To Catch a Treat (8 page)

“But, yes, you'll try to figure out the truth, for Janelle and for Neal,” Irma said. “And undoubtedly for her dog, too, to make sure that the found pup still has his family. Am I right?”

Both of the Joes regarded me with hints of smiles and deep interest on their faces, as if the answer I'd give would be an earth-shaking pronouncement.

“Yes,” I said with a sigh. “You're right.”

eleven

So much for attempting
to get my mind far away from the latest murder situation.
But my friends brought it up to me
, I thought as Biscuit and I left Cuppa's.

At least it had kept any smile off my face that might have given away to those dear and insightful people the other situation that was filling my mind … Reed.

And I didn't have to dwell on the murder, either. I had work to do—in my other profession.

A short while later, Biscuit and I arrived at the Knobcone Veterinary Clinic. It was a block behind the town square that my shops fronted, but close to it nevertheless, so it remained convenient to all townies who needed veterinary care for their beloved family members. It even looked attractive enough for the most elite townsfolk to feel comfortable frequenting it, designed to resemble a textured, blue Swiss chalet with a tall, sloped roof and a comfortable front porch where people and pets waiting for appointments could stay for a while, as long as the weather was good—as it was that day.

At the rear was the door to the doggy daycare facility, where I always left Biscuit while on duty as a vet tech. It, too, was comfortable, with a large area where dogs could hang out together as long as they got along well, but the walls were lined with crates for those too nervous or too belligerent to indulge in games and sniffs together.

The chief daycare manager, Faye, was busy talking with a person holding a pug at the reception counter when Biscuit and I walked in, so I edged up to one of the regular workers, Al, who stood near the edge of the room observing the dogs at play. His usual counterpart, Charlie, wasn't far away, but appeared to be cleaning up someone's accident.

Both were college students who worked here when they could, which would help them decide whether or not to go on to veterinary school. As always, both wore red shirts that said Knobcone Vets Rock over their jeans.

Al grinned toothily as I handed him Biscuit's leash. He was short-haired, tall, and strong enough to wrangle ill-mannered larger dogs. I'd seen him in action. “What's her—er, your—schedule today, Carrie?”

“My shift's for three hours,” I told him. “So Biscuit's in charge now.”

“Got it.” Al bent to pick up my dog and give her a big hug. “So, Biscuit, do you want to play first or sleep?”

I left my pup in his good hands, knowing he would listen to whichever she chose. I slipped through the inside door and into the hallway to the clinic. There, I clocked in and headed for the dressing room to grab my blue vet tech scrubs and put them on, leaving my other clothes in my locker. Then I hurried to the central area where I was given my first assignment of the day by the chief vet, my dear friend and mentor Arvie. I was to help him spay a year-old husky mix.

I kept my eyes open for Reed, but learned he was busy with a dental procedure, and another vet tech was helping him. So, I hurried to join Arvie.

Like my other senior friends the Nashes, Arvie was in his sixties. He had gray hair. “You ready to work?” he asked me, his expression serious. But I knew he was just joking. He knew me well enough to realize I was always ready to work, both here and at my stores. He was one really good guy, not to mention a wonderful, caring vet.

“Gee, do I have to?” I whined, then laughed. “Let's do it, boss.”

The day progressed well after that. I helped to give shots to some cats as well as dogs, then got to assist Reed in another neutering. Considering our increasing attraction for one another, especially after the night before, the looks we gave each other during noncritical parts of that procedure consisted of eye rolls and teasing grins.

I wasn't the only tech on duty that day. There were several of us, in fact, but it was Yolanda I was working with when an owner brought two dogs into our crowded reception area.

That owner looked familiar, and I realized he was Tim something, who had been at Janelle's non-celebration party at the bar. Ada had said he lived somewhere locally, but this was the first time I recalled seeing him come in with his pets. Since I wasn't at the clinic all the time, though, it could have been one of many visits for all I knew.

His dogs both appeared to be purebreds, although not the same breed. One was an English bulldog, and the other a schnauzer, and they had injuries that suggested they'd gotten into a fight.

The receptionist for the day took one look at them and told us to immediately take the dogs to the back for treatment.

“Are they both yours?” I asked Tim as Yolanda and I approached him.

“Yes.”

“Then do they fight often?”

He shook his head, his brown eyes, still sunken into his long face, large and sad. “No. Never before. But I guess they both wanted the same bone this time. Are they going to be okay?”

“We'll take care of them,” was all I said. I thought so, of course, but no guarantees. “What are their names?”

I carried Waldo, the schnauzer, from our reception area, already examining the teeth marks around his neck. Yolanda had immediately picked up Butch, the bulldog, whose injuries appeared to be all over his body. Since Yolanda and I weren't the best of buddies, I wondered whether I should have tried to get the more difficult dog to carry first, to ease some tension between us.

As always, I thought Yolanda's uniform looked in better condition than mine—newer and crisper. She was dark-complected, with black hair that was pulled as always into a bun at the back of her neck. She was a good vet tech. She also carried grudges, valid or not. She'd been angry with me a while back because of a situation at the clinic that had appeared to be of my making, during the time when I was also a murder suspect. Even after I was cleared, she never seemed to get back to the same minor degree of friendliness that we'd previously shared.

But we still had to work together. And I could at least admire her caring and efficiency around animals.

“You take Waldo to Dr. Jensin,” she ordered. “I'll take Butch to Dr. Regles.

That sounded fine to me, so even though I wasn't used to taking orders from Yolanda, I did so now.

Both Dr. Paul Jensin and Dr. Angela Regles were senior vets who, though younger than Arvie, had been around here equally long and had helped to found the Knobcone Veterinary Clinic. Paul was tall, thin, and rather gaunt-looking, but although he kept his face fairly expressionless when talking to people, particularly when imparting a dire diagnosis, he always smiled at the pets and even
talked baby talk to them.

“Who's this?” he demanded, immediately after walking through the back door into the examination room into which I'd brought Waldo.

I introduced him to the injured schnauzer, who wagged his tail slowly, as though every movement hurt. The vet started examining, then cleaning the injuries. Since Tim hadn't come in here with this dog, I assumed he'd gone with Yolanda and Butch.

It appeared that, despite their bloodiness, the injuries weren't too deep and just required cleaning and bandaging, plus an antibiotic to prevent infection. Then we were through.

Something struck me, though, as I assisted my vet in taking care of the dog. Tim had apparently been a friend of Ada's. I'd no reason to think he had anything against her, of course. But what if Janelle had been right in the first place and Ada had dognapped Go? The two dogs Tim brought in might not be purebreds, of course, even though that was how they appeared. But out of curiosity …

When Paul told me to take Waldo back out to the reception area, I agreed—but instead of taking him straight out there I headed for one of the other nearby rooms, where we kept one of the clinic's microchip sensors. I turned it on and waved it along Waldo's back.

Yes, the dog was chipped. But the information on the electronic read-out was just gibberish. Billi had told me there'd been a similar problem here at the clinic reading the chip in the dog believed to be Go. Was there something wrong with the our scanner? But the same thing had happened at Mountaintop Rescue.

I headed back into the hallway and was glad to see Yolanda coming down it with Butch on a leash at her side—but Tim, the owner, wasn't with her, either. That also made me somewhat suspicious of him.

“Could you come in here?” I asked Yolanda. “There's something we need to check. It's in the dogs' best interests.” I figured that would get her to listen to me a lot better than if I just insisted or said it was something I wanted. We traded dogs and I had her keep Waldo close to her, although the two dogs appeared to have entered into a truce even if they'd fought hard before.

Sure enough, Butch, too, was chipped, and his chip was also unreadable.

“Thanks,” I said to Yolanda. “I'd really appreciate it if you let me take them both back to the owner.” That way I didn't have to beg her not to mention the chip discrepancy.

Fortunately, Arvie came into the room just then and said he needed one of us right away. Yolanda didn't bother looking at me before volunteering.

That might have irritated me under other circumstances—and, in fact, it wasn't the first time, and it usually did bother me. Not this time, though.

I just watched them leave, then carefully took the two dogs back to the reception room, keeping one on each side of me. Fortunately, they continued to ignore each other.

Tim stood up as we entered and rushed to us. “Are they okay?”

“They'll be fine as long as they don't start fighting again,” I said.

“Of course. And will they be scarred?”

“Possibly.”

I watched him head to the receptionist to pay. Still holding onto the leashes while he was distracted, I knelt on the floor and hugged the dogs, one at a time.

“I wish you could tell me whether you're really his dogs and why you were fighting,” I whispered so no one in the still-crowded room could hear me. But I knew there was something I could follow up on while I was here—nothing definitive, but something that might nevertheless be interesting.

I soon turned both dogs over to Tim and watched him help them into his car. They seemed almost to ignore one another now—which boded well in terms of fighting.

When he drove away, I went down the hall, away from the reception area, and pulled my cell from my pocket and called Janelle.

“Can you tell me who Go's vet is in LA?”

“Sure, but why—”

“Just a question I wanted to ask them.” So much for being casual and finding the right time to ask her.
This
was the right time.

Without hesitation, Janelle told me. After hanging up, I checked on the office computer to get the phone number of the place. I called and acted very serious and concerned, saying I was a veterinary technician here in Knobcone Heights and a dog named Go had been brought in by his owner Janelle Blaystone, and so forth. I was able to answer questions that helped to verify I was who I said I was. I said that Janelle had approved my call—and I was sure she would say she had, if they checked with her—and asked for information related to any treatment of Go. Medical privacy might not be quite as strong in veterinary practice as it is with human doctors, but there are definitely restrictions.

I was able to get the LA clinic to tell me about Go: that he had been neutered, what his weight was, and that he'd been brought in once for an abscess on his right rear leg, near the top of his thigh. Its removal had left a scar.

I thanked them profusely and said it was useful to know whether Go might be prone to developing abscesses. I fortunately didn't need to explain any further.

But I now knew that I had to examine the black Lab Janelle said was Go … and see if he had a scar on the inside of his right thigh.

Fortunately, my shift was nearly over. I only had another half hour there, which was quickly taken up by yet another set of inoculations, this time on a Shih Tzu who hadn't had any shots for more than a year.

Then it was almost time to leave. I first waited for Arvie to finish his latest exam and said goodbye, confirming that he was okay with my next shift being in two days.

Next I waited to say goodbye to Reed. We grinned at one another and made plans to meet for dinner at my house that night.

Finally, I went to pick up Biscuit at the doggy daycare room, and we walked quickly back to the shops.

I passed the Icing window first and looked in, seeing Dinah there along with Vicky, and both were busy with customers. Biscuit and I entered the shops by the Barkery door. Janelle was there waiting on a customer with a Westie.

Biscuit traded nose sniffs with the visitor dog first, then headed over to where Go was leashed to the crate. I followed her, patted Go's head, and then pushed him slightly so he rolled onto his back for a tummy rub.

This way, I was able to see the inside of his thigh.

His black fur was thick, though not so much on that part of his legs. I was able to sweep it back …

… and saw a round, pinkish scar, right where the person I'd spoken with from Go's vet clinic had said it would be.

Now I was convinced.

“You're a good dog, Go,” I said.

twelve

“Is Go all right?”
Janelle—whose customer was reaching into her purse, presumably searching for the means to pay for her dog treats—had slipped around the counter toward us.

“He's fine.” I gestured with my glance back toward the lady with the Westie. “We'll talk later.”

Maybe. Did I want to reveal my thoughts to my new assistant?

Did I even know what those thoughts were? Or how they might, or might not, relate to what had happened to Ada Arnist?

But circumstances in the shop suddenly began to tell me I needed to take Biscuit out again, right away, and allow Janelle and Go to accompany us. Although a new set of customers—a family consisting of a mother, ten-year-or-so-old son, and a middle-sized mixed breed light brown dog—entered the Barkery, so did Dinah, from Icing. “Vicky's got things going just fine in there,” my full-time assistant said, gesturing with her head in the direction of Icing. Without asking, she approached our newcomers with a big smile and an offer to assist them in picking out the best treats ever for their pup.

At the same time, Biscuit surprisingly started pawing at the thick plastic frame of her enclosure, usually an indication she wanted to go outside, even though I'd just put her in there.

It wouldn't hurt to take Go out, either. I mentioned the possibility to Janelle, who seemed both pleased and relieved. “Yes,” she said. “It's been a while since I've had him out.”

I grabbed some biodegradable plastic bags from behind the counter in case our dogs did something we'd need to pick up, and then we hurried outside with them. In a minute, there we were, with both dogs leashed and walking ahead of us along the sidewalk.

“Let's go across the street to the town square,” I suggested, since it was a good place to walk dogs on gentle hills and along grass beneath—what else?—knobcone pine trees. Janelle was fine with that.

The day was warm, but overcast and muggy, and I wondered if we'd get some rain. Not many people were on the sidewalks, but the park was crowded with kids and pets.

As we crossed the street, I noticed a guy standing alone. As with Tim, I recognized him from the party at the resort bar. What was his name? Gary? Garvy?

At the bar, I'd thought he was flirting with me, but maybe I'd just imagined that. In any case, I didn't need to talk with him again, so I steered Janelle and our dogs toward another part of the square.

“Tell me what you were doing with Go,” Janelle insisted. “And why you needed his real vet's name. You're a vet tech. Do you think something's wrong with him?” Her tone was urgent, and I hated for her to be worried about a nonexistent health issue.

But did I want to tell her I'd been attempting to find a way to prove to myself whether she was lying or telling the truth about this dog she'd claimed was hers? Not especially. Particularly not now, when I was convinced she'd been truthful.

Which of course brought up all those other issues I'd been contemplating—such as whether or not Janelle currently believed that Ada had dognapped Go. And since she'd come to town assuming that Ada might be here with Go, at the Arnist family home, had she also had a plan to get her dog back?

But she'd gotten her dog back by accident.

None of this meant she'd hurt Ada, of course. Maybe, as she'd said, she'd just decided to issue a warning to Ada and anyone else who might consider hurting others by stealing their beloved dogs.

The core issue for me had been the beautiful black Lab's real identity, and now I felt confident that no matter what else Janelle might have been thinking or feeling, she was right about that.

I turned away from where our two dogs were sniffing the turf and relieving themselves. I needed to reassure Janelle. “As far as I can tell, Go is fine. And,” I added, “he is Go.”

“Then you contacted his vet to check up on me?” Janelle's face, so pretty and calm now, squeezed up a bit as if I'd hurt her feelings.

“Well—” I really hated to admit it, but—

“Hi,” came a male voice from behind us. For a moment, I felt relieved at the interruption.

Until I turned and saw it was the man who'd been standing on the corner, the one I'd recognized.

“Hi,” I returned unenthusiastically, then continued walking with Biscuit, gesturing with my head slightly to encourage Janelle to join us with Go.

“We met at the resort bar the other night,” the guy continued. “And, well, forgive me for being nosy, but I was told you own that great couple of shops across the street, those two bakeries.”

If I'd been concerned he was flirting, now I was sure of it. I wasn't particularly pleased, especially when he hurried ahead and planted himself in our path. It didn't matter, on the negative side, that he was ten or more years my senior, or, on the positive side, that he was a good-looking man. I just wasn't interested.

Not with Reed and me getting closer. I wasn't even about to follow up with the other men who'd seemed inclined to enter my life recently, even when they occasionally called.

Although there was some hint of the debonair about this man. Maybe it was his white shirt and dark trousers, given that he just appeared to be hanging out here, not hurrying off to some kind of meeting like a well-dressed businessman would.

“Like I told you then, my name is Garvy Grant,” he said. “And you're Carrie Kennersly, right?” He didn't wait for my response before saying, “And you're Janelle Blaystone. I was there during your argument with Ada Arnist.” His tone was low and sad now. “I heard what happened to her, but from all I've also heard about you, Janelle, I'm sure you didn't do it.”

Why didn't I believe him? And why was this guy so insistent on talking to us?

As I attempted to find a polite but unrelenting way to tell him to buzz off, Janelle said softly, “Thank you, Garvy. I appreciate that.”

“Are a lot of people giving you a hard time?” he asked. “Just because you argued a little doesn't mean you'd have hurt her. And from what I heard, you were just protecting your beautiful dog there.” He moved from his position directly in front of us so he could kneel on the ground and gently wrestle with Go. At the same time, he reached over and patted my little Biscuit on the head. “I certainly understand that,” he said. “I love dogs.”

Okay, the ice in my heart shouldn't start melting just because this guy professed to love dogs, but somehow I no longer felt as urgent a need to get away from him.

“Yeah, me too,” I said. “Do you own a dog?” If so, I'd invite him across the street to the Barkery to buy some treats.

“Not now.” Garvy rose, his expression sad. “Mine recently passed away. I'm taking some time to grieve before I get another.”

Now I really felt for the guy. Not that I wanted to get any closer—or flirt with him in response.

That did seem to get Janelle's attention, though. “I'm so sorry,” she said, her tone suggesting she really meant it. “Do you live around here, or are you just visitin
g?”

“Just visiting.”

“Well, if you start thinking about getting another dog while you're here, Carrie knows the people at Mountaintop Rescue. You can always go take a look and see if you fall for any of the dogs there.” Janelle knelt down beside Go this time and hugged him. “It's where I got my dog back. He'd been missing before.”

“That's what you were arguing with Ada about, wasn't it?” Garvy asked. “You thought she had something to do with your dog's disappearance?”

“Well … ” Janelle was standing again and looked concerned.

As well she might be. I didn't understand, either, why this guy was acting so friendly yet asking so many difficult questions.

Time to interrupt. “Glad you agree that Janelle had nothing to do with what happened to Ada,” I said. “But we were just taking a doggy break. We need to get back to our stores.” My stores, really, but they were now part of Janelle's life, too.

“That's great,” Garvy said. “Let me walk back with you. I unfortunately don't need any dog treats right now, but I've heard really great things about the baked goods at Icing on the Cake. I want to buy some cookies or something. You can advise me on what's best.”

“Everything's great,” I told him wryly. “But you don't have to come now just because—”

“Oh, I want to.”

I tugged gently on Biscuit's leash and saw Janelle do the same with Go. I couldn't really tell this guy not to come to my bakery.

Well, okay, I could, but I chose not to … at least for now.

There wasn't a lot of traffic that late afternoon, so we quickly crossed back to the retail side of the street. “We need to put both dogs in the Barkery,” Janelle told Garvy. “Then I'll take you next door to Icing and see what people treats look good to you.”

“Wonderful!”

Biscuit and I were first to reach the Barkery door. I was delighted, initially, to see that the place was full of people, some with dogs and some without.

I wasn't at all delighted when I saw that two of the dogless folks were my dark-suited detective non-friends, Wayne Crunoll and Bridget Morana.

Or when they immediately made their way through the crowd toward me.

No, toward Janelle. Wayne nodded at me while Bridget didn't even spare me a glance. “Hello, Ms. Blaystone,” she said to Janelle. “Would you step outside with us for a few minutes? We have some more questions.”

“Oh, I can't possibly spare her,” I said hurriedly. “We had to take the dogs out to do … well, you know, what dogs do. But you can see how busy we are here. We need to step right in and help the staff members who are waiting on customers.”

“We'll only take her away for a few minutes,” Wayne said, but the sparkle in his eyes told me that he was hoping she'd confess and they could arrest her right then.

“Can you tell me in just a few words what you want to talk about that we haven't already discussed?” Janelle's voice was higher than usual, but she sounded calm.

“A couple more things have come to mind about how we can find some of the other people who frequented the dog parks with Ms. Arnist in LA,” Bridget said.

“Honestly, I don't know the names of those people. The dogs are another story.”

“Well, you can tell us which parks and which dogs,” Wayne said. “We'll work it out with the local authorities to visit the individuals or get them to assist, if necessary.”

“Can we do it another time?” Janelle asked, catching my eye. “We really are busy here.”

“You can visit the station tomorrow,” Bridget replied. “Step over here and we'll set up a time.”

Before that time, whatever it might be, I'd introduce Janelle to Attorney Ted Culbert. He was one of the men I'd been somewhat avoiding, in the hopes that my relationship with Reed would grow stronger. But he'd been a great help, and given me good advice, when I'd needed some legal assistance of my own.

For now, I walked away as Janelle went into a corner with the detectives, presumably to schedule a time to talk tomorrow.

I glanced around, remembering Garvy. He'd seemed to believe in Janelle. Not that his opinion would matter. But maybe, by bribing him with a free cookie, I could get him to mention to the cops how he'd decided Janelle was innocent despite her argument with Ada—for, no matter what the detectives said, I still believed they were hoping for her to confess.

But when I made my way through the Barkery's crowd, I didn't see Garvy. Of course not. Just being around dogs and dog treats might make the grieving former dog owner feel bad. I headed into Icing.

We had a crowd there, too, whom Vicky was waiting on.

But I didn't see Garvy there, either.

Strange.

Still, I didn't care whether he was around. And I figured I might see him again when he was ready for some baked treats.