Bite the Biscuit (A Barkery & Biscuits Mystery) (3 page)

When I got near the corner where Myra stood, apparently holding court since she was the only one talking, I felt myself freeze.

She was continuing to act as nasty as her husband, while apparently trying—unsuccessfully—to maintain a civil demeanor. “But this place looks so tacky now, don’t you think?” She was looking at Billi with an expression that suggested the kind of disgust she might feel at finding a tick on her dog. “I mean, I still don’t know why our city granted a building permit for this remodel.”

She did know, though. Despite her fighting it, my permit had gone through. I assumed she was now criticizing Les and Billi, as representatives of the town, just as she had criticized me.

“I thought from the first that dividing one store into two was a bad idea,” she continued, “and even the appearance of this poor quality remodeling job proves it. Maybe it would have been better if she had at least hired locally, a really good contractor like our own Walt Hainner. He and his crew just do wonders around here, both constructing new buildings and remodeling. But, no, Ms. Kennersly had to take her building permit and wave it at a lesser contractor, one of those outfits from Big Bear.” She said the latter as if she was speaking about some inner city slum instead of a very nice neighboring town in the same mountain range.

Fortunately, Billi just smiled and said nothing while Les rolled his eyes. “You know, Myra,” Les said, “we Ethmans have occasionally hired contractors from Big Bear. In fact, didn’t you find one you liked when you and Harris remodeled your house two years ago? What was his name? J—”

“Never mind that,” Myra snapped. She must have recognized that her audience had expanded beyond the two City Council members, and also beyond me. “I just don’t like the look of this place. But the worse thing is the crap—er, products—she’s selling here. I mean, homemade dog biscuits. I just hope our poor pets aren’t poisoned. I’m certainly not taking any of this home to my Davinia.”

Why was her attitude so over the top? Because I was an upstart, a relative newcomer to Knobcone Heights, and not a member of one of its top-echelon families? Because she really was concerned about the potential competition to her pet shop? Some other reason I couldn’t even guess? I had no idea, but I had to deal with it.

It was time for me to step into this conversation. “You absolutely don’t have to take any samples, Myra. But that doesn’t mean Davinia hasn’t tried them. I’ve been baking treats for our patients at the veterinary clinic for a while now, and sending some home with them when appropriate. Didn’t you bring Davinia in a few months ago when she’d apparently eaten something in your yard that didn’t agree with her? She’d been throwing up, and after making sure there was no indication she’d eaten anything poisonous, Dr. Kline prescribed some meds and also sold you some of the bland and soothing treats I developed to help our patients with tummy problems.”

“Well, that’s different from giving them garbage made from untried recipes like the stuff here, and—”

“They. Are. Not. Garbage.” Okay, I was losing my cool now. I took a deep breath. “And I have tried them out, on Biscuit, my friends’ dogs, and our veterinary patients. As I’ve said, they’re all made with only the finest ingredients and no preservatives like most of the crap sold in your store. And—”

I made myself stop. I had previously taken the position that there was room for both establishments here, and I intended to continue on the high road, not criticizing the Ethmans despite what they were trying to do to me. “Sorry,” I said. “I know you only sell foods and treats made by reputable manufacturers. It’s just that my homemade products are even better. But there are fewer of them. They might even complement what you’re selling. So, like I said, our two businesses can coexist.”

“Like hell they can!” Myra took a step toward me, her hands clenched at her waist into fists.

I felt my eyes widen. I might despise this woman and the malicious position she was taking, but I didn’t really want to fight with her. Not physically, at least.

Before I was attacked, though, my dear boss wended his way through the crowd.

Dr. Arvus Kline—known by all as Arvie—was in his sixties. He looked even older, with all that remained of his hair, silvery wisps, hanging over a face filled with deep wrinkles. “Carrie, my dear, how wonderful this is. Congratulations on opening your store.” He reached out toward where I still held the new treat tray—now nearly empty—and took a couple, then rubbed my upper arm in a short, friendly pat.

“Thanks, Arvie.” I gave him a warm and genuine smile. I owed so much to him. He had allowed me to experiment with giving my treats to his patients, for one thing. Of course, we’d always talked about each dog’s needs and the ingredients I was using and why, so he’d basically helped me work out some of my recipes.

In addition, he had funded my remodeling of the building into two stores. I’d only borrowed the money from him, of course, and would start paying it back with interest next month. But getting a bank loan would have been iffy and a lot more expensive.

Arvie had also allowed me to keep my job at the vet clinic part-time. I’d wanted to make sure I maintained an income as I started my new venture. Plus I loved being a vet tech.

But not as much as I loved opening my own business.

“Are all these the same kinds of treats you’ve distributed around our clinic?” he asked.

“Pretty much, but with some additional ones too.” I glanced around with a smile, knowing that people around us were still eavesdropping. They might find this upbeat conversation less exciting than the ones I’d had with the Ethmans, but this was the kind of stuff I really wanted them to hear. “They’re all made with the ingredients that you and I talked about in advance, and since you’re one heck of a veterinarian, I knew I was doing things right.” Since not all the people here would know who Arvie was—townsfolk, yes, tourists, no—I’d made sure to mention his job. His credentials lending credence to my work couldn’t be beat.

“Hi, Arvus. Hi, Carrie.” Another vet had just joined us.

Dr. Reed Storme had only started practicing at Arvie’s clinic a couple of months ago. Although I was still employed there part time, I’d been here at my new shops a lot, supervising the work, and hadn’t been around the veterinary hospital as much as before. I’d had coffee with Reed several times and wouldn’t have minded getting to know the new vet better. I’d heard rumors of his background in the military. He looked like one hunky guy. But even more important, I had observed his caring attention to his patients, including a dog who’d been hit by a car, and I believed he was a really good doctor.

For the moment, I just returned his greeting. I also answered a few questions about why I’d done this—loud enough for those around us to hear. “As you know, I opened Barkery and Biscuits partly because I love dogs and want to treat them specially, not only medically the way I do as a vet tech at your clinic.”

Reed nodded. There was a strange expression on his handsome yet somewhat rugged face. Maybe I’d said too much and he thought I believed him stupid, which I didn’t.

I glanced around. “I just want to make sure our guests here know that too,” I explained. “Anyhow, my friend Brenda Anesco ran her Icing on the Cake bakery out of this place before I divided it into two shops. I think I mentioned to you that she has to move away to care for her ailing mother and was looking for someone to take over her bakery, and I got the idea of keeping it going yet starting Barkery too.”

Arvie nodded while Reed’s dark brows rose in apparent interest. He had rich, wavy black hair and just a hint of a five o’clock shadow, which made sense since it was late in the day.

I talked a little more about my idea for the Barkery and my love of dogs, and about putting together my recipes, some of which I’d already described before. But Arvie and Reed hadn’t heard it. Neither had everyone around us. In fact, I’d seen Neal, still in charge of Biscuit, working on increasing the flow of visitors so that as many were coming in as leaving. Which meant I now had a new group of people near me, some with dogs. I would have to get a third tray of samples from the kitchen soon.

I also needed to duck into Icing and make sure all was going well. While the Barkery might be my baby, Icing was now a beloved stepchild. Plus, despite some decrease in its business lately, it was the tried-and-true part, and I had to make sure I took good care of it. It was a critical part of my exciting new venture.

I finished my current spiel, glad about the interest on the faces around me.

“Thanks for coming,” I told their owners. “I’ll be back here with more samples soon, but I need to visit the bakery next door.”

“I need to get back to the clinic,” Arvie told me.

Impulsively, I gave him a hug. “I’ll be there for my shift tomorrow afternoon as promised.” I glanced at Reed, wondering if he’d be there then. No matter.

But Reed said, “I’ll see you then.”

Which made me smile.

At least until I glanced at the corner where the Ethmans still stood talking with their uncle and Billi Matlock. Why hadn’t they left already? They didn’t like my place, and I didn’t like their being here.

As if she felt my glance, Myra looked in my direction and scowled.

Maybe I needed to give her a hint. I maneuvered my way through the crowd toward them. “I’m so delighted that you’re still here,” I lied, raising my voice so people could hear. “It shows how much you support my new venture.”

“You know we hate it,” Myra responded icily.

“Then you are very welcome,” I said sweetly, smiling all the more, “to leave.”

THREE

I
GESTURED GRANDLY, LIKE
a TV hostess, in the direction of the door, then turned away quickly without confirming whether my now-even-more-unwelcome guests were heading toward it. It was time for me to go into the kitchen.

Leaving the mostly happy rumblings of my customers behind me for a second, I stepped into the Barkery side of the kitchen and approached the center dividing shelves to fill another tray with sample dog treats. I headed back just long enough to lay the tray down on the counter near where Judy was working the cash register. Then I hurried into Icing.

This shop was just as crowded with guests as the Barkery, and I knew some of them here too. I was thrilled! People were shoulder-to-shoulder even as my other assistant Dinah maneuvered her way among them with a tray of human treats: chocolate chip and sugar cookies and mini-scones and more.

Brenda was still there too, schmoozing with our guests, handing out samples of our sweets, saying farewell to those she knew. I decided just to observe before stepping in and showing that I was now the boss—at least, Dinah’s boss. When and if Brenda would ever return was still up in the air. I’d promised Brenda she could always come back and help me—knowing that would only happen if her mother didn’t survive.

In any case, I’d officially purchased her business, thanks to Arvie’s loan.

I crossed my arms and rested my back against the jamb of the door into the kitchen, grinning as I observed. Dinah seemed in her glory, giving out the samples, smiling and encouraging people to taste and then buy some of the people-focused baked goods.

When I’d first met Dinah, I’d thought her awfully young for the job of full-time bakery assistant. She looked as though she must still be in high school, with her huge blue eyes, slightly acned skin, and a body that appeared to bear some baby fat. Turned out I was wrong. She had even finished college, gotten her degree in English, and considered herself a writer in her spare time. For now, she said, she was not only studying baking while working with Brenda, but was using Knobcone Heights as a research venue while she studied people.

I liked her. I also liked Judy.

What I didn’t like was their incessant sniping at one another. When Brenda had started talking about having to leave to care for her mom, both assistants thought their boss would turn the bakery over to one of them. And each felt certain that she’d be the chosen one.

Instead, Brenda had chosen me, as well as my modifications to the store—partly because she couldn’t keep the business, and also so she wouldn’t have to choose between Judy and Dinah.

So far, neither had quit. Both were acting as if their former allegiance to Brenda had transferred to me—even though Judy had started dropping hints about wanting to open her own bakery one of these days.

Would their truce last? I wasn’t sure, but one thing I did know was that I appreciated the knowledge and dedication of both of them. Despite how much I loved to bake for dogs, my training and experience were all as a veterinary assistant. Though I’d fantasized for a long time about becoming an entrepreneur and being in charge, what I knew about running a store was only as a patron, not as an owner/manager. Till now.

So far, both Dinah and Judy had been great about showing me how things were done. They knew the pastry recipes Brenda used and had each demonstrated how to bake cupcakes and muffins and more. Even though Brenda had tutored me on how to use the identical cash registers on the counters beside the display cases in each store, as well as how to do the bookkeeping on the computer kept in the office at the rear of the kitchen, the two assistants vowed to make sure I didn’t flub processing credit cards or cash when I rang up sales.

The office was new, and very small. I’d added it during remodeling just so I’d have a door to lock my computer, credit cards, and accounting information behind. It held only a small desk, with a laptop computer that was usually closed, plus a chair and a two-drawer file cabinet.

And my assistants? I suspected that having only two of them to help run two shops wouldn’t work well, especially when we’d be open every day and I worked part-time elsewhere. But both Judy and Dinah had seemed eager to give it a try, so I hadn’t spent the time or money to hire anyone else—yet. I’d just have to see how things worked out now that both stores were open.

I’d been observing long enough. Smiling, I strode into the shop and approached Brenda. She was clasping hands with an older lady I didn’t know. When the lady looked at me, Brenda followed her gaze. Tears shone in her eyes.