jim McGowen—Pippin’s handler

Marlee Seidel—Pippin’s media assistant

Camille Ladouceur—actor

Howard Hirschtritt—actor

Finch Morrison—actor

Rae Rae Babetski—chaperone

 

 

One

 

 

 

Most cats would have fled from all the barking and yipping. But Twinkletoes, my long-haired calico, took it in stride. She sat on top of the desk in the main lobby of the Sugar Maple Inn and yawned as if the commotion was perfectly normal. A caramel spot and a chocolate spot on top of her head looked like she had shoved sunglasses above her brow. Her green eyes almost glowed as she peered at me.

“You’re very brave,” I whispered to her.

She mewed and rubbed her head against my hand, twisting as if she wanted to make the most of being stroked.

My grandmother, Liesel Miller, whom I called Oma, German for grandma, joined me in the main lobby, where the grand staircase led up to the rooms. It was the hub of the inn, where guests gathered to eat in the dining area or to lounge in the Dogwood Room, which wasn’t actually a room. It was all one large open space, divided by the grand staircase. Opposite the stairs was the front door, which led out to a covered porch and, beyond that, the town of Wagtail.

In the accent that I found charming but she wished to lose, Oma said, “It is Pippinmania! I have never seen such a thing.”

“I guess they’re not exaggerating when they call Pippin ‘America’s Favorite Dog.’” I had thought that was some kind of clever marketing ploy, but if these people were any indication, it was true.

In the dining area of the inn, adults and children wore fake-fur dog ears in a creamy white color. The ears stood up at the base of the headband that held them on, but the tops flopped over. They were quintessential puppy ears. The people barked. And yowled. And the dogs who were with them joined in, undoubtedly confused about their humans trying to speak canine. Fridays were always busy, but this was highly unusual.

My own Jack Russell terrier, Trixie, sat at my feet, watching and listening as if she didn’t know quite what to make of it all. She would be meeting Pippin shortly when he arrived with his costars in an upcoming TV show for what had been billed as a much-deserved vacation for Pippin in Wagtail. With fans like these, I suspected he wouldn’t be getting much rest.