Bite the Biscuit (A Barkery & Biscuits Mystery)

by Linda O. Johnston

  Never mind how Neal’s attitude had appeared when he stormed in and made an apparent attempt to protect me. He’d even disturbed poor Biscuit, who’d stood up and looked from my brother to me and back again as if trying to figure out whether there was something really wrong with her pack.

  There was, but I didn’t want her worried about it. She was generally a sweet, calm little girl. Even though I’d had an urge to either yell back at my brother or run away, I didn’t want her to sense it and do something to incur the authorities’ wrath.

  Now, it was ten minutes later. Neal had quieted down almost immediately and was currently smiling at the two cops who’d stood up and glared when he’d barged in. Biscuit was fine now too, lying at Neal’s feet.

  The detectives had started asking Neal questions, as if they also considered him a person of interest—or did now, after his outburst. But at least they’d all sat down after Neal brought another chair over. I remained off to one side while the cops and Neal talked.

  An interrogation? Of sorts, but it was reciprocal. The two of them answered as many of Neal’s questions as he responded to theirs. For the moment, I was out of it. I felt relieved yet antsy. I needed to open the shops soon.

  While listening, I looked around the Barkery, seeing it from the cops’ perspective. It would be all new to them since neither had attended the party yesterday. Along with the muted aroma wafting in from the kitchen, there was now a good supply of today’s doggy treats in the glass display case. But I suspected that Bridget and Wayne didn’t notice them. Since Bridget’s pet was a cat, she probably wasn’t even interested in perusing the display.

  No blood was on anything, of course. This place contained no clues to the murder they were investigating.

  Blood? That was just an assumption, since Myra had apparently been murdered. But perhaps there wasn’t blood.

  How had Myra been killed?

  Maybe I’d find a way to ask. Maybe I’d find a way for Neal to ask. I wanted to hug him. After his initial onslaught, he’d been the most engaging and personable guy imaginable, just smiling and saying he didn’t know anything and neither did his sister. He hinted that we were each other’s alibis, since we’d slept in the same house, as usual, last night. But fortunately he wasn’t asked to vouch for me specifically, and neither was I asked to vouch for him.

  But I knew what made Neal one heck of a good tourist guide. He was popular, and people loved the hikes he led along the local trails beneath the knobcone pines, his boating expeditions on Knobcone Lake, and the skiing outings he organized on the slopes in winter. He was sweet. He was personable. And somehow, he seemed to be winning over Bridget and Wayne. Yes, he was on a first-name basis with both of them.

  “So you used to work for the Los Angeles Police Department?” he asked. “Both of you?” He leaned forward, grasping his hands between his knees as he looked from one to the other and back with his intense blue eyes, appearing the picture of earnestness. “It’s really great that you came to Knobcone Heights. I’d have thought that working for the San Bernardino County Sheriff’s Department would be the big thing around here.”

  “In a way, yes,” said Bridget. The frown I’d noticed on her before had been replaced by a look I couldn’t quite read, except that it appeared mildly amused as well as somewhat predatory, as if she was just humoring this overly enthusiastic young man, waiting for the right time to leap in for the kill. “I got some good training in L.A. and could have stayed there, but I enjoy the San Bernardino Mountains. The Sheriff’s Department would have been a good choice, but I liked the people here, the location, and, honestly, the fact I could probably get promoted more quickly.”

  I was a bit surprised she was being so forthright—or at least I was till she continued.

  “So now I’m a detective with a lot of seniority. If I determine someone’s a prime suspect, a lot of people jump in to help me find all the evidence needed to arrest them.”

  Why wasn’t I surprised when her gaze moved from my brother to me? My feeling that she was preparing herself for the kill was probably correct—but she’d aimed it at me, not Neal.

  It was my turn to smile at the senior detective, although a lot more weakly than my brother had. “Gee, and I thought you came here because you wanted to try some of my baked goods, Bridget. In fact, I need to check on the scones my assistant put into the oven a little while ago. If they’re ready, I’ll bring some nice warm ones out to both of you.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Wayne said in a hurry, after receiving a glance from Bridget. He stood at the same moment I did.

  “You must really be hungry,” I said, trying to continue joking—because if I didn’t, I might cry.

  “A bit,” he said. “But in case you were going to use the opportunity to run, don’t even think about it.”

  He, too, had been trained by the LAPD. He hadn’t said why he’d chosen to work for the Knobcone Heights Police Department, but he probably had a similar response to Bridget’s—yet he was one of the people who jumped to do her bidding.

  I looked into his face and clenched my fists, but only for a second. “I didn’t think about that till you mentioned it. And, no, I’m not about to leave my store just because you two are barking up the wrong tree.” I paused. “That’s a joke of sorts. You know that I sell doggy products here.”

  He nodded. “I have a couple of dogs at home. They’re more my wife’s than mine—little guys, both dachshund mixes. She got them from a shelter.”

  “That’s wonderful,” I said, entering the kitchen. “Mountaintop Rescue?”

  “That’s right.”

  Using thick oven mitts, I got the tray of scones out of the oven, then glanced at the clock on the wall. I needed to open the shops. I needed help.

  As if they’d heard my thoughts, the kitchen was suddenly filled with both of my assistants. “What’s going on?” Dinah asked immediately, looking stricken. Her medium brown hair was already pulled back from her face, and she was clearly ready to begin work.

  “I’ve brought the extra ingredients.” That was Judy, and she lifted the grocery bags she held in each hand, then put them on top of the long counter separating the two parts of the kitchen. “Aren’t we ready to open?” There was a frown on her long face and she appeared confused.

  “I hope to, very soon,” I said. “But … Dinah, Judy, something terrible has happened and Detective Crunoll is here with Detective Morana, who’s in the Barkery with my brother right now. They had some questions for me.”

  I half expected one or both of them to mention the murder, since it had already been in the news. But neither appeared to know what I was talking about. And of course I hadn’t mentioned it to Judy earlier.

  “What’s happened?” Dinah asked.

  “Myra Ethman—” I began, but Wayne interrupted.

  “Ms. Ethman has passed away,” he said, looking at me warningly. “It was sudden, so we are looking into it.”

  Both of my assistants looked shocked.

  “Was she murdered?” Dinah asked.

  “Why else would the cops be looking into it?” said Judy, her tone suggesting that she didn’t consider Dinah very bright. Dinah glared at her.

  “That’s a premature assumption,” Wayne said. “And—”

  I was afraid he was about to tell my staff why he was here investigating. They might figure it out anyway; they both knew I’d argued with Myra, for one thing. But it was my turn to interrupt him.

  “I’m so glad you’re both here,” I said. “Please just check out the displays to make sure they look good for when customers arrive, okay? Start with Icing.”

  “Sure, but—” Dinah began.

  “Great. Now, Wayne, let’s go back to the others, okay?” I used napkins with Icing’s logo on them to pick out some scones, then headed toward the door back into the Barkery.

  When we returned, Neal and Bridget were both standing. I handed the scones to our two unwelcome guests. I’d get one for my brother later.

&
nbsp; “I’ve been asking Bridget about what we can do to help figure out what really happened,” my brother said. “To make it clear we’re both sorry but had nothing to do with it.”

  Bridget’s face was unreadable, but she shot a glance toward Wayne, then nodded slightly, taking a small bite of scone without even thanking me for it.

  Wayne kept his scone in the napkin and put it on a chair. Then he pulled a phone from his pocket. “We’re going to keep things as confidential as we can as long as we can,” he said. “But you know how the media is. They’re going to push till they learn how Ms. Ethman died.”

  I gulped. Was he going to show us a picture of her body?

  But no. Instead, the photo he pulled up turned out to be one of a dog leash.

  “One that looked just like this was wrapped around her neck,” he said. “Do you happen to have one like it?”

  It was beige, and made of woven mesh. I had a similar one for Biscuit—the one I kept at the Barkery, in fact—but it was black. And that kind of leash was very common anyway.

  “I definitely don’t have a beige one like that,” I said firmly, “but I can’t swear that the black one I have for Biscuit isn’t similar, maybe even from the same manufacturer. And I think I’ve seen ones like it in the Ethmans’ pet store—the Knob Hill Pet Emporium.”

  I glanced toward Neal, and he nodded. He’d been there too, to buy dog food for Biscuit. Biscuit currently sat on the floor at our feet, looking from one human to another.

  “That’s quite possible,” Bridget said. “That leash is a fairly popular style, and we’re still checking out possible sources.”

  “Is that what killed her?” I asked. Could she really have been strangled with a leash like that?

  “It’s still under investigation, but the leash is believed to be a factor,” Bridget said. “And there’s something else.”

  Once more, I caught her nod to her colleague. He brought up another picture. “This was found near Ms. Ethman,” he said.

  He passed the phone to me, and I tried not to gasp.

  It might not be true, of course. They could just be attempting to rattle me. To trap me into a confession—one that would be false, of course.

  But the item found near Myra’s body did look familiar. Too familiar. It appeared to be a large portion of one of the dog treats from the Barkery: bone-shaped, with a stylized B&B that I’d etched into the dough to promote my new venture.

  It had apparently come from right here, in my shop.

  FIVE

  MY MIND BEGAN SWIRLING like an expanding vortex. Could I possibly recall everyone who’d gotten one of these treats for their dogs? Unlikely. I’d passed out a bunch of our products, but so had my assistants and even Neal, and some treats had just been left on trays for people to pick up.

  “There were a lot of these given out yesterday,” I managed to say, snapping off all attempts at remembering specifics and turning to face both detectives. It wasn’t easy. My knees threatened to buckle, especially under their chilly stares. Fortunately, I remained standing. “It doesn’t matter that they were baked here. Anyone who came to our party could have gotten one and left it at … at the site.” Wherever the murder site was. I still wasn’t sure, but the TV news had suggested Myra was found outside her garage, on the edge of some nearby woods. If my flimsy reciprocal alibi with Neal wasn’t enough to remove me from their suspect list, I couldn’t claim innocence based on having no idea where Myra had lived. She was an Ethman by marriage. Everyone in town knew where they lived.

  “You could have too,” Bridget said.

  She’d seemed to be such a caring person when I’d met her at the veterinary clinic. At least she loved her cat. But that affection clearly didn’t spill over onto an acquaintance she apparently considered a murder suspect.

  “So what’s your opinion about why the biscuit found there was broken?” Wayne asked.

  What was he looking for? I hesitated briefly, considering how to respond. “I don’t know,” I finally said. “All I know is that I didn’t leave it there and have no idea who did.” I looked from one of them to the other. “I know I’m a convenient suspect. I argued with Myra, I admit that, but it wasn’t that huge a disagreement. Even if it had been … You don’t know me very well, but I can assure you I’m not stupid enough to argue with someone in public and then kill them.”

  “She’s not,” Neal confirmed. “In fact, my sis is pretty smart.”

  “Then she’d be smart enough to plant a clue against herself so she could claim later that she’s being framed.” A snide grin bisected Wayne’s wide face.

  “I can’t believe you’re zeroing in on me,” I said softly. My fear must have been obvious to poor Biscuit, who sat leaning against my leg looking up at me. I bent to pat her, wishing I felt secure enough to reassure her.

  “They’re probably just trying to trap you and doing the same thing with everyone else they consider a suspect,” Neal said, also drawing closer. I appreciated the protective presence of my brother, especially when he maneuvered around Biscuit and put his arm around my shoulder.

  “Including you,” Wayne said casually to Neal, and I felt Neal stiffen.

  “But I didn’t—” he began.

  “Argue with her?” Bridget cut in. “No matter. You undoubtedly heard your sister arguing, and protecting a family member is a good enough motive.” Neal released me and opened his mouth to reply, but Bridget continued. “Look, we know neither of you is going to step right up and admit today that you killed Myra. It’s time for us to go. But you can be sure the whole Knobcone Heights Police Department will continue to investigate this homicide and collect evidence a whole lot better and more efficiently than those unreal clowns you see portrayed on TV shows. Then we’ll arrest the person who murdered Ms. Ethman and make sure the charges stick. Goodbye, Neal. And bye, Carrie. I hope the next time I see you is at the veterinary clinic when I pick up some vitamins for Butterball—but I wouldn’t count on it. It’s more likely to be when we have more questions for you.”

  With that, both detectives strode out of the Barkery—and it was a good thing, too. A couple of customers were waiting outside the front door since it was a few minutes past seven a.m. The man and woman glanced curiously toward the two cops, but hopefully they didn’t know that’s what they were. At least the detectives hadn’t been in uniform.

  I noticed then that Judy was just inside the doorway to the kitchen. She stepped into the Barkery quickly to greet the customers but shot a glance over her shoulder toward me. Her expression was blank, all except for a look in her eyes that I couldn’t quite interpret. Fear? Accusation? My imagination? I wasn’t sure, but her face appeared paler than I was used to seeing it.

  She must have been listening in.

  “It’ll be okay, Carrie.” That was Neal. He was still standing beside me. “But I’d better get to work now. You call me if they come back, okay?”

  “Okay,” I said.

  He gave me a hug and Biscuit a pat, and then he left. And despite the customers who stood by the full display case, I felt completely alone. Even Judy had disappeared into the kitchen after greeting the visitors.

  I put Biscuit into her large, open-topped crate, then approached our guests, but before I could do more than say hi Judy returned, carrying one of our trays. This one was covered with a layer of dog cookies shaped like spaniel faces with long ears.

  It wasn’t the kind of biscuit in the photo relating to Myra …

  “Thanks,” I told Judy. I went behind the counter and just watched, smiling while she waited on the customers, who seemed happy to buy a dozen of the newly baked dog treats.

  “We’ll want more later,” said the lady. “Other kinds, too. I left our little Missy at the resort and will probably bring her here a time or two before we leave. We’ll be around for another week, so that should work well.”

  “That would be delightful,” I said. Judy had already packed the order into a decorative bag, and I impulsively grabbed another bis
cuit from the tray. “Let’s make it a baker’s dozen today.”

  Both the lady and the man with her smiled, said thanks, then left.

  “That was nice.” Judy remained beside me behind the display case. She was smiling too, although her long face didn’t look particularly cheerful.

  “It’s always a good thing to make a customer happy,” I said, “and since we opened a few minutes late, it didn’t hurt to add a little extra to encourage them to return.” I sounded as if I’d been running a store for a long time rather than just trusting my instincts as a new retailer—instincts derived from my own experiences as a customer.

  Judy didn’t look impressed. “You’ll need to give us instructions on when to add that little extra to an order.” She paused. “Brenda never wanted us to do that.”

  I didn’t want to say anything against my friend, but I wondered if Icing on the Cake would have been more successful if Brenda had been a little more impulsive that way.

  “I may regret it,” I said, “but let’s give it a try.”

  “Okay.” Judy turned slightly, as if preparing to return to the kitchen, then stopped and looked back at me again with her soft blue eyes. They appeared sad. “Those detectives. Do they … I mean, they were asking Neal and you questions, right? About Myra. And … um, do you know how she was killed?”

  “I … well, the cops indicated she was strangled,” I told her. “With a dog leash. But they indicated there might have been more to it, too.”

  “And the police think you did it?” Then Judy bit her narrow lips as if she regretted saying it.

  I lowered my head for a moment, resting my gaze on Biscuit. “I gather that, yes, I’m on their suspect list. But I didn’t do it, and they’re sure to figure that out soon.”

  “Who do you think did it?” Dinah had just entered the Barkery from the kitchen behind us.

  Both my assistants stared at me, as if waiting for a huge revelation that would make them feel a whole lot better about the situation. But even if I’d hazarded a guess, I had no idea if it would have any potential validity. Even so, I needed to reassure them that all around here was fine. That I’d be around and able to keep this shop open and maintain their jobs.