To Catch a Treat (3 page)

four

Back down the hill,
we soon passed the town's impressive House of Celebration, which fronted the lake before the path started around the final curve. By the time we reached the resort, the daylight was nearly gone. But no one complained as we turned that last corner of the looped trail and walked back alongside the water, on the sand.

Reed and I and our dogs remained in the middle of the hikers, behind Neal and Janelle. Those two seemed to chat quite a bit, and I wished I could hear what they were saying. Or maybe not. Despite Janelle's sadness and her unreadable reaction outside the Arnists' mansion, they were now clearly flirting, and I didn't want to be a meddling older sister if theirs was a genuine romantic relationship in the making.

But I didn't know Janelle well enough to figure her out, and if she was somehow using Neal without potentially caring for him … now where had that come from?

Maybe just my usual suspicions of people—which had been stoked recently thanks to some events that occurred after I opened my shops—blended with my concern for my brother.

Neal turned, waving his staff and calling, “We're nearly done. And you're all still with me. You all rock!”

I didn't have a staff, but I waved my fist in the air. “So do you, Neal. This has been great, hasn't it, everyone?”

A cheer went up around me, and I couldn't help grinning. I glanced at Reed and saw that he, too, was cheering even as he looked back at me, as if he wanted to be sure I recognized his outspoken agreement.

I heard a cell phone ring then. It wasn't my tone, and it sounded as if it came from somewhere in front of me. Janelle reached into her pocket and drew out her phone. With a slight frown, Neal regarded her as she began talking.

I couldn't hear her, but he probably could. The call didn't last long, at least. Her phone was back in her pocket in less than a minute.

Was her ending the call so quickly worth adding a brownie point, or should one be subtracted because she'd answered her phone at all, plus even had her ringer on? That was up to Neal, but I supposed he could consider it a wash.

My brother soon led us up the stairway from the beach, and we stopped at the rear of the resort's main reception building, with its sloping slate roof over thick white walls and dark wood-framed windows. The similar-looking but smaller guest buildings framed it on either side.

Before we entered the back door, a woman came out. She seemed to scan our crowd until she saw Janelle, and then they both smiled at each other.

The woman was probably in her forties, with a short cap of black hair and a snub nose over a wide mouth. As if she, too, had gone on a hike, she was dressed in jeans, a black sweatshirt, and athletic shoes. She held a phone in her hand, and I guessed that she might have been the person who'd called Janelle. I felt even more certain of it when the two of them walked together toward the guest buildings off to the left. Neal glanced quizzically and not especially happily toward Janelle as he led his hikers inside, with Reed and me and our dogs bringing up the rear.

Neal said his goodbyes and thank-yous, and so did the other hikers, including me. I reminded people that they were invited to sample treats at my shops the next day. Then Reed and I were left there with our dogs as Neal walked toward the lobby door with some of his guests.

The lobby was crowded as always, including more people who'd brought dogs. I liked this place and was glad that Neal worked here, despite the fact that his prior boss had been murdered a few months ago—and I'd been all but accused of killing her. But that fortunately was behind me. The current manager was also a member of the Ethman family that owned the resort: Elise Ethman Hainner, who was married to Walt Hainner, an excellent and very nice local contractor.

While Neal continued his goodbyes, I started to say good night to Reed but saw Janelle and her friend enter the lobby. Rather than heading toward Neal, they stood near the door for a few seconds, then hurried through the crowd in the direction of the bar, which was toward the rear of the lobby beside the restaurant and also overlooked the lake.

I admit it. I was curious. Biscuit and I started walking that way, too.

“Are you interested in a drink?” Reed sounded a bit surprised as Hugo and he caught up with me.

“Maybe,” I said. If that was what Janelle was after, I'd be glad to grab a drink—and possibly eavesdrop. Fortunately, although I knew dogs weren't welcome in the restaurant, it was okay to bring them into the bar.

I stopped at the doorway, since it was a lot darker in the bar than in the lobby. I soon spotted Janelle and her friend beyond all the full tables, standing beside the bar itself, which was lined with mostly occupied stools. The tables consisted of fairly small squares of wood veneer, with chairs on all sides and lots of drinks set on top of them—or else in the hands of the loud and boisterous patrons. The entire room was crowded, and a TV on the wall was tuned to a baseball game, although I'd no idea who was playing.

“Let's go over here,” I said to Reed. “We can grab a drink with Janelle till Neal gets here.” Maybe.

Reed looked at me as if he was as dubious as I felt. But I didn't want to explain anything to him right now. I just wanted to find out what this woman—a woman my brother was interested in—was doing in the bar without him.

I tightened my grip on Biscuit's leash so she had to walk right beside me, and saw Reed do the same with Hugo. We had to maneuver through the crowd, and as I inhaled I thought I might get tipsy just from the aroma of liquor that permeated the air. But in a minute, I was able to sidle up beside where Janelle stood.

“Good to see you up here,” I heard her say to another woman—not the one she'd entered with—who was sitting on one of the stools at her other side. “Are there any dog parks up here? If so, I hope you'll tell me where. And where's your dog?”

The woman looked barely old enough to be in here, but since she had a glass of wine in front of her, I assumed she'd been carded if the bartender had found it necessary. She had curly hair that was so blonde it was nearly white, and unlike the people I'd hung out with all day she was wearing a dress—a skimpy red one, with shoulder straps and no sleeves and a deep neckline.

“I'm not aware of dog parks here, although there may be some.” The woman's voice was shrill … her normal tone, or just her attempt to be heard over the crowd noise here? “Jojo's at home in LA with my sister. I didn't bring her.”

“I figured that,” Janelle said. “I happened to hike by your family's house here this evening and didn't hear any barks. Are you staying there while you're here?”

“Well … yes. Some of the time.” The woman had slid off the barstool and was now standing on the floor, her hands on her hips as she confronted Janelle. Was she an Arnist? We'd passed homes owned by a lot of other elite families in the area, yet Janelle had definitely appeared most interested in that one.

But why? And why was she asking this woman so many questions?

“Oh, really?” Janelle said. “Your family house looks so nice. Where else are you staying?”

Instead of answering, the woman asked, “Why are you here, Janelle?”

Before Janelle could answer, the woman with whom she'd conversed on the phone entered the conversation. “We're here on vacation, Ada. For fun. You know. You mentioned Knobcone Heights sometimes when we saw you at the dog parks, and it sounded so wonderful. You know that Janelle's dog Go is missing—she needed to get away for awhile, so I came with her up here.”

“And you're—”

“I'm her friend Delma Corning. My dog's Shobie, the Boston terrier mix who was with Go a lot in the parks.”

“Well, good to meet you, Delma, and good to see you, Janelle. I hope you have fun while you're here. My family and I have always enjoyed the area.”

Was her family here too? I hadn't been able to tell whether the house was occupied at all when we'd walked by. But that was true of some of the other mansions as well.

“I definitely intend to have a good time,” Janelle said. “And I'm sure I'll be seeing more of you here. Unless you're leaving now?”

“Not immediately, no,” Ada said. “Maybe we could get together one of these days.” She picked her purse up from beneath her stool and headed for the door, just as Neal came in.

He must have seen the look on Janelle's face that I did. Maybe Neal knew her well enough to interpret it, but I didn't. Not really. But it was clearly emotional.

“Are you okay, Janelle?” he asked quickly.

“Sure,” she said, much too brightly. “But I've been waiting for you. I want to introduce you to Delma—and most of all, I want a drink.”

We stayed only long enough for each of us to have one drink. I chose a glass of a Napa Valley Zinfandel. Janelle and Delma also chose wines, although I didn't hear exactly what they ordered, and Reed and Neal got beers.

The dogs received a bowl of water to share.

Maybe because Neal worked at the resort, although primarily at the reception desk, the bartenders managed to push two empty small tables together despite the continuous, noisy crowd. We all sat around them chatting, mostly about the hike and what we'd seen—
although the houses on the far side of the lake were like the
elephants in the crowded bar, sitting heavily on our minds, or at least mine, but not mentioned.

Neither was Ada, who was no longer here, but there'd been an undercurrent between her and Janelle that I hadn't understood.

My wine was excellent, and so was my immediate company. I had the sense that Reed knew what I was wondering about, and perhaps he was thinking about it, too, but he helped to keep the general conversation going. He cracked a couple of jokes about all the boats on the lake heading to bed at this hour, perhaps unlike their owners, and about how the dogs in the bar had to bark to go out soon, before the people with them got too sloshed to drive them home.

When we were done drinking, Janelle and Delma said good night and left together. They apparently had a room in a hotel near the resort, but a lot less expensive. I got the impression that Janelle was paying for the room and that Delma had brought her dog and left him in his crate there. I wondered how long Janelle intended to stay in town.

Reed and Hugo left by themselves, too, although Biscuit and I walked out to the parking lot with them. Reed and I stole a quick kiss beside his black sedan, which felt good. No commitment in it, but it nevertheless hinted at the possibility of good things to come, as did our kisses on past dates.

Neal and I had come to the resort separately, so we each drove back to our home—which we shared and which I, primarily, paid for. Despite Neal having a job and leading local tours, his income was a lot lower than mine was as a veterinary technician, so we'd gotten into the habit of me supporting him.

Our financial arrangement hadn't changed when I'd opened my shops, since I'd put a lot of money into buying and opening the adjoining bakeries. I'd borrowed from Arvie, my boss at Knobcone Veterinary. I'd begun paying it back now, but not too quickly.

Neal knew this, and he'd started paying me some rent—
some
being the operative word. But that was okay. I loved my brother, and since our divorced-and-remarried parents were much more into their second families than caring about us, we were all we had.

Neal arrived back at the house before Biscuit and me. I pulled into the driveway and let Biscuit sniff around for a minute.

I'd lived in my house for five years, having bought it shortly after moving to town. It was about twenty years old, in a nice, pleasant residential neighborhood that had streetlights on at this hour. It was a single-story home covered in attractive wood siding stained a cedar shade, with several small wings with sloped roofs. I had a fenced dog-run on the side for Biscuit, but I tended to walk her more often than just letting her out by herself.

When we went inside, Neal was sitting on my fluffy old beige couch in the living room, watching the news on the TV mounted on the wall.

He used the remote to mute the sound. “So what did you think of the hike?” he asked.

I took a seat at the other end of the sofa. “Fun!” I exclaimed. “I enjoyed it. And, before you ask, I'd be glad to do it again sometime, or try one of your other tours—just not in the dead of winter.”

“Great. And … well, I'm curious what you thought about Janelle, too.”

I'd need to be a little more careful how I answered that. “She seems nice,” I said. “Interesting that she apparently came with a friend and they knew that other visitor here, that Ada. I gathered she's one of the Arnists who own one of those houses we saw. Did Janelle come here because they're friends, too? I gathered that Ada had suggested a visit here.”

“Janelle told me she'd just run into Ada a few times in dog parks and that Ada had told her about how wonderful this area is. She might even have mentioned she was planning a trip here soon. That wasn't important to Janelle—finding someplace to go to try to get her mind off her lost dog was what she was after.”

“And I gather that hasn't been successful,” I said.

“No. I think maybe only the passage of time, or maybe getting another dog, will help her with that.”

I wasn't sure if Biscuit understood the word “dog.” Even if she did, she probably wasn't aware that she was anything different from a human—except maybe a little smarter. In any case, she stood up from where she lay by my feet and nuzzled my leg.

“I think she says it's bedtime,” Neal said, watching her.

“I think she's right,” I said, standing to head to my room.

five

Despite the fact I'd
gone to bed a little late last night, on Sunday morning I was in the kitchen of my two shops right on time: five o'clock a.m.

I wasn't alone. My new part-time assistants—especially Frida Grainger—really loved to bake. This morning, Frida had asked to work in the Icing part of the kitchen, which was fine with me. She would be the one to bake human cookies and cupcakes and scones and other people treats, while I got into lots of kinds of dog biscuits and cookies. As always, Biscuit would hang out in the Barkery in her large, open-topped enclosure, since no dogs were allowed in the kitchen. This was for sanitary reasons, as mandated by the local health department and our occupancy permit.

My longer-term assistant, Dinah, worked five days a week now, usually Tuesday through Saturday, although this week would be a bit different to accommodate some scheduling issues with our part-timers.

“So how was your hike yesterday?” Frida asked as she kneaded a large chunk of dough for cinnamon cookies.

“Fun,” I said without giving details. “And what kind of culinary masterpiece did you create?”

“I'm working on a new gourmet Irish stew,” she said with a huge grin on her pretty, round face.

She stood opposite me, across the center dividing shelves. On my side was the stainless steel utility counter for mixing and preparing dough for the Barkery, and huge ovens were behind me, against the wall. Frida's side was the mirror image of mine. But I'd made it clear that no one was to combine ingredients from the two sides, since some human stuff, like chocolate, was poisonous to dogs. On the other hand, similar-tasting carob was used on both sides. I'd had a special ventilation system installed so that the aroma of meaty animal treats wouldn't contaminate the people goodies containing sugar, chocolate, and more—and vice versa.

Frida had graduated from one of the Art Institute of California campuses a couple of years ago and had been working as a chef at some pretty high-class restaurants in San Bernardino County since then. It was fortunate for me that her fiancé had gotten a job in Knobcone Heights as the local manager of a supermarket. He apparently had aspirations of moving up in the company, but for now, at least, the couple was here, and Frida had needed a part-time job that used her skills at the same time I'd started looking for additional help. In her off hours, she created new people cuisine at home.

Although I would never tell her so, Frida looked as if she enjoyed her own creations a lot, as well as the goodies we cooked here. She was far from obese, but she definitely wasn't svelte. And one of the things I liked about her was that I almost never saw anything but a smile on her face.

“That stew sounds great,” I said. “I hope you'll allow me to be one of your guinea pigs when you've perfected it.”

“Of course. After all, Zorro has offered to be your guinea dog whenever you work on new dog treats.” Her dog Zorro was a beagle mix.

“Biscuit will be glad for the company.” I grinned and paused, then said, “Just so you know, I'll have a brief shift at the vet clinic today. Vicky is scheduled to come in at noon, so she'll be around to help you while I'm gone.”

Vicky Valdez was another of my new part-timers. One of the things she was particularly good at was scheduling, so she helped me figure out who was coming in when. She had selected today as one of her days, once I gave her my vet tech schedule for this week.

“Perfect,” Frida said, and smiled again.

“And by the way,” I added. “I promised people on the hike that they could come in and get dog and people treats today, including samples.”

“Got it.”

My shift at the Knobcone Heights Veterinary Clinic was short that day, but I came in partly because Arvie had asked me, and partly because I'd be glad to see Reed again. Oh, and it didn't hurt that coming when asked was a way of ensuring that my part-time job there continued.

Which made me very happy. As much as I loved being my own boss at my bakeries, I also appreciated helping animals in other ways, too—including helping to heal them while they were injured or sick, and to keep them well via vaccines.

At the clinic, I got to carefully shave and clean an area around an injury a French bulldog had received on his side. He'd squeezed himself between a couple of garbage cans in an attempt to get some meat scraps the owner said had fallen, unbeknownst to him, out of a neighbor's trash bag. Unfortunately, someone had also left a sharp-edged, unraveled wire hanger there to be disposed of. Fortunately, after Arvie further cleaned and stitched the wound and prescribed some antibiotics, he said the dog would be fine.

When my shift was over, I picked up Biscuit at the clinic's doggy daycare, where I always brought her when I was on vet tech duty. Then I headed toward Mountaintop Rescue, as I did after shifts whenever I had time. I generally had leftover Barkery treats with me. I usually made some available at the veterinary hospital, too, but figured that the rescue dogs at the wonderful local shelter could use even more TLC, including special doggy goodies.

Our walk along Hill Street, a block away from the Knobcone Heights town square, was short but fun. The veterinary clinic and the animal shelter were only a couple of blocks apart.

We soon reached Mountaintop Rescue. From the outside, it was hard to tell the function of the attractive, gold-colored stucco building. It was a couple of floors tall and well-decorated, with windows surrounded in attractive tile. But that was just the façade. Behind the main, compact building were other structures that housed the resident animals.

Biscuit and I walked up the short path into the building, where I opened the door and stepped inside. A familiar receptionist, Mimi, sat behind a large, chest-height wooden desk that kept visitors out until they were welcomed inside—which we were.

“Is Billi here?” I asked, but I needn't have. Billi walked into the waiting room from an inside door and stopped and smiled.

Wilhelmina Matlock wasn't merely a City Council member or the owner of a posh day spa and this wonderful animal shelter. She was also one lovely woman. She was slim, and I'd never seen her appear anything but perfect in whatever she happened to be wearing
—which, today, was jeans and a T-shirt like me. Her shirt was bright red, with
Mountaintop Rescue
written on it along with a caricature of one happy, grinning dog. Mine was a blue Barkery and Biscuits shirt. Her hair was dark with golden highlights, and right now she wore it long and loose. Her deep brown eyes glanced happily down at Biscuit, then back up at me.

“Have any treats for us today, Madam Barkery?” she asked, her smile broad.

I held out the bag I'd carried under my arm. “What do you think?”

“I think we're going to have a bunch of happy residents today.”

We smiled at each other. “I'll bet they're always happy here,” I said.

We left Biscuit in Mimi's care as we headed toward the shelter area at the rear of the property: a group of long and attractive buildings and also some outdoor enclosures. The dog kennels were separated by metal fencing that was actually attractive, all adorned at the top with decorative circles.

Like the indoor kennels, the surfaces in the outdoor kennels were made of a smooth cement that could be cleaned easily. All of the enclosures had slightly raised platforms at the rear where beds and toys were placed. The cat areas were all indoor, but similarly designed. And each enclosure housed some delightful pets awaiting their forever homes. Each pen had a card attached outside that described what was known about the resident: where they'd come from, when they'd arrived at Mountaintop Rescue, and anything else pertinent, including health info.

“So, can I assume, like always, that I won't recognize any of the dogs I'm giving treats to?” I asked Billi.

“Maybe a few,” she said. “You were last here only a few days ago.”

Fortunately for the residents, the turnover at Mountaintop Rescue tended to be phenomenally fast. Homes were found for most of the animals really quickly, which was a very good thing. Billi and her family had contacts all over, including many good and mostly private no-kill shelters in other cities in the mountains and also down the hills. Each of these shelters shuttled adoptable pets
around to where they were most likely to be adopted fast—especially if a potential adopter came into one of the shelters with a preconceived idea of the size or breed background they wanted.

As we walked along the corridor inside one of the buildings where some of the smaller dogs were housed, we were greeted loudly by pups. They were housed mostly two-by-two in their kennels. The Chihuahua mixes and terriers were loud and yappy, as usual, as if they wanted to outdo each other to get humans' attention.

Billi stopped walking and shouted toward me, “There's a newcomer I especially want you to meet. We picked her up yesterday from the Lake Arrowhead shelter. We traded a springer spaniel mix for her since someone who visited that shelter asked whether they had any medium-sized spaniels available. They didn't, we did. Sweetie's right down here.” She gestured ahead with her left hand.

“Sweetie?”

“You'll see.”

And I did, a few seconds later. There were two small dogs in the kennel Billi indicated. One was cute, too—an apparent Jack Russell mix. But the other … She looked a lot like Biscuit, gold in color with an apparent toy poodle background, and, perhaps, more terrier.

“Don't suppose you'd have room for another one in your life? A pack member for Biscuit?” Billi had been trying to talk me into a second pup since we'd met. She knew how much I loved dogs, and it was always hard to say no. But as a vet tech and new business owner, I simply couldn't give more than one the special attention they deserved.

That didn't mean I wasn't tempted, especially when Billi opened the kennel door, bent down sideways to keep the other dog inside, and took Sweetie out, placing her into my arms.

Sweetie snuggled with me and licked my face. Oh, yes, I was tempted. But the timing was all wrong. Still …

“I wish … ” I began, shouting to be heard over barks and yips while glaring at Billi. “You know I can't. Not now. But what I will do is ask around, keep my eyes open for people searching for this kind of dog.”

“The right people,” Billi reminded me.

“Absolutely. And you know … maybe we should finally start those adoption events at my Barkery that we've been talking about now and then.”

“This would be a good time,” Billi agreed, her eyes moving from Sweetie to my face and back again. She smiled.

“Before winter starts,” I said with a nod.

I snuggled with Sweetie a while longer, then moved her so I could hold her tightly to me with one arm. With the other, I reached down toward my purse where the bag of Barkery treats now protruded from the top. “Here you go,” I told her after maneuvering her around her kennelmate to put her back behind the gate. I took a peanut butter biscuit out, broke it in two, and handed each of them a half through the mesh.

“You sure about leaving her here?” Billi asked as we started to walk away, the slightly declining barking behind us. I looked back to see little Sweetie watching me pleadingly.

Okay, I was reading that into her solemn look. She was getting to me. But I had to be realistic. And I had to think of Biscuit as well as my multiple careers. Sure, she might enjoy the company of a new pack member. But if she didn't, even just at first, I wouldn't have time to work with the two dogs the way that would be needed.

“Unfortunately, I'm sure,” I told Billi.

I continued to break treats in half and pass them out to the small dogs. And I was glad when we finally left that building. I thought about Sweetie a lot.

I'd definitely have to help find her a home.

The larger dogs were in the next building, and I distributed treats there, too, without breaking them. Billi took some and hurried ahead of me, passing out treats to dogs I hadn't yet reached.

I stopped in front of one of the kennels. In it were two Labrador retrievers, one black and one gold. They appeared purebred, but I wasn't sure. Even so, an idea permeated my mind.

We finished up in that building with only a few treats left. In the meantime, some of the kennel staff came in and out, sometimes taking dogs out of the kennels to let them meet up personally with people who'd come to see if they could find their canine soulmates here.

Eventually we walked back to the main building, where Biscuit leaped into my arms after Mimi released her from the area where she'd been confined in my absence. As I bent to hug her and accept
a myriad of doggy kisses, I thought again of Sweetie.

But there was something else more pressing to think about, I told myself. No, I
convinced
myself.

“Thanks for the tour,” I told Billi.

“And thank you for all the treats, as usual,” she responded, giving me a quick hug. I smiled. I liked her a lot as a person, and especially for what she did here. The fact that she ran a spa? That was fine, too. And her being a City Council member? Well, I was sure it didn't hurt to have friends in high places. And I had a couple of them, since Councilman Les Ethman was a buddy, too, thanks to his dog Sam—an English bulldog he sometimes brought to my vet clinic, and had also brought into the Barkery for treats.

Biscuit and I left soon afterwards to walk back to the shops. On the way, I made a quick phone call to Neal, who fortunately answered despite being on duty at the resort's reception desk.

I told him what I had on my mind, and I could hear the excitement in his voice as he said, “Sure. Why not. It won't hurt, at least,”

We made plans to get together in a couple of hours.

We met back at Mountaintop Rescue. It was late, but I'd called Billi and told her what I had in mind. She was fine with it. In fact, she sounded as excited as I felt.