To Catch a Treat (10 page)

“Me neither,” I said, and he smiled.

fourteen

As good as it
felt to walk beside Reed, I'd hoped to get a chance, sometime on the hike, to speak with Neal alone. Failing that, even talking to Janelle might get me what I wanted to know: whether she really had been avoiding Neal, and, if so, why she appeared so glad to be with him now.

But they were together throughout the rest of our outing. They acted quite friendly with one another, even flirtatious, so either Neal had been wrong or Janelle had changed her mind about interacting with him.

Or maybe she'd simply not had time yesterday to talk to him, since as well as being busy at the shops, she was probably worried about her meeting with the detectives today.

In any event, I didn't want to ask those potentially uncomfortable questions when they were together. I'd hopefully be able to learn later.

When the hike was over and we were all back at the resort, I couldn't ask then, either. Reed and Hugo had picked Biscuit and me up at home, and he drove us back there without lingering.

When he parked on the street in front of my house, I hopped out and opened the back door to get Biscuit. “Stay,” I said to Hugo, and the Belgian Malinois naturally obeyed, although he looked a little sad since Reed had exited the vehicle, too.

But Reed only accompanied Biscuit and me on my dog's brief and final walk of the evening, then escorted us to the front door. There, he pulled me into his arms. We shared a very pleasant good night kiss—as we had privately last night, after our Chinese dinner at my home—but nothing more at that time.

Neal was here now, as he'd been then. I supposed it would be okay if he knew that Reed and I were growing closer, but I wasn't comfortable with that yet.

“See you tomorrow,” I told Reed. I had a shift scheduled at the clinic in the afternoon, but because of something I now wanted to do there, I'd have shown up anyway.

“See you tomorrow,” he repeated, and Biscuit and I walked into the house.

I did get the information I'd wanted from Janelle early the next morning, when she showed up to help me start baking for the day. I'd checked the calendar, and our official scheduler Vicky had, in fact, penciled Janelle in that day, even though I'd thought Frida was due to be scheduled early.

“I get to bake those cinnamon apple dog treats?” Janelle asked with excitement after leaving Go in the Barkery and joining me in the kitchen.

“Sure.” I let her start mixing the ingredients before I began asking my questions about her and Neal.

Her first reaction was to look uncomfortable, but she did respond. “I really like your brother, Carrie. And I think he likes me. If things go well, my intent is to stay here in Knobcone Heights for a nice long time. But … well, the past few days, I thought things weren't going well at all. Those detectives backed down a little yesterday when I told them I'd lawyered up and Ted Culbert arrived at the police station. Thanks for the introduction, by the way. After that, their questions all seemed to center on who I'd seen at the dog parks in LA at the times dogs disappeared, and how often Ada had shown up then. I could only give rough estimates, but they seemed okay with that. They stopped pushing me about how well I'd known Ada, and how much I might have hated her if I thought she'd stolen Go. That kind of thing.”

“Then does it sound like the cops will lay off you now?”

“I don't know. I hope so. I felt so relieved after it was over that I returned Neal's calls. Turned out he was scheduling that hike for last night, so I asked to come along.”

“Glad you did.” I meant it. I liked seeing Neal happy. Plus, having Janelle around and talking meant I could continue to eliminate her from my list of murder suspects.

Or so I hoped. We seemed to be becoming friends, in addition to her interest in Neal. And I definitely appreciated her photography and promotion of my shops on the Internet.

That made me rethink the other potential suspects I'd come up with as I worked opposite her in the kitchen the rest of that early morning. I was baking some Icing treats to start the day, although my concentration wavered.

I knew the killer wasn't Neal. And there was an entire world of people out there I hadn't met who might have known and disliked Ada.

There were two people, though, whom I wondered about and could possibly look into more. One was Janelle's friend Delma, who'd been staying with her here. I hadn't seen her since the party that night and didn't even know if she was still in town.

Might she have done something about Ada in support of her buddy Janelle and her dog? Delma was also apparently a dog lover, although I hadn't yet had an opportunity to meet and pat her little Boston terrier. She could also have wanted to stop Ada from further dognappings.

Assuming Ada really had been a dognapper. Plus, there were some big assumptions if I was genuinely considering Delma a suspect who was angry enough to do something to back up her friend and maybe save some dogs … that the something she could do was to commit murder.

The second possibility I still pondered was that guy Tim, whom I knew had dogs with him. Were they his—or stolen?

He'd known Ada, but did he have a motive to kill her? Did he kill her?

I assumed Janelle would know more about Delma than about Tim. “So how is your friend Delma enjoying her visit here?” I asked casually as I picked up a rolling pin and started rolling out the dough I'd been working on. “I take it she's not much of a hiker, since she didn't join us last night either.”

“She's been mostly staying in our hotel with Shobie.” Janelle's nose crinkled as though she smelled something bad. “Delma's come down with some kind of stomach bug, although she's tried to stay away from me as much as possible, especially when she's needed to throw up. Good thing our hotel has a nice-size lobby with restrooms. And she's even seen a doctor.”

“Oh, that's a shame,” I said. “When did she start feeling bad?”

“The night of the bar fiasco.” Janelle was arranging round balls of dog cookies on a metal tray before putting them into the oven. Good thing she was studying her work and not looking at me. She might have been able to read my thoughts from my face.

Interesting timing to start feeling ill. Had Delma eaten something that didn't agree with her? Gotten an infection of some sort?

Or did murdering Ada make her sick?

It hadn't been that long ago, after all. Today was Friday, and Ada had been killed on Monday night. A lot had happened since then, and it felt like ages had passed.

But if the killing had in some way affected Delma's tummy, she could easily still be feeling it. And if she'd stayed away from Janelle to throw up that night, she might not be able to vouch for Janelle's presence at the hotel overnight, and Janelle might not be able to vouch for her either.

“I hope she feels better fast,” I said, cleaning my hands off with a paper towel so I could go around and open the oven door for Janelle's tray.

“Oh, she's much better now. In fact, she promised she'd come in to Icing this morning, first thing. Now that she can eat again, she wants to try some of the scones and other people treats.”

Interesting. It seemed like my mentioning her had conjured her up.

In fact, it was now seven o'clock, so I washed my hands in the kitchen sink to prepare to open the shop doors. Dinah would arrive to help at any minute.

But Delma preceded her, holding a little black and white Boston terrier who was undoubtedly Shobie. She was waiting outside when I opened Icing's door. “Hi,” she said. “I want some sweets, and I want them fast.” Her forty-something face grinned at me, and I smiled back.

“Let's put Shobie in the Barkery first, and then you're welcome to come into Icing.” I reached over to pat her dog's head, and the little fellow turned to sniff my hand.

I went outside with them and led them in through the Barkery's door, then showed Delma how to hook Shobie's leash to Biscuit's crate right beside Go. The three dogs traded sniffs while wagging tails—Shobie's was tiny and stubby. I laughed.

“Okay, come on into Icing.” I led Delma through the Barkery into my human bake shop. Once inside, I paused, stepping out of her way. “How are you feeling?”
And did you happen to get sick because you committed a murder?

“Oh, did Janelle tell you I was sick? Not sure what caused it, but thank heavens I'm over it now, and I'm really hungry. So you can sell me a lot of stuff.” That grin widened even more.

I found myself liking this woman with her short black cap of hair, friendly personality, and sensitive stomach. If she happened to have killed Ada to protect dogs and her friend …

Well, I didn't want the killer to be Delma, but I'd rather it be her than the person I hoped to clear—Janelle. Unless, of course, Janelle had actually been the murderer.

If so, I'd rather know than not know—and be there to pick up the pieces once Neal found out, too.

Siblings stick together.

It was past noon. Delma hadn't stayed long, but she'd done as she'd mentioned and bought a substantial number of Icing treats, as well as some from the Barkery for Shobie.

Later, she had come back without her dog to go to lunch with Janelle. “After all I ate, and since I'm just recuperating, I'm surprised I have any appetite left,” she'd told me as I worked behind the counter in the Barkery. Then she'd winked. “Of course, I've saved some of my treats for later, too.”

She and Janelle left then, since Dinah and Frida were there to watch the shops. A good thing, since Biscuit and I were heading to work at the clinic.

I thought about stopping for lunch and coffee at Cuppa-Joe's, but decided not to today. I had the thing I wanted to do before starting my shift, and I didn't want to be late. I allowed my pup to take her time sniffing and doing what she needed to in the town square. But soon we got past it and reached Hill Street, where the clinic was.

As always, I stopped in the back with Biscuit to leave her with the doggy daycare staff. Then, hoping I'd see Reed, I hurried through the hallways to the clinic's office before heading to the room to change into my scrubs. I would lock my purse in my locker in a few minutes—after doing some quick research, jotting down what I found, and sticking it inside my bag.

We vet techs often took turns staffing the welcome desk facing the reception area. Behind it was the general office we all used, complete with computers. Fortunately, the tech staffing the area at the moment was Kayle, an enthusiastic guy who'd recently decided to go to veterinary school. He was still applying, but he was so committed and smart that I figured he'd have his choice of where to go.

I was glad to see him there, though, since I intended to look on the computer and didn't think he'd be terribly curious about what I was doing.

Yolanda, on the other hand, would undoubtedly shuffle by and look at the page I was studying.

I didn't intend to take long. In fact, I could justify my search somewhat, since I'd worked with the dogs purportedly owned by the guy whose records I was hunting: Tim Smith. I could simply tell anyone who asked that I was just checking to see if he'd been back for a follow-up with his injured dogs.

What I really wanted, though, was the address he had given us for our records. I just hoped he'd used one that was local and real, rather than make something up.

The address I found for him was in Blue Jay, a small mountain town near Lake Arrowhead, not far from Knobcone Heights. At least the town was real. I did a quick check on my smartphone and determined that the rest of the address was real, too—although whether the house there was occupied by Tim and his dogs remained to be seen.

And I did intend to see it, as soon as I could.

I made the trip there early that evening, after I'd closed my shops. With Biscuit in a doggy seat belt in the back of my car, I headed in that direction. I figured I could grab dinner in a fast food place somewhere along the way.

The bad news was that the house at that address was small, with a relatively flat yard, and when I passed slowly by, I saw a few kids outside playing ball on the lawn. They were watched by adults I assumed were their parents.

I didn't see Tim, and as far as I could tell, there were no dogs around.

Drat.

I kept my windows open nonetheless and hung around, continuing to patrol the area. Every time I heard a dog bark I headed in that direction.

My slow sleuthing eventually paid off. Perhaps I'd written the house number down wrong, but I doubted it. A couple of blocks down on the same street, I heard a bunch of dogs barking. When I drove by, I saw several in a fenced-in yard.

I didn't see the two that Tim had brought into our clinic. Those I did see—six of them—were of different shapes and sizes: a pug, a Rottweiler, two Scotties, a cocker spaniel, and an Australian shepherd.

I couldn't tell for certain, but if I had to guess from this distance, they all appeared to be purebreds to me.

fifteen

This part of the
neighborhood was interesting. The homes were spaced far apart, with large, fenced-in hilly yards. This was the mountains, after all.

A couple of homes had gardens, but most seemed unoccupied, or at least their yards were full of weeds.

Not a particularly busy block, I figured, although it did have some damaged sidewalks. But it wasn't a bad place to hoard dogs since there weren't many people around to complain.

Maybe, like some of the estate houses, these were second homes to the owners, perhaps people who liked to come up into the mountains to enjoy winter weather. They weren't here now, since this was July.

But that was speculation. Maybe all the homes were occupied at the moment, no matter how they appeared. And whether they were didn't really matter much to me.

I pondered what to do next. All I had was suspicions and sup
positions. There could be a perfectly legitimate reason for those
dogs to be at that house. Maybe it was another doggy daycare facility. Maybe Tim had nothing to do with it.

I hadn't, after all, seen the two injured dogs he'd brought to the veterinary clinic there.

And with all the dogs and the noise and the possible smells they caused, why hadn't even the few neighbors there complained?

There was a lot I didn't know and wanted to find out. But if I parked and got out of my car and started knocking on neighbors' doors asking questions, Tim, or whoever lived there, would undoubtedly find out. If there was something going on that shouldn't be—like the housing of dognapped canines—that house would undoubtedly be quickly vacated, too.

What should I do?

I decided to use my phone to take pictures of the place and its behind-the-fence occupants. I attempted to be as unobtrusive as possible, but if anyone was looking in my direction they would probably have spotted me aiming my phone. As a cover, I did hold it up and pretend to be typing in a text message. But that wouldn't really be much of a cover, since any observer could also assume I was texting pictures I'd taken to someone else.

Okay, enough here. “Ready to go?” I asked my sweet, calm Biscuit, who, despite her harness, was standing up in the back seat in reaction to my stopping and all the dog barks. She'd let out an occasional woof but mostly remained nice and quiet. Now she looked at me, her ears forward and tail wagging, responding to my question. I took it as an affirmative answer and slowly drove off.

I asked myself again, what next? This could be a criminal matter—or not. It might have something to do with Ada's murder—or not.

I didn't view the two detectives who'd grilled me and were now after Janelle to be friendly, so I didn't want to ask them for advice.

There were a couple of people I knew, though, who weren't in law enforcement but in government, and they might be able to give me some suggestions.

The easiest to find and talk to was Billi Matlock. Using my car's Bluetooth as I headed along one of the winding mountain roads back toward Knobcone Heights, I called her.

Fortunately, she was at Mountaintop Rescue helping to socialize some of the newest residents, rather than giving classes at her day spa, Robust Retreat.

She promised to meet me in twenty minutes at Cuppa-Joe's.

A short while later we sat on the patio at Cuppa's, Biscuit at my feet. Kit had already brought us our coffee, and we'd ordered some croissants and jelly—not sweets to compare with what I sold at Icing, but okay as a late-afternoon snack.

The Joes had come out to greet us when we first arrived and made a fuss over Biscuit, but they were hosting a party inside so didn't stay long. Just as well. As much as I loved being with them, I wanted to be alone with Billi for this discussion.

I'd already told Billi what was on my mind. The pretty and astute City Councilwoman appeared concerned, her deep brown eyes pensive as she looked at me. She was dressed casually that day, not in spa apparel but in dog rescue T-shirt and jeans.

“If nothing else,” she finally said slowly, “we have some jurisdictional issues. I agree that the situation bears looking into. If that place is occupied by the guy who hung out with Ada Arnist, our local police should at least be able to question him—although I assume they already have. But if he's got dogs that are possibly stolen property … ”

I knew full-well that pets were considered property and not true family members by the law. But kidnapped or stolen, the outcome should still be the same. If it were true, the perpetrator should be arrested and prosecuted, and the dogs returned to their owners—their families.

“You realize, of course, that this is all about my suspicions, thanks to my meeting Tim with Ada, and Janelle suspecting Ada of dognapping Go, and then Tim showing up at the clinic with apparently purebred dogs, and—”

“Yes, I know you have no proof. But you're a very astute person, Carrie.” Billi smiled at me. “You may be way off-base. But in case you're not, someone should look into it.”

“Someone?” I prompted.

“Well, I'm thinking that we need some good advice.” She paused. “Have you ever met Chief Loretta Jonas?”

“Yes,” I said. Chief Loretta had recently adopted a dog from Mountaintop Rescue and I'd briefly spoken with her when she brought the little schnauzer mix to the vet clinic for an exam and shots. But we'd not talked much. I had heard more from her when she was being interviewed on local television now and then, including when I was a murder suspect, and once since Ada was killed.

But from Billi's suggestion and determined expression, I suspected I was about to talk more with her now.

As she did in TV interviews, Chief Loretta Jonas wore a formal police uniform, complete with a dark jacket and medals of different sorts, none of which I could interpret. She also wore a frown.

But she had agreed to see us right away when Billi had called—and I was certain that was because her caller had been Billi. Did she try to suck up to City Council members? That I didn't know, but keeping on the Council's good side probably didn't hurt her.

The chief was likely in her fifties, with medium brown hair all in one shade that suggested the color wasn't natural. She must have frowned a lot, since the lines on her dark-complected face seemed right at home given her current irritated expression. She sat behind a desk, but I could tell she was slender. Maybe she worked out with those under her command.

In all, she seemed an impressive officer. I prepared to tell my story and concerns to her, figuring that she'd listen, thanks to Billi's presence, before telling me nicely to get lost—or get back to the clinic and help save a dog the usual way.

That was how things seemed to start out. I appeared to be a nonentity to her. “What's going on, Ms. Matlock?” the chief asked, barely sparing a glance toward me first.

We sat in her roomy but sparse office in the Knobcone Heights Police Department. Billi and I had chairs facing a sharp wooden desk that had nothing on top of it. There weren't even any file cabinets in the room. The poshest thing I saw was the chief's own plush golden desk chair.

“I'd like Ms. Kennersly to explain her concerns to you, Loretta,” Billi said. So they were on a first-name basis after all. Or at least that was the more informal way Billi intended to play it. “They have something to do with your murder investigation of Ada Arnist, although maybe only peripherally. In any event, they have something to do with a crime that's being committed down in the LA area.”

Loretta's dark brown eyes rolled again in my direction. The rest of her face appeared a touch disgusted, although I didn't know her well enough to determine if that was her usual expression. She'd looked more pleasant at the clinic, but she'd been off duty then. And of course she had looked solemn but benign during the TV interviews. Maybe her disgusted look now was how, as police chief, she got people on the defensive, which encouraged them to tell her everything so she'd start looking more approving.

“All right, Ms. Kennersly, what do you have for me?”

“First,” I said, “how's your cute little schnauzer mix. What's his name?”

Her expression thawed for an instant. “Jellybean. He's great.” Her serious expression returned. “But let's discuss the reason you're here.”

I, too, grew more serious. “Okay. I know that as part of your looking into Ms. Arnist's murder you're apparently considering Janelle Blaystone as a suspect, since she and Ada had a public argument.” I purposely put as much confidence in my tone as I could. “I'm not sure whether you know what the argument was about, though.” Maybe she did by now, but in any event I proceeded to tell her about Go.

She nodded curtly a couple of times, so I assumed that this wasn't new to her.

But I continued, mentioning that among the people who'd been at the bar that night was a friend of Ada's, Tim Smith. “I don't know all the details, but Janelle had seen Ada visiting some dog parks where other purebred dogs were stolen from in LA. I believe that Ada's mentioning Knobcone Heights may be one reason why Janelle came here.” I chose to keep that somewhat fuzzy to give a semblance of protection to Janelle, since I wasn't sure what story she'd told the police.

The police chief said nothing.

After exchanging glances with Billi, who continued to appear supportive, I went on. “Then, after Ada died, Tim brought a couple of apparent purebreds to the clinic while I was on duty as a technician. It might have meant nothing, but I was curious, especially after both had microchips but neither chip was readable by the clinic's scanner, which was in fine working order.”

I didn't mention how I'd searched for Tim's address, in case it was an improper delving into his supposed privacy, but told her I'd tried to figure out where he might be staying now and in the process had discovered a somewhat remote house, outside the small town of Blue Jay, where there were a bunch of apparent purebred dogs. Then I showed her the photos on my phone.

“So you think that makes Mr. Smith a suspect in Ms. Arnist's murder?” The chief finally spoke, nearly startling me. Her tone sounded not only skeptical, but irritated, too. “Since you were formerly a murder suspect and apparently conducted your own investigation before, that now makes you some kind of detective?”

“She did help to clear herself,” Billi said firmly. I could have hugged my friend for standing up for me, especially with that unswervingly challenging expression on her face as she regarded the chief.

“I'm just attempting to inform you of some information I obtained,” I said. “Whether it's relevant to your investigation of Ada's murder, I have no idea. But don't you law enforcement agencies work together to help each other solve crimes? If nothing else, the dogs at that house in Blue Jay might all be stolen from people down in Los Angeles. Maybe not, but shouldn't you look into it?”

Loretta nodded slowly. “As you mentioned, there might be a number of law enforcement agencies involved—those in the areas where the dogs allegedly were stolen, plus possibly the San Bernardino County Sheriff's Department, since Blue Jay doesn't have its own. And the only way we might be involved here in Knobcone Heights is if there is some potential link to the murder we're investigating.”

“You have some obligation to check with the other departments and let them know there are some possibly suspicious circumstances here, don't you, chief?” Billi's tone did not invite a negative answer. I read into it that the Knobcone Heights City Council might find a way to ensure that the local police department cooperated with those others—even if it meant chastising or otherwise punishing the local officer in charge.

I suspected that Loretta interpreted it the same way. “Whether there is an obligation is irrelevant. All law enforcement agencies generally attempt to help one another, and I certainly intend to look into this.”

“And you'll keep City Council informed about what the other agencies report to you?”

Loretta's glare suggested she wanted to shout something negative at Billi. But her tone, when she responded, was held carefully in check. “Of course, Councilwoman Matlock.”

Chief Loretta had one of her officers show us into an adjoining room, where a cop named Sergeant Himura, who had a similar irritable expression as his boss, took down the information about the dogs and the address where I'd seen them. Fortunately, he didn't ask about why I'd happened to be looking in that area.

At least my two detective buddies didn't appear at the station to give me a hard time.

But I was nevertheless surprised to see someone else I knew there: Garvy Grant. As Billi and I finally headed down the wide, well-lit hallway containing the police department's executive offices toward the exit, I saw him exit from another door.

He saw us immediately, too, and hastened toward us. He was dressed once again in his white shirt and dark trousers. “Hi,” he said, lifting his light brown eyebrows high enough on his expansive forehead to create wrinkles. “What are you doing here?”

Exactly what I'd intended to ask him. “We just had a meeting with Chief Jonas about some dogs,” I said, having no intention of getting into any specifics. “And you?”

I glanced toward the identification plaque beside the door he'd exited and noted that the office was occupied by the department's chief information officer.

What kind of information was a real estate agent looking for?

“Oh, I always check out the towns where I'm vacationing,” he said vaguely as we continued down the hallway. “You never know when a client will start asking questions about the neighborhoods, and I always like to have answers.” He glanced at his watch. “Not quite dinner time, but would you two like to join me for coffee?”

“Sorry,” I said quickly. “I need to get back to my shops.”

“And I have to hurry back to Mountaintop Rescue,” Billi said. “I always like to find out who's been there expressing interest about some of our rescues.”