To Catch a Treat (12 page)

Obsessed or not, I decided to check the house with the dogs. “Hang on,” I called to Biscuit in the backseat and sped up a bit.

It took another ten minutes for me to reach Blue Jay, then pass through it to the residential area where I'd seen all those dogs in the yard.

Tonight, I saw no dogs—but of course it had been raining.

I also saw no lights on inside the house.

Most of all, I didn't see the SUV that Tim had been driving.

Obsessed? Oh, yeah. Maybe I was nuts.

But I did that a lot when I worried about dogs.

Did I really want to get completely involved in potentially solving Ada Arnist's murder? I'd no idea if this guy was really a viable suspect. And today, at least, Janelle hadn't been harassed by the cops as if she was their only suspect.

“Let's go to Reed's and Hugo's right now,” I said to Biscuit.

I needed a diversion—and being with Reed for the next few hours would undoubtedly provide a really good one.

eighteen

Reed was in fact
a good diversion. A great one.

Although I did have to dissemble a little with him about why I'd come a little later than we'd discussed. I just told him that time had gotten away from me.

That was close enough to
Tim
getting away from me.

Our pasta dinner, with some really good wine, was delightful. So was our conversation, and our walking the dogs afterward, and—Well, I definitely had a night to remember before Biscuit and I headed home to bed.

I was quite glad to remember it the next morning, a few hours after opening my shops. I happened to be staffing the Barkery with just Biscuit's assistance at the time when Jack Loroco walked in.

I hadn't seen Jack for months, even though when I'd first met him he had taken several trips up here to Knobcone Heights to see me. Because he was romantically interested in me? I thought so, and in fact I'd been somewhat attracted to him. Still, he came to town a lot anyway for recreation—snow and water skiing, boating, hiking, and more.

And of course, he was mostly interested in my Barkery and the wonderful dog treats I'd developed myself. If VimPets would let him buy my recipes, we'd work together as his company promoted my treats on the mass market. But so far, his bosses had decided against buying them, which was a good thing. It meant I didn't have to worry about whether I really wanted to sell my recipes.

“Carrie, hi,” he said effusively as he came through the door, the bell ringing above his head.

I was waiting on a local customer, Sissy, who'd been a long-time patron of Icing before I bought it. She'd recently acquired a rescue Yorkie from Mountaintop Rescue and frequented the Barkery part of my shops a lot now. She gave me a quizzical look, then aimed her middle-aged glare at my new visitor as if irritated at his intrusion.

“Oh, sorry,” Jack said. “I don't mean to interrupt. But it's good to see you, Carrie.” He ambled over to pat Biscuit on the head through the open top of her enclosure.

“Hi, Jack,” was all I said, giving him a brief wave and finishing up with Sissy. “Now you can go next door to Icing,” I told her. “Vicky and Frida are there right now and they'll make sure you take home as many red velvet cupcakes today as you want.” That was Sissy's favorite.

“Thanks, Carrie.” She tossed another glare toward Jack before heading over to Icing.

“Sorry,” he said again, approaching me. Jack was a good looking guy, with a deep summer tan on his face and on his bare arms beneath his blue, short-sleeved dress shirt. His straight nose was prominent over his wide, smiling mouth, and his light brown hair looked longer than I'd seen it before. His slacks were khaki, his apparent favorite color for casual pants, and he wore white athletic shoes beneath them. I had a suspicion he wanted to hug me. That was fine as long as it was brief and friendly.

I made certain that it was, pulling away quickly.

“So what brings you here?” I asked.

“Just a visit for now. Oh, and I need to go say hi to Harris Ethman.”

Harris, the widower of Myra Ethman and the owner of the Knob Hill Pet Emporium, had joined his wife in giving me a hard time when I'd first opened the Barkery, claiming my shop was inappropriate competition for their pet store. But after Myra's death—and, mainly, after I was cleared of her murder—Harris and I had slowly developed a fairly civil truce, and now even recommended each other's stores to customers when appropriate.

The Emporium hadn't carried VimPets products before, but it had begun stocking some lately. I'd been in contact with Jack about it when I first saw his stuff there. He'd been aware of it, but he hadn't visited town again until now.

“Seeing Harris sounds like a good idea,” I said.

“Hey, why don't you come with me? You don't look that busy this Sunday morning, so why not?”

I wasn't that busy, and I did need some more of Biscuit's regular gourmet food—which was, in fact, manufactured by VimPets and now available at the Emporium. I could get one of my assistants to come over from Icing.

And I could take Biscuit for a walk.

Did I want to spend more time in Jack's company? Well, we could talk business. And I did like the guy, even though nothing romantic had developed.

“Sure,” I said. “Let me get someone over here to staff the Barkery and I'll be ready to go.”

The Knob Hill Pet Emporium wasn't far from my shops, just across the town square and down twisting Peak Road.

“Too bad you don't have Rigsley with you,” I told Jack as we walked. Rigsley was his dog, a large gray mixed breed whom Jack mostly left at home when he came to Knobcone Heights. He'd told me before he had a great sitter and loved his pet. I figured I'd believe this more if he didn't leave his pet at home so much.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I miss him.” His momentarily sad expression looked genuine, and I realized that he had reasons not to have his dog along on trips that were mostly business related—like this one apparently was.

It didn't take us long to get to the Emporium. Jack held the door open for Biscuit and me, and we walked in.

The Knob Hill Pet Emporium was as elite as its name, from the neon sign outside that blazed its crown logo to the areas within, where expensive items—from rhinestoned leashes to pet clothing—were displayed on rows of gold-hued metal racks. There were a few patrons there now, as well as a couple of employees whom I recognized.

Harris Ethman himself stood in a far corner talking with someone I couldn't see. I knew where the dog food I needed was displayed and could have just gone there to pick some up, but the friendly thing to do would be to say hello. So I headed with Biscuit in that direction, toward the shelves where balls of every shape and size for dogs and cats to play with were on display, passing a couple of people discussing the pros and cons of dog collars versus harnesses.

Harris's conversation must have been engaging since he didn't look around, not even, initially, when Jack reached him first.

“Hi, Harris,” Jack gushed, holding out his hand to be shaken. Harris did turn then, the edges of his always downturned eyes folding even more into a scowl. But he must have liked Jack now that he was selling VimPets products in the store, since his frown changed immediately into a smile on his edgy face beneath his receding hairline. He wore a black cotton shirt with an Emporium crown logo sparkling on the pocket.

His move to shake Jack's hand revealed who he'd been talking to: Garvy Grant.

“Hi, Carrie,” Garvy said, in a tone almost as effusive as Jack's. His smile was huge, the corners of his mouth pointing up toward his minor comb-over. He wore a Knobcone Heights T-shirt today over jeans.

“Uh, hi, Garvy,” I said with much less enthusiasm in my voice. “Have you found a new dog to buy things for?” That felt a little cruel since when I'd seen him only yesterday, he was still searching for his new bulldog. I glanced down at Biscuit, who now sat beside me on the shining, wood-looking floor.

“No, but I'm here to try to find one. I thought a nice pet store like this would have contacts, and people here might know of dogs available for adoption, including bulldogs.”

Jack had stepped back and now watched us as we talked.

So did Harris. He added now, “We do sometimes hear online or in person when someone has pets up for adoption, primarily breeders looking for the right new home for their puppies.”

“As I told you, that could be great,” Garvy said. “But I'd really prefer an adult dog, one I might not have to train as much.”

“And I thought you said that bulldogs were on your list but you might be willing to adopt another breed,” Harris said.

“It depends.” Garvy kept his gaze away from mine, and I wondered what that was about.

“If that's the case,” I said, “be sure to check Mountaintop Rescue, like Janelle mentioned. Most of the dogs there are mixed breeds.” I glanced down and smiled at my own mixed breed, who stood up on her hind legs and put her paws on my knees. I petted her.

“I've looked, but none struck me as being right for me.” Garvy now sounded uncomfortable, and I had the sense that while he didn't want to insult rescue dogs, neither did he want to adopt one.

“Well, when you find the right dog, whatever breed or mix he might be, be sure to feed him VimPets food,” Jack said, leaning toward Garvy to hand him a promotional brochure. “You can buy it right here at the Emporium.” He again grinned toward Harris, whose return smile looked ironic, especially as he moved his head to regard me.

“Yes, you can,” he said, “but be sure to buy your special treats at Barkery and Biscuits.”

I laughed aloud, then said, “Thanks. And I'm always glad to tell people to buy the best non-handbaked stuff ever for their pets right here at the Emporium.”

Despite my smiles and laughter, I felt uncomfortable. First of all, two of the three men had attempted at times to flirt with me. Second, I had a sense that there was an undercurrent flowing around me that I perceived but didn't understand.

Jack probably just wanted to sell more of his company's product here, and maybe hang out with me a bit more. Harris was being friendly with me now, and that seemed fine. But was there something else on his mind?

And Garvy? I wished I did have access to a bulldog breeder with puppies available so I could accompany him there and see his reaction. Maybe he'd fall immediately in love and go through the process right there to take one home.

But … well, I didn't know why I didn't trust the guy.

Maybe he'd come here to see Harris in an attempt to list his property for sale rather than to talk dogs with him. Maybe he felt sleazy to me simply because, as a realtor, he was in sales. Although, in some ways, so was I. Jack and Harris were, too.

It didn't really matter. The men were engaging now in a conversation about dog food and why VimPets ruled. I didn't need to par-
ticipate.

I backed away, pulling gently on Biscuit's leash so she would follow me. I slinked my way to the shelves where VimPets food was actually for sale, picked out a bag of premium kibble and some cans of Biscuit's favorite wet food, and inched my way to the cash register.

None of the guys seemed to pay attention. I was a bit surprised, especially regarding Jack, but it felt good just to pay one of Harris's staff members and slip out, a couple of large plastic bags of food in my hands.

Biscuit and I didn't get far, though, before we were joined by Jack. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn't mean to ignore you, but you know I can't disregard a chance to promote my products.”

“That's okay,” I said. “I need to get back to my stores anyway, so feel free to stay here and promote.” I shot him a smile I hoped looked perky and encouraging since I actually meant what I said.

“Well … if you don't mind, I can always pop in and see you later. I'll be around town a couple of days, promoting, visiting people, boating, and whatever.”

“Sounds good,” I said. That didn't mean I'd take the time to talk much more with him, though.

“Oh, and that guy … what's his name? Garvy? Does he sell pet products, too?”

“No, real estate,” I said. “I just gather that he likes dogs.”

“Well, the way he talked … Anyhow, maybe I can give him more advice on how to find another dog. I had the sense he lost one recently, right?”

“Right,” I agreed. “And again, if you happen to know where he can find an English bulldog, let him know. That's his goal, or so he told me.”

But had Garvy changed it, expanded the horizons of his search since yesterday, after not finding any likely sources for bulldogs here?

I didn't know. Didn't really care.

But while Jack returned to the Emporium and Biscuit and I started walking more briskly toward our shops—or as briskly as I could with bags of dog kibble and cans in my arms—I found myself wondering what Garvy Grant was really doing here.

If he wasn't trying to sell our properties for us, maybe he was representing a client who wanted to buy all the shops in Knobcone Heights with pet-related themes … and I shuddered as we started walking along the sidewalk at the edge of the town square.

We entered the Barkery first, as usual. Placing the bags of dog food on a shelf behind the glass display case, I was surprised to see that Go was already there, leashed to the enclosure. Janelle hadn't been scheduled to work today, or at least I didn't think so.

Vicky was staffing the Barkery just then. She stood behind the counter totaling the order of the two women who stood before her, one cradling a fuzzy Chihuahua. They were locals. I recognized them although I didn't know their names.

“Hi,” I said to them, and the dog, too, of course.

“Hi. This place just gets better all the time.” That was the woman holding the dog. “Morocco, here, just loved the sample biscuits she was given. We bought a bunch for her.”

“That's great,” I said with a smile, which I then moved from the customers and dogs to Vicky, who was doing such a great job.

As the two ladies left, I approached Vicky. “It looks like Janelle's here.” I gestured toward Go, who had settled down on the floor with her nose pressed up to Biscuit's crate. Inside it, Biscuit also lay with her nose near where Go's was. I was delighted that they were such good buddies.

“Yes, she's in the kitchen now. She brought someone with her. I hope it's okay.”

I wondered who it was. But I didn't want to disturb Vicky so I just said, “Sure. I'll go say hi.”

I maneuvered my way around the counter to the door to the kitchen, which I pushed open.

Janelle was on the Barkery side of the dividing shelves. I half expected her to be taking pictures again, but I didn't see a camera.

I did, however, see Delma with her, her hands out as if to try to slow Janelle's pacing. Not that there was a lot of room for pacing in my well-designed but packed kitchen.