To Catch a Treat (14 page)

“She had a lot of friends,” Sondra wailed. “Everyone loved her. It just doesn't make any sense.”

“Why are you asking?” her husband—Sheldon?—demanded. He peered past me toward the table where Reed and Neal still sat. I turned enough to see they were both watching. “The police told us not to talk to anyone here but them. But if you're that nosy—did you know our Ada? Do you know who killed her?”

Time to back off. Instead of getting more information here, I was only getting more frustrated.

twenty-one

Since Neal was with
us, he drove me home, which meant I said good night to Reed at the resort—but not before we got off on our own for a few minutes while Neal went back to the reception desk to sign out or whatever he did. He also, fortunately, was able to validate Reed's parking ticket.

Which was a good thing, since Reed insisted on paying for dinner for all of us.

Our few moments alone together in a hallway allowed us to kiss good night. It seemed I could really be getting serious with the hunky veterinarian.

The rain had tapered off into a mist, so the drive home beneath the Knobcone Heights street lights was wet and shiny.

“Where's Janelle tonight?” I asked my brother. I'd half expected her to join us for dinner but realized that could have been a bad idea, since the main purpose of the outing was to try to learn something from or about Ada's parents. Not that I'd been successful.

“She and Delma said they were just going to stay at their hotel with their dogs and order in a pizza. I've already called to tell her we didn't get anything too exciting from the Arnists.”

“Oh. Did she hope we'd learned something?”

Neal was silent for a moment. When I glanced over at him, my brother was looking out the windshield toward a stop sign. We were, in fact, stopped. But I didn't think his grim expression was completely due to trying to stay safe on the wet roads.

“That's part of the problem,” he finally said. “I'm not sure what Janelle's hopes are about anything. Her expectations don't seem very high or optimistic. I think she believes she'll be arrested at any moment.”

Okay, I might have been unsuccessful at my attempt to wrest some information from Ada's parents, but maybe this would lead me into learning something from my brother.

“I'm sorry to hear that. She's doing a great job helping out at my shops, and she's even providing me free publicity on social media. I like her.” But I couldn't swear she was innocent of murder.

Could Neal?

“Yeah, me too. A lot.” We started creeping slowly forward in the mist. “But … ”

He hesitated, and since I didn't see anything dangerous outside the car, I asked, “But what?”

“She really loves her dog, which I understand. And she'd already gotten him back when Ada was killed, so I really don't believe she'd have any reason to have hurt her then.”

Oh. So my brother had at least some of the same doubts I had. “But you're not sure.” I didn't make it a question.

“I'm pretty sure,” he asserted loudly and immediately. “I'd be more likely to think her friend Delma did it. They're good buddies, you know. I've spent some time with them together, on short walks and having dinner and all, and that Delma does seem to have a temper.”

“Enough to kill someone she got angry with for maybe doing something awful to a friend?” I really hadn't gotten to know Delma well at all, so although I considered her as much of a suspect as anyone who'd appeared to know Ada—especially those who'd met Ada elsewhere—I hadn't really focused on her much.

Neal slumped a bit in his seat. We were nearing our house, and, fortunately, he was driving slowly. “I don't know. Maybe it's just wishful thinking because no one's been arrested yet and I really don't want it to be Janelle who did it.” He paused. “I know you think it might be that Tim guy. But do you have anything you can take to the cops about him?”

“Beyond what I've already done—told them I thought he might have been her accomplice in stealing dogs—I have no proof of it. And I'm not sure if they've looked at all into the place in his neighborhood where the dogs were. Even if they're taking me seriously without telling me about it, I don't know if he's a killer or just a possible dog thief.”

“Right.” Neal pulled into the driveway, so this conversation was over. We even said good night then, since he planned to go straight to his room.

I soon had Biscuit out for her last walk of the night. She didn't seem to mind the dampness and neither did I. In fact, it seemed appropriately sad, as if the world around us was crying a bit over the dilemma of Ada's murder.

Boy, was I developing an imagination. I'd have to tell Dinah about how wild my thoughts were getting. Maybe my creative assistant could use them in a story.

Back in the kitchen, I dried Biscuit off with a towel, especially her wet paws. Then we both headed upstairs to bed.

I wasn't surprised not to fall asleep quickly. Too many questions still circulated through my mind.

Did the Arnists know anything that might help determine who killed their daughter?

Was Delma Corning's attitude any kind of sign that she could have had something to do with it? Or was she acting that way in protection of a guilty Janelle?

Was I right that Tim Smith was a dog thief, an accomplice of Ada's, and her murderer?

I couldn't learn any of that just lying in bed. And that stuff wasn't all that I wondered about. There was one thing that I'd already decided to research that might have nothing to do with Ada's murder—but was scratching at my mind, making me curious.

I had planned to do some Internet searches on bulldog-lover Garvy Grant. Maybe by learning something on this tangent, I'd be able to shove everything else aside, at least for a while.

No matter what, I was determined to Google him tomorrow.

That didn't happen first thing, though.

I got a call from Arvie at the veterinary clinic begging me to do a shift that morning. I'd already been at my shops for a few hours and all the baked treats for both of them were ready for the day to begin. Janelle was there early, and I had her working in the Barkery. Dinah was in Icing. Both said they wouldn't mind if I was gone for the rest of the morning, so Biscuit and I left soon afterward.

Fortunately, the problem at the clinic was more of a scheduling error than having an abundance of really ill pets, so although the
time passed quickly, I was able to help in a bunch of non-life-threatening situations.

Afterward, Biscuit and I took the time to stop at Cuppa-Joe's for a quick bite of lunch out on the patio and short visit with the Joes.

When we returned to the shops and I was about to take my dog into the Barkery, I was surprised to see who was walking up the other side of the sidewalk toward me: Chef Manfred Indor. He was one excellent chef, who'd been fired pretty much unjustly from the resort restaurant a few months ago. He and I had bonded after his firing, and although he had found a couple of other jobs nearly immediately, he had promised to provide me with some additional dog treat recipes of his own making.

He had done so already, and that was apparently why he was here again. The rotund guy was wearing a long white jacket over jeans and was carrying a large plate with a metal cover over it. He was accompanied by his partner, George Sackson, who had come with him before. George was carrying a second covered plate. He was nearly as large as Manfred, and had brown hair much longer than Manfred's kinked dark hair.

“Hi,” I said to both of them, stopping on the sidewalk just outside the Barkery door. Biscuit sat down at my feet, wagging her tail, her nose up in the air, which showed that she smelled whatever treats these men had brought. “Are those for me?” I grinned.

“No, for some of your customers,” Manfred said. “If you like what they contain I will give you the recipe, as long as you give us both credit for creating it. It was George's idea first, and we've both refined it.”

“And what is it?” I asked.

“Organic gingerbread dog cookies,” George responded, revealing large white teeth as he smiled. He was more prone to smiling than his partner, or so I'd noticed before.

“That must be why Biscuit's so exited,” I said. “She can smell the gingerbread out here. But come on inside and she and I will both try them.”

They entered the Barkery with us, and all four of us, plus Janelle who'd been running the shop, took tastes of the gingerbread dog cookies.

“Delicious!” I exclaimed, and Janelle seconded it. In her way, so did Biscuit, standing up on her hind legs and digging a bit at Manfred's long jeans for more.

Now, we will do this the same way as last time,” Manfred said. “You go ahead and sell the cookies on these platters at whatever amount you want to charge. Then, if you're happy with the results, you can pay us half of what you bring in. If you like them well enough, you can have the recipe—and, again, you can pay us half of whatever you net on selling those you bake.”

“Of course,” I said. “And like last time, I'll give you both credit for creating these wonderful dog treats.” I sometimes labeled my various dog and people products by placing small flags with the names of the treats on the display platters. I had done that before with Manfred's and George's excellent creations—peanut butter last time.

“Is it okay if I take pictures now and put them up for everyone to see?” Janelle asked, looking first at me and then at Manfred.

“Of course,” the chef boomed.

“Sounds great to me, as long as you mention both the Barkery and the creators of the treats on your online sites,” I added.

“Of course,” Janelle said.

While she took photos of the platters with their lids removed, then of Biscuit and a couple of customers' dogs who'd just come in—after I got their written okay about doing so—I made a pot of coffee for the people in the store, including the customers. I made sure the two women left with bags of gingerbread treat samples, as well as a couple of cookies from Icing.

Dinah had come in to the Barkery, too, after finishing with some Icing customers, to see what all the excitement was about. She promised to listen for the bell in case others seeking people treats entered Icing, and of course I would, too.

So we wound up having an impromptu dog treat party. I enjoyed it—even as I realized it was delaying what I'd hoped to accomplish that day.

But sometimes spontaneous fun and treats had to come first.

And then we had more customers. Mostly on the Icing side, and I learned that the crowd was a busload of tourists who had come from San Francisco to visit some offbeat areas in Southern California that they might not have seen before. But not just offbeat areas; since they considered themselves traveling gourmets, they were trying out, on their journey, restaurants and bakeries and other places selling foods that were new to them.

Somehow, Icing on the Cake had gotten onto their list—from Janelle's online promo?—and I could only cheer, offer them samples, and suggest some of our favorite people sweets to buy, such as the former owner Brenda's wonderful red velvet cupcakes.

Janelle stayed in the Barkery, which had a good regular turnout, but this tour bus contained only people, not their dogs.

I did manage to ask a lot of them—primarily middle aged to senior women—if they happened to have left their canine best friends at home. Some did, so I sent them over to the Barkery side to see what we had to offer there, too, and to get samples they could bring home to their dogs. Better yet, to assuage their guilty consciences about leaving their dogs by buying them a nice bagful of special Barkery treats.

All in all, it was a busy, productive, and profitable afternoon. When the tour bus left, I had to hurry into the kitchen to bake another round of people cookies and cupcakes for customers who might come in during the rest of the day.

I didn't make a large amount, though, to avoid having too many leftovers. Even if I did have leftovers, the freshest items would still be saleable tomorrow. Those that were still good and edible but I preferred not to sell, I would save for the charities down the mountain that came up weekly to pick up leftovers from my shops and other bakeries around here. They then made our slightly unfresh products available to low-income families near them who happened to have a sweet tooth.

This was similar to how I made Barkery leftovers available to my vet clinic and Mountaintop Rescue, to assure that nearly none of my baked goods from either side went to waste.

“Everything okay in here?” That was Dinah, who had stayed out in Icing while I got the latest set of trays ready to bake. It was getting toward late afternoon, and a lull in the number of customers, after our wonderful glut before, was probably a good thing.

“Fine. No one in Icing right now?”

“No. All's well, and I peeked into the Barkery before coming back here. There were a couple of young guys there with a golden retriever who was over at the side with Go and Biscuit while his owner bought him treats. Janelle seems to be doing fine there on her own.”

“Great. Then would you keep an eye on the oven for me? I need to check something in my office. Keep your ears open for anyone coming into Icing, though.”

If only my young-looking wannabe writer assistant knew what I was up to.

But I didn't tell her as I closed the office door behind me, sat down at the small desk, and booted up my computer.

twenty-two

Did I really care
about this research project? Maybe. In particular, though, it felt good to believe that I might reach a resolution and get some answers about at least something—or someone—in the odd things going on around me.

At least I'd potentially learn which real estate company employed the bulldog-seeker Garvy Grant. Then I could tuck him, or at least thoughts of him, way back in my mind and simply be friendly but even more remote when I saw him next.

Assuming I even saw him again. Maybe his vacation was over and he had headed back down the mountains to the real properties he was familiar with and intent on selling.

Besides, in a large city like Los Angeles, he was much more likely to find an English bulldog who needed to be rescued. He could certainly find breeders there. Then he could hook up with a new canine family member. That was what people did—nice people. Good people. Was Garvy Grant among them?

Sitting on my narrow, wheeled desk chair, I booted up my laptop, the same one I used for keeping track of the accounts of both my stores.

Then I did my Google search. There were a couple of people with similar names as Garvy Grant but different spellings.

I did find a website for a Garvy Grant in real estate in Los Angeles, but there weren't many details about transactions he'd been involved in. I didn't stop there, though.

Interestingly, where the search engine suggested other similar names, I found that there were men named Grant Garvy—with variations on that spelling, too. Some had photos associated with them, so I could rule them out, but some did not.

One of those Grant Garvys apparently did live in Southern California.

The best I could tell from the information about him, he was a private investigator.

Was this the man who was visiting Knobcone Heights and looking for English bulldogs?

If so, why?

I stayed at the computer a while longer, looking up Grant Garvy the PI, but I didn't find anything much about him or his background or any investigations he might have conducted. I supposed that if I was more of a techie and could dig deeper into the couple of sites where I did see his name—one was a list of licensed private investigators where you had to be a member of the organization to dig into it, and another asked you to sign up as a potential client and apparently then get bombarded by PIs looking for clients—maybe then I could find out more about him.

Till now, I'd been cordial enough to Garvy Grant—if that was his actual name. I'd seen him around town, often at locations that had something to do with dogs, such as at my Barkery and Knob Hill Pet Emporium, and I knew he'd been to Mountaintop Rescue.

I hadn't been eager to get to know more about him, or to get to know him better, especially since I found his occasional attempts to flirt with me utterly off-putting.

As a result, I had no idea where he was now. Was he still in or around Knobcone Heights? If so, where was he staying?

Did it really matter? Sure, I was curious to learn if my slight bit of snooping was accurate and the guy was a detective—of a different sort, of course, than my non-buddies in the Knobcone Heights Police Department.

And if he was, why had he come here? Was his presence additional evidence that dognappers down in Los Angeles were using little Knobcone Heights as some kind of headquarters?

I shifted then to another search engine. Maybe it would have something different, another way to find out more about Garvy.

That didn't corral the many directions my mind was taking.

I was jumping to a lot of conclusions about Garvy without any reason or evidence, or anything else but suppositions. Maybe he wasn't either of the people I'd found through that first search engine, the Garvy Grant in real estate and the Grant Garvy who was a PI.

Even if he was, though, his interest in dogs in his own life could be genuine, a diversion as he either enjoyed a vacation here or investigated something else altogether.

On the other hand, if he did have something to do with the dogs and was trying to find out what Ada and any accomplices of hers might have done with them … well, did he know who those accomplices were? Were there more besides Tim?

Maybe he would know of a whole additional bunch of people who'd had a motive to kill Ada.

As a result of my unstoppable musings, I really wanted to find the guy and talk to him. Maybe he would help me clear Janelle of suspicion in Ada's death.

Unless the opposite was true, and he could instead show why Janelle was the most likely killer.

If all went well, though, maybe we could collaborate. Or I could at least learn something from him. I didn't want to be a private investigator, but P.I. skills might come in handy to help clear Janelle—I hoped.

Okay. I had spent more than enough time on the computer. I needed to get back into my shops and help my assistants wait on any customers.

And ignore what I felt certain would be floating around in my mind:
How do I find Garvy Grant and talk to him now?

I spent the rest of the afternoon going back and forth between my stores waiting on shoppers. I had to calm my mind to avoid allowing distraction to prevail over good business sense and customer care.

I considered asking my two helpers on duty, Dinah and Janelle, if they happened to know where Garvy Grant was. I was sure Janelle at least knew
who
he was since we'd been together with Garvy around. But I'd no reason to think she knew where he was these days.

I wasn't sure Dinah had been working the day Garvy had visited my shops, so I'd no idea whether she would even know who he was, let alone where he might be.

During a lull between customers, when things were relatively quiet, I took Biscuit and Go for a walk across the street to the town square. I'd done that before when Janelle was on duty and had brought her dog with her to the Barkery. She, in turn, sometimes brought Biscuit along when she walked Go.

I'd seen Garvy once before in the town square, so I hoped today would be the second time.

It wasn't.

How did one find the location of an almost-stranger? I hadn't found any specifics about him online. Even if I could locate his contact information I didn't think I'd call him, since I didn't want to sound as if I wanted to see him, even though I did—but for reasons of my own that someone as flirtatious as he was might misconstrue.

I could tell him I was looking for a piece of real estate, but I didn't really want him to show me any.

I simply wanted to run into him somewhere, act surprised to see him, and ask my few questions.

Because … well, if it turned out he was Grant Garvy, Investigator, I really, really wanted to learn what he knew about the stolen dogs, and if they had anything to do with Ada's death.

Weird on my part? Yes. But it might save me time and energy in clearing Janelle to get any insight he had.

So how could I find him subtly? Call all the hotels in the area?

That wouldn't be subtle, even if they gave out information. And I didn't know if he was even still in town.

Billi Matlock would most likely let me know if Garvy showed up at Mountaintop Rescue again, not because I'd asked her to, but because she might want my further input into what to say to the guy about bulldogs, or about canines who were actually available for adoption at the shelter. I decided not to contact her.

I didn't always know when Neal was taking a group of hikers out next, but even though the rain had nearly stopped, I doubted he'd do an outing that evening. Tomorrow, maybe. I could ask him tonight if he was, and who was signed up for it.

So how else could I find the guy—or shut my own obsession down and simply forget about him?

I considered again where to look for Garvy.

The two places in town where people tended to congregate, both residents and visitors, were Cuppa-Joe's and the Knobcone Heights Resort. I'd not seen any indication of Garvy's presence at Cuppa's, though he might have visited there sometime when I wasn't around.

But one place I had seen him was the resort. Despite having eaten there last night, it wouldn't hurt to spend part of this Tuesday evening there, especially if I had company.

I scooped up after both Go and Biscuit, glad I'd brought a couple of my usual biodegradable bags, gave them a few more minutes to sniff and squat, and then walked them both back across the street. When I had them secured in the corner of the Barkery containing Biscuit's enclosure, I went back outside after removing my cell phone from my pocket. I stood on the sidewalk, smiling at people I recognized even when they walked by without stopping at either of my shops. Residents would come back when they needed something sweet for themselves and nutritious for their dogs. Icing and the Barkery had already developed a reputation in this town for both.

I quickly pushed the button to call Reed. I didn't expect to reach him right away since I figured he'd be with a patient. Although it was getting late in the day for scheduled office visits, things generally tended to run overtime at the vet clinic.

To my surprise, though, he answered. “Must be ESP,” he said. “I was going to call you soon and see if Biscuit and you wanted to join Hugo and me for dinner again tonight.”

“Yep,” I said. “ESP. I wanted to find out if you two could join us at the resort this evening.”

“I was going to suggest the Arrowhead Diner, so we're not completely on the same wavelength, but the resort works for me, too. We'll pick you both up at your place at seven o'clock, okay?”

“Okay,” I agreed with a smile—even as I continued to watch the town square across the street in the event that my target happened to appear there now, after I'd left it.

But I still didn't see Garvy … now. I hoped I would tonight.

I'd called to warn Neal that Reed and I and our dogs would be at the resort once more that evening, though I didn't tell him what I wanted to learn there this time. When we arrived, Neal was still busy behind the reception desk, but I waved to ensure he saw us. Then, at my request, Reed and I headed toward the bar first.

That was the place where I'd seen Garvy here previously. But when I stood at the door and let my eyes get accustomed to the low light, I didn't see him in the crowd.

“Let's go eat,” I told Reed.

We sat on the back patio, beneath an umbrella although the only humidity was in the air, not falling as rain or even mist. Tonight Gwen was our server, which became even more interesting when Neal pulled up a chair and joined Reed and me at our table, with Biscuit and Hugo at our feet.

Neal's former romantic-interest-of-sorts was fully cordial, though, and brought us water quickly, followed by the wine I'd requested and the beer the guys had ordered.

Gwen might be a good one to ask whether Garvy had been at the resort. She saw everything and everyone, I figured. Did she know him? I couldn't recall if I'd seen them in the same room together previously. Neal, of course, would know who Garvy was, and Reed, too. I didn't see my target here at the restaurant, either inside or on the patio with us. Maybe, other than being potentially fun, tonight's outing would be a complete bust.

But I could at least ask some hopefully subtle questions about him, and who'd seen him around last.

It didn't turn out nearly as subtle as I'd hoped, though. Not only did Neal join us for dinner, but he had invited Janelle, too. That meant Go was also with us, which was fine. So were Delma and her Boston terrier Shobie.

That added up to five humans and four dogs at the two tables pushed together to accommodate all of us. I decided to wait until we'd all ordered and then try to find a way to subtly start asking for any information about Garvy.

Maybe I shouldn't, though. I was being completely weird about this. What if it did turn out he was a PI? Was I going to run all my suspicions and suspects by him?

Not a good idea.

I decided, despite my rationale for coming to the restaurant tonight with this group, to just drop the whole thing.

But the subject of Ada did come up, especially when Neal mentioned that her parents had been eating there the night before and
we'd chatted with them.

“Too bad they didn't tell you who might have been after their daughter,” Janelle said to Neal, sounding dejected. “Did they give any hint?”

“No,” he said, then glanced at me.

“Unfortunately not.” I decided to act as if I was changing the subject completely. “So when's your next evening hike around the lake, Neal?”

“Yes, I want to go next time,” Delma said. “Those hikes sound like fun.”

We talked about the recent ones then. I gently pushed the conversation into a discussion of who had joined us.

“They were mostly guests from the resort,” Neal said. “Some other visitors, too.”

“Like that real estate guy—what was his name?” I asked.

“Something like Garvy,” Neal responded.

“Oh, he came into our stores, didn't he?” Janelle asked, and I nodded.

“If you get another hike together, maybe you could contact the hikers who came on the last two—like that Garvy,” I said. “Do you know how to contact him?”

His answer had to wait for a few minutes as Gwen and another server brought our food to the table. I'd ordered a delicious-looking Cobb salad that night. Reed got a double hamburger and immediately removed one of the beef patties to share with all the dogs.

But when we got back to the prior conversation, Neal had no information about how to contact Garvy. Apparently the guy had paid cash, which happened often since Neal didn't charge a lot for his hikes. And no one talked about having seen him again, even though I tried to nudge the conversation once more in that direction.

Mostly what I got out of the evening was a good dinner with nice people and well-behaved dogs. I noticed how much attention Neal and Janelle were paying to one another. No matter what else was going on, their attraction appeared to be ramping up.