To Catch a Treat (7 page)

“The murder,” Bridget repeated. “Then you have heard what happened?”

“Only somewhat.” I again wished that I could just walk away. “I heard that Ada Arnist apparently drowned last night and that some people are speculating it might not have been accidental. But that's all.”

“A celebration gone bad thanks to a strange argument, and an apparent homicide soon thereafter? Don't parts of that sound familiar to you?”

In a way, they did. Myra Ethman had been murdered after she and I had argued at the opening party for my shops. But their mentioning this was a good thing, at least in a way.

“Yes,” I agreed, “it does sound familiar. But if you're reminding me about what happened the last time, let me remind you, too, that the obvious conclusion isn't always the right one.”

“Oh, and who do you think is the obvious suspect here, Carrie?” Bridget asked.

I rolled my eyes. “I don't care to speculate, detectives. Do you?”

“Oh, I think you've got the same idea that we do,” Wayne said with that smirk back on his face. “And just because what was obvious last time turned out not to be the case, remember, we conduct a lot of investigations—and most of the time, what appears to be the truth is, in fact, the truth.”

I looked from his gleaming eyes into those of his commanding officer, whose expression was much too similar.

Oh, Janelle
, I thought.
I hope you have a good way of proving where you were last night.

But if she did, would they then focus their suspicions on Neal?

nine

“Hi, Carrie,” said Reed's
voice as I lifted my cell phone to my ear. To my surprise, I smiled. Or maybe I wasn't surprised. Reed provided a hint of sanity in this increasingly insane day.

I was back in the kitchen attempting to catch my breath, hoping to rid my mind of the panic and concern the detectives' visit had stirred up in me—which was partly thanks to my recollections of the last times they'd hounded me here.

But not entirely. Like it or not, I was involved in another murder, or it seemed that way.

At least the detectives had finally left. I'd wanted to run right into the Barkery to hug Biscuit for moral support. But I'd heard voices there, figured my assistants were inside with some customers, and didn't want to see anyone—or have them see me, not just yet. I assumed I looked awful.

Instead, I'd come in here.

As I'd been leaning on the mid-kitchen counter, my cell phone had rung. And now I managed to speak brightly. “Hi, Reed. How are things at the clinic today?” My next shift wasn't till tomorrow, unfortunately; a visit there might also have helped to lift my crumbling spirits.

“Just fine. Look, I—I've heard some things and want to know … I mean, are you aware—”

It wasn't like Reed to stammer, but I realized he was doing so out of a desire to protect me. If I somehow didn't know what was going on, he didn't want to hit me over the head with it.

Sweet guy.

“I assume you're referring to Ada Arnist,” I broke in. “I really don't know what happened to her, although my buddies the police detectives were just here asking questions that made me figure they thought otherwise. All I know is what I've heard—that she was found in Knobcone Lake this morning, and she seemed to have drowned near the resort. And, before you ask, yes, I've heard rumors that she had some bruising or whatever that could indicate it was murder, not an accident.”

A nearby sound startled me and I looked up. I'd been staring at one of the wooden surfaces we used to roll dough on, on the Icing side. Now, glancing up, I saw that Dinah and Vicky had entered the kitchen and stood near the door into the Barkery. They both stared at me, eyes large and interested and curious. Vicky had the same expression as Dinah, so I assumed that the two had been discussing the situation—hopefully with no customers present.

“I need to run,” I told Reed.

“Fine. Me too. But are Biscuit and you available to join Hugo and me for dinner tonight?”

“Absolutely,” I breathed. The idea sounded like a lifebuoy thrown at me to save my sanity.

Bad analogy, I realized immediately, considering how Ada had died.

“We'll talk later, decide where to go.”

We said goodbye, and I hung up.

I stood up straighter, needing at least to act around my employees as if I was okay. “I guess you heard what I was talking about with Reed.”

“What else would you be discussing?” Dinah spoke first. “We were waiting on some customers in the Barkery and when they left, I watched out the window and happened to see those two cops leave Icing. Were they asking you questions this time, too?”

Dinah had been one of my assistants when I was interrogated after the last murder. And with her glistening blue eyes wide and focused on me, I could almost see her mind churning away. Had she already come up with some kind of related story plot?

“I think they're trying to talk to everyone who was at the resort bar last night,” I said. “Ada was there.”

“Alive?” Vicky's black eyebrows were arched high above her deep brown eyes, enough to be seen over the tops of her thick glasses. She wasn't my prettiest helper but she was smart, planned things well, and knew the retail business. She was mid-thirties and new to Knobcone Heights, although she'd apparently lived in nearby Lake Arrowhead for most of her life. The clothing store she'd worked in for years had closed and she'd wanted to try something different, so here she was. And she'd already started working on the schedule I'd asked her to prepare today.

“Yes,” I said. “I don't know how long she was there, let alone what happened to her.”

“We can guess part of it,” Dinah said. “Or at least what the cops think, after that argument your brother mentioned.”

“I'm not guessing anything.” I looked from her face to Vicky's and back again. “That's just speculation. What the authorities need is some hard evidence, or eyewitness testimony beyond that argument, or something to really prove, if Ada was murdered, who actually did it.” I knew I sounded preachy as I glared at them, but these two hadn't even been around for the argument, let alone anything else connected with what had happened—at least not as far as I knew.

“Oh.” Vicky looked down at the floor, clearly uncomfortable.

“Hmmm,” Dinah said. “What if the killer was someone like one of us, who didn't even seem to know Ada Arnist? Her family has some connection to this town, though, including that big vacation house. What if—”

“It's fine to plot a book you want to write,” I interrupted. “But please do that on your own time. We have some more dog biscuits to bake—ones with cheese.”

We actually had plenty, but I hadn't heard the bells in either shop ring and I wanted to get my assistants busy with what they were really supposed to be doing here.

I was sure that, like it or not, I'd be spending too much time myself considering who could have killed Ada.

I was glad when Reed offered to pick Biscuit and me up that evening.

He arrived a little after six, when my shops were closed and my assistants gone for the day. We'd decided to go to Arrowhead Diner, one of our favorite eating places. It was, unsurprisingly, near Lake Arrowhead, a diner car converted long ago into a restaurant. It was a popular family-style restaurant with an outdoor eating area that welcomed dogs.

It was also a good place to go to flee Knobcone Heights for a while, even though I really liked my town … most of the time.

We now sat on the patio in the warm and humid mountain air of a July evening. Our dogs, as always, had gotten along fine in the rear of Reed's sedan on the way here and now both lay under our table, heads up and noses in the air as they took in the scents, sights, and sounds of our surroundings. For the moment, they were the only dogs around, but experience had taught us that canine visitors came and went frequently at this diner.

A server in the standard diner uniform—a green knit shirt with a white, trailer-shaped Arrowhead Diner logo on the chest pocket—came over for drink orders. Needing some bolstering, I chose the same dark beer that Reed chose.

Then we were left alone, if you called being surrounded by other chattering diners alone.

“Are you really okay?” Reed's expression was solemn, his deep brown eyes scanning me as if I was a dog who couldn't verbally answer that kind of question.

Did I feel insulted? Not at all. I knew how much he cared about dogs.

“You asked me that in the car—I don't know—five times? And what did I say then?”

His smile was wry. “I guess your multiple yeses didn't convince me, given how quiet you were. But in some ways—well, I know we had some issues to get past when you were a murder suspect yourself, so maybe I didn't pay enough attention to how you were feeling, but somehow you seem even sadder now.”

“Not really. Maybe some of it is reliving what happened before, at least a bit. And … ” I didn't really want to get into my real fear here, even with Reed. I'd no reason to believe that Neal would harm anyone for any reason, let alone consider killing someone for arguing with a person he was attracted to … but the fact that someone might focus on him had continuously crossed my mind, and I was even more terrified for him than I'd been for myself when I'd been a suspect.

Yes, Neal had been a suspect then also, in part because he'd known the murder victim a lot better than I did since she was his boss at the resort. But there'd really been no logical reason for him to have harmed her, except that she'd argued with me, so the police didn't pursue it.

His supposed reason this time was just as illogical, and very similar.

So why was I worrying?

“You're worrying about Neal, aren't you?” Reed's question slammed into my thoughts, and I nearly stood up.

“I thought you were a veterinarian, not a mind-reader,” I grum-
bled.

He laughed just as our server placed our drinks in front of us—plus a bowl of water on the patio for the dogs. The guy then took our orders. I chose a small steak, mostly because of my lack of hunger. If I didn't finish it, Reed might—and if he didn't, Biscuit and Hugo definitely would.

When the server left again, I waited a few seconds, listening to the undercurrent of conversations from the many tables around us. I couldn't make out what anyone was talking about, so I hoped no one would be able to eavesdrop on us, either.

“You're right about my concern for Neal,” I finally said after taking a long swig of beer. “And as I think I told you, I've hired Janelle as a part-time employee at my shops, too. I don't know her well, and neither does my brother despite his attraction to her. I like her so far, but I don't like the fact she decided to throw a party, then made accusations and threatened one of the people who came to it. Does that make her a murderer? No. But—”

“But it does make her a possible murder suspect.” Reed nodded, then sipped his own beer. “And now you, and your brother, are connected with her. I get it. I also understand why you're involved, even if you didn't intend to be.”

“It's not just Janelle and her connection to Neal,” I said. “There's another mystery underlying all this. Assuming that Go really is Janelle's dog, how did he get here? Would she have brought him here herself for some reason? If so, why? And if not, who did—and, also, why?”

Reed's laugh was brief, and the look he leveled on me seemed caring—which warmed me more than the evening air. “I know you well enough, Carrie Kennersly, to believe that figuring out the mystery surrounding that dog is even more important to you than getting the murder solved, as long as your brother's protected.”

I smiled back. “Am I that obvious?”

“You're that much of a dog lover.”

Takes one to know one
, I thought, but kept it to myself.

We tacitly decided to change the subject then. Or at least we didn't talk more about the apparent murder or who the suspects might be or even about my brother.

Our dinners were soon served. Sure enough, despite getting some of my appetite back, I didn't feel hungry enough to finish my food—which made the two dogs beneath our table very happy. The steak was delicious enough for me to feel comfortable feeding them table scraps, and I gave Reed a couple of healthy bites, too.

That meant everyone was happy. We two humans were even smiling at each other—a lot—for the rest of the meal and as we left.

In the parking lot, we first walked the dogs just a little to make sure they'd be okay on the ride back to Knobcone Heights. Then Reed opened the back door of his car for them to jump in.

I'd reached for the handle of the passenger door in the front but he rushed around me, beating me to it—and using the opportunity to pull me closer so we could have one great kiss—the sexiest we'd ever indulged in.

“I don't suppose that you'd want to stop at my place for a while,” he said against my mouth. “Another drink, some music, some discussion about dogs … or whatever.”

It was finally time.

After all that had been going on, and to help bolster my wavering state of mind, I thought that dessert, or whatever, would be a great idea.

“I suppose that I do,” I said with a smile.

ten

Biscuit and I returned
home in the wee hours of the morning. I didn't see Neal but figured he was in bed.

Good. I didn't really want to talk about my evening—even though I was having a hard time thinking about anything else. Although with the exercise I'd gotten, I assumed I'd sleep well.

I was right. But even so, I had no trouble waking on time to head to the shops. And despite my mind being focused on Reed, I realized that, in some ways, nothing had changed. We were definitely physically closer, and in the beginning of a relationship, but that was all. For now, at least. No discussions about the future, except looking forward to seeing each other more in the clinic … and elsewhere.

Good thing Janelle had been scheduled to come in at six a.m. that morning to learn more about how to bake for both shops. She would be a great diversion—assuming she showed up. With all that had been happening in her life, I anticipated a phone call to tell me she was going to be late, if she was coming in at all.

She might be under suspicion. Maybe even under arrest, although surely word would have gotten out about that if it was the case. But in any event, she might not want to be anywhere in public till the situation played out.

To my surprise, though, she arrived a few minutes early, opening the rear door from the parking lot with her new key. “Good morning, Carrie,” she called. “Can you let me into the Barkery? I have Go with me again today and I'll want to leave him there with Biscuit while I work.”

I was glad she'd remembere
d our no-dogs-in-the-kitchen rule. “Sure,” I said. “Head toward the front and I'll meet you there.”

When I opened the door, Go first came over to me and sniffed my outstretched hand. “Good to see you, boy,” I said. By that time Biscuit, still loose since we hadn't yet opened, had joined us and was jumping around on the tile floor, her fuzzy golden coat a contrast to Go's straight black fur.

Go turned and looked at her, and they traded sniffs. All was fine between them.

And the humans? I hadn't spoken with Janelle yesterday so I wasn't sure how much she knew, but I figured that, since the cops had been here, they'd spoken with her, too.

“So how are you?” I began without explaining why I asked. If she knew what had happened with Ada, she'd easily be able to guess that.

“Pretty much okay.” Janelle certainly looked okay. Better than okay. She was definitely a pretty woman when she wasn't hurting over the loss of her dog. Her blue eyes sparkled and her pink, glossy lips kept smiling, revealing her white teeth. I'd already given her a green Barkery and Biscuits T-shirt, and she wore it now over beige jeans and her regular purple athletic shoes.

“But if you're asking whether I know what happened to Ada, yes, I heard,” she continued. “And some detectives came to our hotel room yesterday and questioned both Delma and me about my argument with Ada at the bar, and our whereabouts that night and all that.”

“I don't suppose either of you killed her, did you?” I'd pasted a big, sarcastic smile on my face to hopefully make it appear that I was kidding—even though I wasn't. Not entirely.

“Not hardly,” she said, laughing lightly. “Hey, I know we need to get some more baking in. I'll attach Go's leash to Biscuit's crate, like before, and we can go back into the kitchen and talk.”

I should have been the one to say that, but one way or another that's what we needed to do. “We can leave the dogs loose for another forty-five minutes or so,” I told her, “as long as the outside door's locked.” I checked to confirm that it was, then we both patted our dogs in brief goodbyes and went into the kitchen.

I gestured for Janelle to follow me to the large sink against the wall near the door from the Barkery. There, we both stood washing our hands for a good, long time before we started touching ingredients.

I wasn't about to waste this opportunity. “So tell me,” I said, loudly enough to be heard over the gushing stream of water. “Do you know anything about—”

“Ada's death? Only what I heard.” She looked straight at me, her light brown hair skimming her shoulders as she shook her head. “It's really terrible, and I understand why the people who heard me confront her at the bar could wonder if I had anything to do with it. But I didn't.” She stopped scrubbing, rinsed her hands, and reached for a paper towel from the roll hung on the wall beside the sink. I did the same.

“Of course not,” I said, hoping that was true, “but—”

Once again she interrupted me. “And you're one of those people who wonders. I get it, Carrie. I was there and heard myself threaten her.” Her grin disappeared and the expression that replaced it reminded me of when she'd first told me about her loss of Go. “I'm trying to put on a good front, even though I'm worried. Of course I am. I threatened the woman, and then she was found dead. I'm not surprised I'm a suspect. But, honestly, that rant got my animosity out of my system.”

“Really?” I didn't mean to say anything, but that made no sense to me.

“Really. Look, I'll explain, but let's get some baking started, shall we? I don't want to focus on this any more than I have to.”

Once more she was right. I'd already started gathering the ingredients for carob and oatmeal dog cookies, and I waved for her to follow me to the counter on the Barkery side. There, I showed her the recipe and we began measuring and mixing the fixings.

Once we'd gotten it into dough form, I glanced at Janelle, wondering if she really intended to explain what she'd just said.

Her smile returned, although a bit half-hearted. “Okay, here's what I meant,” she said. “I'd had Go back for a day before that confrontation. I was so relieved. So happy. Really intended to celebrate with everyone that night. But I'd come here, to Knobcone Heights, because I'd seen Ada Arnist at the dog parks I'd visited, those where dogs had disappeared. She'd bragged so much about her family home up here, and when Go was dognapped—well, I admit I jumped to hasty conclusions about her, especially after I heard rumors about her financial situation. But it's not like I received a ransom demand or anything, even though some people whose dogs were stolen did. I realized, once I got here, how unlikely it was that Ada would be involved just because I'd run into her often. But then I saw her here and she saw me, and when Go showed up at the shelter, my first reaction was to assume I'd been right in the first place. Was I positive about it? No, but it definitely seemed possible. I assumed she'd dropped Go off at the shelter so I wouldn't spot her with him.”

She paused, seeming to concentrate on kneading the dough on the wooden board ahead of her. I glanced her way, inhaling deeply and trying not to be tempted by the cinnamon aroma wafting over from some Icing treats now baking in the oven. “I can understand that,” I prompted. “And so even though you got your dog back, you still felt angry. So you confronted Ada.”

“Yes.” Janelle stopped her kneading and looked back at me. “Sort of. Despite how it probably looked, I wasn't really angry anymore. I was relieved. But I knew not everyone who'd lost their best friends that way would feel the same. So, just in case it really was Ada who'd been doing some dognappings, I attacked her—but only verbally. Honest. And once I'd gotten it off my chest, I can't tell you how happy I felt—and even more relieved, and as if I'd done complete strangers a big favor by warning this woman against ever doing such a terrible thing again. Assuming, of course, she'd done it in the first place. I'm just sorry I stomped out of there for effect. I didn't even see Neal again that night, or he'd have been able to vouch for my complete change in mood once that was out of my system.”

Not to mention act as her potential alibi. But I didn't suggest that, either.

Still, I did think that what she'd said made sense. And why kill Ada after she had gotten her dog back? It would seem more likely that someone whose dog was still gone, and who now suspected Ada after hearing Janelle's accusations, would confront and kill her.

“I get it,” I said. “I just hope everyone else who saw you there understands.”

She stopped kneading and looked at me again, her head tilted and her lips taut with irony. “I haven't told everyone else, of course. And when I told all this to the two detectives, they listened and nodded and took notes and probably recorded what I said. Then they left without arresting me. But did they believe me?” She shook her head slowly. “I doubt it. I'm afraid I'll see them again, and they'll have more than questions next time.”

I couldn't disagree with her, but I hoped, for her sake, that she was wrong. Been there, done that. At least in my case, the truth had finally come out that I definitely wasn't a murderer. Who knew what would happen to Janelle—or whether she was, in fact, telling the truth?

We both got back into baking after that. I pondered what she'd said even more as I rolled the dough out and used some cookie cutters in the shape of dog heads to form the biscuits. Did it make sense? Sure. Did I believe it?

I wanted to … for Neal's sake as much as anything. Assuming he still was interested in this woman who could change moods so quickly. And assuming the cops weren't focusing on him.

Personally, I was beginning to really like Janelle. She seemed to be a good bakery assistant and more. And as much as I hated the idea of a murder having occurred, whether or not she was guilty, her outburst might have prevented further doggy kidnappings—at least if Ada had in fact been guilty and was killed by someone else who was angry with her for what she'd supposedly done.

For now, I'd keep an open mind—and an open door for Janelle as one of my helpers.

I had a shift at the vet clinic that afternoon and left early for it. I'd
been thinking too much about murder and Janelle and Neal and doggy kidnappings. I needed to spend some time with caring people who had nothing to do with any of that.

Especially, hopefully, with Reed.

Biscuit and I headed to Cuppa-Joe's first, though, where I'd have lunch and coffee and my pup would have water, attention, and treats. Cuppa-Joe's was on Peak Road, at the far side of the town square from where my shops were located on Summit Avenue. It was owned by two people I adored, who were almost like substitute parents to me, and to Neal, too: Joe and Irma Nash, both great-looking seniors who were highly active running their family restaurant.

When Biscuit and I arrived and sat down at a table on the busy patio, the first person who came to greet us was server Kit, wearing her usual large, toothy smile. “Hi, Carrie. Hi, Biscuit.” My pup stood and wagged her tail, but wisely Kit didn't pat her or she'd have had to wash her hands again. Like the rest of the wait staff, this young server wore a knit shirt with buttons and a collar, with a steaming coffee cup logo on the pocket. Today's shirt was red, but as with all the other servers, I'd seen Kit in lots of different colors.

“Hi, Kit. Are the Joes here?” That was the nickname given to the Nashes by a lot of their customers, including me, punning on how Joe's name was also a slang term for “coffee.”

“They sure are. I'll let them know you're here. Would you like your usual?”

“Yes, please.” These days I sometimes had a hamburger with a cup of vegetable soup, along with my coffee. That gave me a meat treat I could pass portions of to Biscuit, while also feeling that I was indulging in something healthy and more sensible for myself.

“Great. I'll bring your soup now.”

Before Kit returned, both Joe and Irma came out of the restaurant door, huge smiles on their faces. Joe, with his gray hair, receding hairline, and deep facial divots, appeared like the sixty-something guy he was, but Irma, who was around his age, kept her hair stylishly cut and a gray-free brown, and her mostly unlined face made up like a model's. They, too, wore Cuppa-Joe's knit shirts, both black.

“Carrie, welcome!” Irma bent down to kiss my cheek. “And you, too, Biscuit.” She didn't hesitate to hug my pup, but she wasn't handling food.

Joe did the same, and Biscuit responded happily with licks and a frantically wagging tail.

Joe straightened up first. “Good to see both of you,” he said. Without asking, he circled the crowded patio and dragged another empty chair over to my table. He and Irma sat down and smiled at me.

“Hi to both of you, too,” I said. “Everything okay around here?” I looked around at the busy eating area and assumed it was.

“Sure is. And with you?” Irma leaned across the table toward me. “I don't suppose you're involved with that latest murder that I heard about, are you? I heard it had something to do with a dog.”

My dear friends knew me very well. “Not exactly,” I hedged, but that was enough to set them off.

“Then how?” Joe asked, as Kit came over with a tray containing my soup as well as three cups of coffee. She set one in front of each of us.

The conversations of other diners surrounding us gave me hope I wouldn't be overheard, but I nevertheless looked around and made sure no one nearby was sitting alone and unoccupied. Then I proceeded to give them the highlights of how I was remotely involved, including Neal's interest in the young lady who'd found her missing dog and threatened the murder victim about it.

“Wow.” Joe shook his head when I'd finished, taking a sip of coffee as if it was something stronger. He regarded me with brown eyes set into folds on his face that were nevertheless astute and intense. “And you want to help clear her? You do have some experience in such things.”

“I did get questioned already by my detective buddies from before, and I also hired Janelle as a part-time assistant at my stores, but—”