Bite the Biscuit (A Barkery & Biscuits Mystery)

by Linda O. Johnston

  Whatever, it kept me awake, thinking, for much longer than I should have been that night.

  FIFTEEN

  SOMEHOW I SLEPT OKAY. Maybe I was just too exhausted to do otherwise.

  The next morning I did what was becoming my usual: woke early, got dressed, put Biscuit in the dog run and then fed her, and headed for my shops with my dog beside me in the passenger seat of my car.

  I managed not to think about Walt’s phone message—at least not much.

  When we arrived, I secured Biscuit in the Barkery and scanned the leftovers from the prior day. Some would be fresh enough to sell, but I preferred giving most away—some at the clinic and some at

  Billi’s shelter. As for the Icing leftovers, I’d also sort them out later. Brenda had begun giving some to a homeless shelter down the mountain and had left me a way to reach the staff if I had any donations.

  Then I got the baking for both sides started and was well on the way to being able to fill the display cases by the time either of my assistants arrived.

  It was Sunday, and I knew weekends could be the busiest times in my shops if a lot of visitors came to Knobcone Heights between their work weeks. That’s the way things had been for Icing, according to Brenda.

  I was hoping both my stores’ sales would surpass hers. Not that I’d ever tell her or rub it in.

  Dinah was earliest to arrive that day. If I wasn’t mistaken, my younger helper looked even more tired than I felt. In fact, her demeanor reminded me that she was older than she usually appeared. She entered by way of the kitchen just as I removed some dog treats from the oven, which wafted a delicious sent of meat and apples into the air.

  “Good morning,” I said cheerfully.

  “Hi. Smells good.”

  “Yes, it does. Do you want to take over baking the dog treats for now?”

  “Sure.” She put her purse down in the usual place, on the bottom shelf of the closed supply cabinet at the back of the kitchen, and put on an apron.

  I could tell I wasn’t going to get a scintillating conversation going with her so I just asked, “Are you feeling okay?”

  “Sure,” she said again. She dragged her slightly chubby body in my direction and gave me a tired smile. “The thing is, I think I told you that my first love is writing, right?”

  I nodded.

  “For some reason, all that’s been going on, including Myra’s memorial yesterday, has triggered a story inside me and I stayed up much later than I should have to start writing it.” She looked at me earnestly. “I like the way it’s going, but I promise I won’t do that again.”

  I laughed. “From what I’ve heard about writers, your inspiration may control the rest of your life. But do what’s best for you—as long as you’re here on time and able to work.”

  “Oh, yes, I am. I will be. I promise.”

  She made good on that promise, jumping right into baking, and then helped stock our two sets of display cases.

  Judy arrived about an hour later. By then, most of the early baking had been completed and both displays were fairly full. I’d remained mostly in the kitchen, where I’d packed up some Barkery leftovers to take to the vet clinic and Mountaintop Rescue. I also called the homeless shelter down the mountain and discussed which leftover human treats to save for them, like cookies that wouldn’t go stale.

  Then I began playing around with one of my favorite dog biscuit recipes. It was one I particularly liked as it was, but I enjoyed experimenting with my creations for pets. I figured one of these days I might try playing with Icing’s recipes too, but since I’d inherited those from Brenda, I didn’t have as much knowledge about them—nor did I have as much of myself invested in them. I knew they were good and wasn’t sure I could make them any better. With the Barkery products that might also have been true—but I also had a desire to find out.

  I added some crushed yams to my favorite cheese-flavored biscuits. Hey, there were plenty of good sweet-potato-and-cheese recipes available for humans, and I liked the combo, so why not? I tasted the batter before I evened it out with a rolling pin and used biscuit-shaped cookie cutters to form the treats.

  While they were in the oven, I visited first Icing, currently being run by Dinah, and then the Barkery, staffed by Judy. They both were sweeping floors and washing the insides of the windows. No customers.

  In fact, so far that day we’d had only a few customers. The bells I’d had installed on both shop doors to let us know when someone came in hadn’t rung often. I needed to think about how to promote both stores. An ad in a local paper or online? A contest of some kind?

  Maybe some posters at the vet clinic, mostly promoting the Barkery but letting people know that they could treat themselves here too.

  I liked that idea. I’d run it by Arvie soon. If he agreed, the other vets, Arvie’s partners Angela and Paul, would have no problem with it. And I got along with them all just fine, so I wasn’t too worried about obtaining their approval. And I knew Reed wouldn’t mind. But in any case, he hadn’t been there long enough to have a lot of say over administrative things like promotional stuff on the premises.

  I returned to the kitchen a short while later to remove my new treats from the oven. I put the metal cookie sheet on the top of a counter so they could cool.

  Judy soon entered the kitchen carrying some cleaning materials to return to the appropriate place—away from our cooking area. Good timing. I was eager to take charge at one of my shops, preferably the Barkery.

  “Would you like a break now, Judy?” I asked as she removed the cleaning apron she’d donned—which was different from our sparkling white serving aprons.

  “I’d love one.”

  She sounded almost relieved. Had I been overworking my staff? Maybe, but neither had complained. Not yet, at least. Even so, I’d try to be more observant and caring.

  I’d learned from Brenda, though, what hours she’d scheduled her helpers for, and I didn’t think I’d exceeded them. Maybe working in two shops at one time was more grueling for them, even though they’d initially said they wanted to handle sales on both sides.

  It certainly was grueling for me, but highly exciting.

  “I’ve got a request first,” I told Judy. I asked her to take some of the leftover dog treats I’d packed up to the veterinary clinic and the rest to the shelter. Then she could do whatever she wanted for the remainder of her break.

  She sounded fine with that and said she’d stop for a coffee treat at Cuppa-Joe’s, since all we served here was brewed coffee, regular and decaf. I considered asking her to bring something more exciting back for me, but I didn’t really need it. I instead suggested that she ask Dinah if she wanted anything—which she did. Dinah was working in Icing at the moment; I’d heard bells ring in both of the shops, and I knew I’d better get into the Barkery.

  I decided to pay for drinks for both of them. They’d both be getting caffeine, after all. Maybe they’d have more energy then.

  After handing some money from my wallet to Judy, I watched her exit out the back door. Then I went into the Barkery.

  Every time I entered I paid some attention to my little Biscuit. I always at least said hi to her, and depending on whether I had time to wash my hands, I usually petted her, too. This time when I went in, Biscuit was still attached to her crate with a leash, having a sniff-fest with two dogs I hadn’t met before—a couple of dachshund mixes. I noticed the dogs together immediately as I entered the room from the door behind the refrigerated display case and grinned as I approached them. Their entrance—or their owner’s—must have rung the bell at the Barkery door. I was delighted to see them getting along so well.

  As I moved out from behind the display case, I scanned the room to see what person belonged to these newcomer dogs—and almost skidded to a halt.

  Detective Wayne Crunoll stood off to one side in front of the display case, looking at its contents. He also held the handles of the two extension leashes attached at the other end to the two visiting dogs.


  He was more casual-looking today than I’d seen him before—an L.A. Dodgers T-shirt over jeans—and I doubted he’d shaved the dark hair on his face this morning. Sure, it was Sunday, but cops didn’t necessarily have weekends free.

  On the other hand, I knew this particular cop had been working long hours this week, investigating a case I happened to be somewhat familiar with.

  He must have heard me, since he turned to face me. “Hello, Carrie,” he said. “I’d like to introduce you to my dogs.”

  I recalled his saying he owned a couple of dogs but they were more his wife’s than his. I’d never met them before, so maybe they were so healthy they never had to go to a vet’s.

  On the other hand, if they were going to stay that way, they’d need checkups and shots. Of course, there were other veterinary clinics not far away in the San Bernardino Mountains area—and those outside of Knobcone Heights might be less expensive.

  “This is Blade.” He stooped to touch the lighter brown pup on the head. “And this is Magnum.” Magnum was mostly black, with an even longer muzzle than his buddy.

  Interesting names. They sounded appropriate for a cop, even if this cop thought the family’s dogs were closer to his wife.

  “Hi, Blade and Magnum,” I said. Since I’d been prepared to pet Biscuit anyway, I gave all three dogs some loving pats.

  When I stood again, I faced Wayne. His raised brows over his light brown eyes and friendly smile looked absolutely guileless, and I was highly suspicious.

  “So are you here to buy some treats for Blade and Magnum?” I asked. I doubted it—or if it was the case, that it was the only reason—but I’d play his game for now.

  “You’ve got that right,” he said. “But I’ll bet you don’t believe it.”

  “You’ve got that right,” I repeated, hoping my smile looked as guileless as his.

  He laughed. “Why don’t you just pack up a couple of each of your treats so I can let my guys try them and decide which they like best? Then we’ll come back for more.”

  “Sounds good,” I said. “For starters, here’s a couple that are a new recipe I’ve been experimenting with.” I went behind the display case and removed three of my newest biscuits. I handed one to each of the dogs, including mine, since I certainly didn’t want to slight my own Biscuit. They all seemed to enjoy them.

  “Great. Well, add a couple extra of those to the package. And if you want to say anything about my investigation, feel free.”

  Ah. Here it was. He was acting friendly for a reason, and that reason was anything but friendly to me.

  “Okay,” I said. “I didn’t do anything. That’s all you need to know.”

  He laughed again, a louder, less credible-sounding than before. “Could be. But one thing you should know, Carrie, is that even though I’m fairly new here, I’ve been a cop for several years and a detective for a major part of that time. And you know what I’ve learned?”

  He wasn’t looking at me now but kneeling to play with all three dogs on the bone-decor portion of the tile floor. He might be attempting to appear casual and preoccupied, but I knew better.

  “What’s that?” I asked, still determined to play along—at least as long as I could without harming myself. I wondered if Bridget knew he was here and sanctioned this kind of casual conversation, which was instead just a different kind of interrogation.

  “Well, I’ve seen in a lot of resolved cases that if someone appears at first to be a good suspect and not just a person of interest, she usually is a good suspect.”

  “You mean guilty.”

  He looked up and nodded, the broad smile on his pudgy face nearly making me throw up. But I’d never allow myself to throw up in my shops, either of them.

  “Like I’ve told you, I’m not guilty.” I kept my tone light but firm.

  “You did have an argument with Myra,” he said. “Other people heard it, and you apparently even threatened her.”

  “It wasn’t like that.” I raised my hands toward my mouth, wishing I’d said that in a calmer voice. “It wasn’t like that,” I repeated more slowly.

  “Why don’t you just tell me what you said, word for word if you can.”

  “I don’t know that I can recall it that precisely. I know you’re aware that Myra criticized my opening this Barkery.” I gestured to incorporate the inside of my shop. “She said something like, ‘Do you really think people will come in here for your inferior products when you’re not giving them away for free?’ I objected, talked about the less nutritious, less personal mass-produced stuff sold in her pet emporium, and we kind of agreed to disagree.”

  “You agreed on something?” Wayne was standing again now. “That’s not the way I heard it. And what about your comment later that you’d do anything … what was it?”

  “I don’t recall exactly, but I recognize, in retrospect, that it could have sounded threatening. All I meant was that I’d prove Myra was wrong in her assessment of the quality of my products.” This conversation wasn’t going anywhere—at least nowhere that could do me any good. I needed to get it aimed in a different direction. “You know, Wayne, I didn’t know Myra well, but from all I’ve learned about her since … since she died, she wasn’t only nasty toward me. Surely you’ve come across other people who argued with her. Maybe family members. Maybe other people.”

  Like Jack Loroco, but I wasn’t about to mention him. His motivation to kill Myra was as trivial as mine. At least I hoped so.

  “Could be. Anyway, I think my guys and I will get on our way. How much do I owe you?”

  I considered exaggerating the price. Nothing could possibly compensate me for the anxiety I now felt but couldn’t even hint at. I also thought about giving the dog treats to him for free, but I doubted that bribery would get me very far.

  Instead, I tallied up the actual amount. “I hope Magnum and Blade love all of it.”

  Wayne paid by credit card, and I did all the regular mundane things like swiping it and making sure the receipt was accurate. I put the box I’d prepared into a plastic bag so he could carry it more easily while hanging on to the dog leashes.

  I couldn’t help it. As he got ready to go, I had to ask, “Wayne, did you really come here to get treats for your dogs, or did you think approaching me in a less official and threatening way would get me to blurt out a confession—not that there’s anything to confess?”

  “Honestly? A little of both, Carrie. I’d like to be able to erase you from our suspect list, but even this off-the-record stuff didn’t actually convince me. I’ll keep what you said in mind, and, yes, you can be sure we’re still examining evidence and talking to other people who argued with Myra. She wasn’t always the easiest person to get along with, is what we’ve learned. But even so … ”

  He didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he pulled on the two leashes, and his dogs, who were again sniffing at Biscuit, hurried away and pranced ahead of him out of the store.

  I was trembling when Dinah came in through the door from Icing. She was smiling—at least until she saw me.

  “What’s wrong, Carrie? I was just coming in to tell you I got a great order for an extra-large birthday cake for tomorrow. But you look awful.”

  I laughed. “You don’t pull any punches, do you? But you’re right. I’m not at my best right now. But that’s wonderful. I hope you’ll help me bake that cake.”

  “Absolutely.”

  We both heard Judy call from Icing, “Got your coffee, Dinah. Where are you?”

  “Right here.” Dinah hurried back the way she’d come, leaving me alone with Biscuit again, at least for the moment.

  And with my roiling, frightened thoughts.

  I didn’t know why Wayne had really come. Interrogating me here for a third time, sure, and pretending not to? But why? He surely didn’t really think I’d confess more easily under these circumstances.

  Maybe the guy was a sadist who liked seeing suspects squirm. And he’d even used his poor dogs in his cruel mis
sion this time.

  Well, as awful as I felt, I wouldn’t let him do it to me again. Should I hire a lawyer, as I’d wondered before, and refuse to talk to the cops at all, for any reason?

  That might make me look even guiltier. But so what?

  I’d already started asking questions, trying to figure out who really had a motive to kill Myra.

  I realized now that I’d better do even more.

  SIXTEEN

  AFTER MAKING SURE THAT Dinah was well ensconced in the Barkery, I stayed in the shop for a while too.

  Though I played with my sweet little Biscuit as Dinah staffed the counter, my mind was doing somersaults. How could I survive this? Even if it resembled something straight out of fiction, like the mysteries I sometimes read, I really needed to do more to help myself, like find out who the real murderer was and then present evidence of it to the cops who were torturing—er, interrogating—me.

  Were those mystery books just the result of people’s imaginations? If not, maybe some of the authors were truly empathetic and put themselves inside the minds of real-life murder suspects who truly were innocent, and then fictionalized them in their stories.

  Or maybe it was all fiction, and amateurs really couldn’t solve mysteries even when falsely accused.

  I was a veterinary technician. A baker. A store owner. Not a detective. What hope did I have?

  Well, it was too soon to give up now.

  I hugged Biscuit fiercely for another minute, then went back into the kitchen, gave my hands a good washing, donned gloves, and set myself to baking dog treats again … while my mind continued to go off on tangents of its own.

  How could I learn the truth? Who should I talk to? How could I get them to talk?

  And was this all completely irrational?

  “Do we have any more red velvet cupcakes made?” Judy’s voice barged into my thoughts, and I looked up to see that she’d just entered the kitchen from the Icing side. Of course. She wouldn’t be asking about red velvet cupcakes for the Barkery. Liver cupcakes, maybe. I baked mostly biscuits for dogs now but had developed other kinds of recipes too—and I’d bought a separate set of baking dishes for them.