Bite the Biscuit (A Barkery & Biscuits Mystery) (32 page)

I recognized it immediately, especially when she pulled out a hypodermic needle and small bottle of liquid—all with one hand, since she was still holding the gun.

“No,” I said. Once more, the longer she talked, the longer I lived.

But I knew what she intended to do with that.

“This was labeled
Euthanasia, Large Dogs
. You’d know better than me what it is, but I assume it’s for putting animals down when they have no chance at recuperation, right?”

“Maybe. But why use that?” My voice was so hoarse not even I could completely understand what I said.

“Because everyone will think it was your veterinarian friend who killed you. Very convenient that you went out to dinner with him tonight.”

“But no one there knew us.” Would pointing out flaws in her plan help or harm me?

“Some noticed your dogs, I’m sure. And I can get an anonymous tip to the cops. No matter how stupid they are around here, they’ll follow up and know that you were with Dr. Storme, and that he’d have unlimited access to this stuff.” She waved the hypodermic.

“But he has no reason to kill me.”

“Well, neither do I—at least none that anyone would suspect.”

She might have been right, although I’d told a few people that I was questioning both Dinah and her. Even so … well, determining who would be arrested for killing me was a whole lot less important at the moment than making sure I stayed alive.

I wasn’t big, but I weighed more than most large dogs. Even so, the pentobarbital that was probably in that vial could do some real damage, even if I survived. Which I might not.

I had to do something—but what?

If I didn’t let her inject me, she’d shoot me. Either way, she might also kill Biscuit.

I had come back into the kitchen in front of her and had turned to watch her enter through the door from the Barkery. At the moment, I was closer to the back door than she was. I wasn’t facing that direction, but if I turned and I dove for it, could I possibly reach it?

I doubted it, but—

Suddenly I heard a crash behind me. “Attack, Hugo!” shouted Reed’s most-welcome voice.

But—“She has a gun!” I screamed, whirling to face them as they came through the back door and trying to protect them with my body.

No need, as it turned out. Yes, Reed was there, but he pulled Hugo back immediately as his place in the door was filled by one of my dear detective friends, Wayne Crunoll. The other, Bridget Morana, was right behind him.

“Drop it,” Wayne ordered, aiming a gun at Judy.

When Judy didn’t immediately obey, he raised the weapon higher and looked really ready to fire.

Judy must have thought so too. I heard her gun drop. The two cops, followed by some others in uniform, burst into the room and sped behind me.

When I turned, Judy was being taken into custody.

I nearly fell to the floor to hug Biscuit, just as Reed and Hugo ran in too. Reed helped me to my feet and held me tightly.

It was finally over.

THIRTY

I
T WAS FAIRLY EARLY
on Monday morning. I was in the kitchen, gloves on, electric mixer at the ready while I measured the ingredients for liver biscuits—the ones Reed said were Hugo’s favorite. Biscuit loved them too, and they sold well in the Barkery.

Plus, even I liked the meaty aroma.

I tried not to think—much—about yesterday, the last time I’d been in the kitchen, but I had little success with that. I’d already popped into the Barkery shop a couple of times this morning to check on Biscuit, which was unnecessary since all was under control now.

I’d somehow managed to get a little sleep that night and turn up bright and early at the shops. On top of everything else, the rain that had been threatening had finally arrived, but I didn’t mind. Getting wet while walking Biscuit was only another sign that we remained alive.

And as exhausted as I was, I intended to keep both Barkery and Biscuits and Icing on the Cake open this entire day, on my own if necessary.

I’d scrubbed all visible surfaces in the kitchen first, including the floor. Not just because Biscuit, now loose in the Barkery, had been there briefly, but because I could—now that my kitchen had been released as a crime scene. I didn’t know which might have added more contamination to the room: my dog or the technicians and whatever investigative materials they’d used, plus whatever leaves or mud they’d tracked in.

But though I’d worked intensely, I’d gotten it done fairly quickly so I could get down to the work I really wanted to do.

By myself.

Judy had been the assistant scheduled to come in and help today. And that clearly wasn’t going to happen.

I decided to try calling Dinah later, in case she could come in. Or she might wind up calling me first. I’d turned on the TV first thing when I woke up, and the news remained full of the story that had been breaking last night: the arrest of a suspect in the recent murder of Myra Ethman of Knobcone Heights, California. An arrest of a viable suspect in a murder case was apparently big news everywhere.

Especially with the story behind the arrest—an attack in a store in the middle of the night. Lots of angst. Lots of photos from helicopters of the crime scene, which had been under investigation till way into the wee hours. Lots of announcers outside looking serious as they described what they believed had happened there earlier.

And despite my keeping the volume low that morning, Neal had come into the living room and joined me first thing—a rarity for him.

He knew, of course, what had happened.

After my detective buddies arrested Judy and got my initial statement, it had been darned late. I’d needed to go home.

Which I did, more or less. Reed, who’d also hung around and given a statement and received my thanks, insisted on following me to my house. He understood that I needed my car and could drive it just fine. Or so I’d hoped.

But I’d had to go slowly since my whole body was still quivering.

I’d pulled into my driveway and parked there, figuring my shaking could cause me to scrape the sides of my car if I drove into the garage. I grabbed Biscuit’s leash and she followed me as I exited.

Reed was right there with Hugo. “You’re sure you’re okay?” His eyes seemed to scrutinize me for the truth, and his dark, wavy hair was mussed enough that I suspected he’d been running his hands through it.

He’d never looked better to me.

Although …

“I’m fine,” I assured him. I’d let him come with me to walk both dogs under the neighborhood’s streetlights, and then he and Hugo accompanied Biscuit and me to the door.

I’d no sooner put the key into the lock then the door opened quickly. Neal stood there in sweat pants and a tank top, his usual nighttime wear. “Carrie, are you okay? What happened?”

How did he know that anything had happened? I’d have to ask him that. “Let’s go inside,” I said.

I didn’t kick Reed and Hugo out. I poured us all some water—no caffeine, and no alcohol either at this point. And then our landline rang.

“That’s how I know,” Neal told me, reading my thoughts. “Some friends and acquaintances called to talk to you and see how you were—probably looking for a blow-by-blow description of what went on tonight, thanks to all those breaking news stories on TV. And there’ve been a lot of people we don’t know, too, from all over the country.”

“Media,” I surmised, and he nodded.

“I tried calling you, but you must have had your phone turned off,” he said. I nodded. “So tell me about it.”

I gave a brief narration to my brother about the night’s events, with Reed sitting beside me on the couch and adding his two cents’ worth now and then.

Both Neal and I asked Reed how he’d happened to be there at the time Judy made it clear she intended to take me out.

“Well, our discussion over dinner did make me wonder which of your assistants was the baddie,” he said to me. “And I knew you were going onto your computer to try to figure it out. I wanted to know too. I considered calling you later to ask. I also considered banging on the door and asking you if I could watch over your shoulder. The latter seemed most appealing, especially since I was sitting in my car parked in front of your shops. But when I saw you come into the Barkery the second time, after turning down the lights, and take Biscuit with you into the kitchen—heck, I know you as someone who follows rules, even though you might have lapsed by accident with those cookies.”

He raised his hands as if to fend off my objection. “Which we now know wasn’t the case,” he continued. “But I also saw a movement near the door back to the kitchen and got worried. I figured it would be better to apologize for being over the top if I called the cops when nothing was wrong … so I called them, and they came. We eavesdropped at the back door. And then I—we—burst in before anything really bad happened.”

“Thank you, Reed,” I’d said softly, realizing that the look I leveled on him held more than gratitude. He had to really care about me to put himself, and Hugo too, in danger that way—with the cops behind rather than in front of them.

“Wow, sis,” Neal had finally said, standing up from the chair facing us and coming over to give me a hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” He’d then put his hand out to Reed for a shake. “And thank you,” he concluded, in one of the most earnest tones I’ve ever heard my brother use.

“You’re very welcome,” Reed said.

Their interchange had added to my discomfort about … well, almost everything.

What had kept me up for a while despite my exhaustion that night, and kept my mind swirling in the morning as I worked in the kitchen, was that I considered myself an entirely modern woman. I liked to watch adventure movies now and then, sure. But my preference was for those where the superheroes also included super-
heroines.

I wasn’t pleased that I’d been rescued. Not that I had any suicidal notions that I’d have been better off if Judy had succeeded in killing me. Not at all. But I kept wondering what I could have done to fight her off and save Biscuit and me all by myself.

Well, it didn’t truly matter. I was okay. Biscuit was okay. I was no longer a murder suspect.

And I was really, really grateful to Reed for all he had done … and I kept wondering what he actually thought of me, to have hung out outside the Barkery like that and then put himself in danger.

Maybe we had a chance at a relationship after all …

I jumped as I heard a noise behind me and whirled, holding the arm of the electric mixer up defensively, its blades whirling. All I accomplished was making a mess of the batter, splattering it around me in the kitchen.

Fortunately, the person who’d come in the back door was Dinah. I didn’t have to use the mixer as a weapon.

She laughed, but I also saw tears in her eyes. Her face looked strained, not so youthful. “Oh, Carrie, I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said. She approached and we engaged in a long hug. “I’m so sorry. I argued with Judy a lot, yes, but I had no idea she would hurt anyone, let alone murder Myra. Or want to murder you.” She looked fiercely into my eyes. “Is that true? That’s what’s on the news.”

I moved back a little and turned to reach for some paper towels so I could wipe off the counters and floor where the batter had splashed—yet another bout of cleaning this room today, but easier than the last.

“I can’t tell you for sure what’s in someone else’s mind,” I said, trying to act both brave and noncommittal. “But—well, yeah. Judy was definitely threatening me.” I paused. “I’m really glad to see you, Dinah. You weren’t scheduled to come in today, but—well, can you help out?”

“Absolutely. And any other day you want me, too. Every day, even.”

Suspicious person that I was, I wondered if she intended to somehow swipe my shops out from under me. Or maybe it was all good. Now that she’d been shown to be the superior assistant, she intended to live up to that.

We were busy that day, of course. Some people were truly there to buy dog and people treats. Others were there out of curiosity, and Dinah and I nevertheless encouraged them to buy from at least one of the stores. I also got Dinah to prepare the special cake that our customers yesterday had ordered from Icing.

We took our lunches at separate times. Wanting caring company around me, I decided to go to Cuppa-Joe’s. Both Joe and Irma gave Biscuit and me big hugs. They had the TV on over the coffee bar area—and guess what was on the news.

I didn’t want to get them in trouble for having a non-service dog inside the coffee shop, but I wanted to hear the report—especially since it appeared that Elise Ethman was being interviewed by one of the reporters. I picked Biscuit up.

“Why don’t you just come into our office?” Irma asked, sympathy written all over her slightly aging face. “We can watch it there.”

“Thanks.” I followed her out of the serving area and down a hallway. The office was fairly roomy, and after turning her computer screen around so we could both see it, she sat on one chair while pointing me to another. I put Biscuit on the floor, and all three of us watched the news unfold as one of the servers brought in lunch.

Sure enough, Elise was still being interviewed. She expressed sorrow and disbelief that the person who’d killed her sister-in-law Myra was someone who barely knew her: Judy Zelener. It made no sense to her, and yet she appeared a bit relieved to have learned that the suspect wasn’t a relative, either by blood or marriage.

Next, the announcer interviewed Harris Ethman. He, too, expressed sorrow and skepticism. He didn’t mention me by name but hinted that the suspect had a connection to another person, her employer, who’d argued with his poor dead wife about their competing businesses. And maybe that person had somehow put the current suspect up to committing the terrible deed. There was some indication, he said, that a leash very similar to the one used to strangle his wife had been bought by that person at his very shop.

Harris’s eyes grew even shiftier at that, and my suspicion that he’d forged that receipt he gave the cops grew even stronger. Why? To frame me? To get suspicion off of him? Or had he simply been using the situation to help build his own pet business while trashing mine?