Bite the Biscuit (A Barkery & Biscuits Mystery)

by Linda O. Johnston

  I had an odd thought suddenly. Myra had married into the Ethmans. So had Walt. Elise’s comment suggested there might be more to the situation than that, although I couldn’t be sure what.

  But I might be able to get that information fleshed out if I approached this carefully.

  “I’ve lived here long enough to recognize how … respected your family is,” I said. “The Ethmans do wonderful things for Knobcone Heights, and not just by owning a great resort that attracts people here and keeps them coming back.” Was I laying this on too thick? I didn’t think so, judging by the interest now apparent on Elise’s face. “I didn’t know Myra well enough to understand how she came to run this place, but I’d imagine her shoes will be hard to fill, at least if you haven’t done this before.” I watched Elise’s face, hoping she wouldn’t consider that an insult.

  Her nostrils flared a bit as if she was attempting to suppress some anger. “Oh, I think I’ll do just fine filling her shoes. Better than the way she tried to fill mine.”

  I watched her eyes narrow, as if in anger, as she said this. What did she mean?

  I started to ask, but Elise stood abruptly, hands poised on the edges of the dark wood desk. “Go ahead and give away your dog treats, Carrie. In fact, let’s both go into the lobby. I think it’s a great idea to hand people more than they expect so they’ll consider coming back. I actually appreciate it, since I’m just getting started here and intend to do all I can to increase our sales. Come on.” She beckoned to me as she headed for the door, her coffee cup still on her desk.

  What had just happened here?

  On the one hand, I was glad I was welcome to give away dog biscuits. But I hadn’t achieved my real goal of finding out more about some or all of the Ethmans.

  Or had I?

  What had Elise meant by that comment about Myra and she filling each other’s shoes?

  A wonderment that could explain a lot pierced my brain. Had the two non-blood-related Ethmans—Myra and Walt—been having an affair?

  If so, that would explain Elise’s attitude.

  It would also have given her a motive to kill Myra.

  I could just be jumping to a wild conclusion. But maybe not. I recalled Walt’s sadness at Myra’s memorial. I wouldn’t come right out and ask—not Elise, at least. Who might know? Neal? Someone else around the resort?

  I needed to ponder how to approach this, and with whom.

  But I also wanted to take advantage of having Elise’s attention and perhaps being on her good side. Until I wound up accusing her of murder … ?

  I stood too. “Yes, let’s go give away some more of my treats. And if this goes well we could do it again sometime.”

  My mind was racing even as we started walking. Was Elise helping out at the resort solely as a favor to her parents, or did she actually have aspirations to take over running this place? I’d gotten a sense already it was the latter.

  If so, yes, it would be a possible motive for her to kill Myra. And if Myra had been having an affair with Walt, and Elise thought she could get even by murdering her and stepping into her shoes here … well, those together would definitely have provided a logical reason for her to have disposed of her sister-in-law.

  It took us barely a minute to get into the busy lobby with its undercurrent of conversations. I saw Neal in the distance, behind the desk. He saw me, too, around the side of a woman in a beige dress whom he was helping.

  I needed to talk to him, run the possibility of the Myra-Walt affair by him. He’d seen Myra a lot. Had Walt come by here much, maybe to do some handyman work or room remodels?

  Or visit Myra … ?

  “Here we are, folks,” Elise called, crouching to beckon a cute basset hound mix toward her. She smiled up at the owner who was holding the leash. “Free samples of some wholesome, fresh-baked dog treats, courtesy of Knobcone Heights Resort.” She glanced up at me with her hand out, ready to give the dog a biscuit. I raised my eyebrows and she added, “Oh, and the wonderful new shop Barkery and Biscuits.”

  I cooperated then by handing her some of the biscuits. The dog seemed to enjoy it, and the action spurred the others with dogs in the lobby to head our way.

  I hadn’t spent a lot of time at the resort before this week except for the occasional meal or visit to see Neal, but my opinion during the last few days was that it certainly catered to a lot of different kinds of guests. The lobby was, as usual, crowded. Some people were dressed up, like the woman still talking to Neal. A guy in a suit stood beside her. Here for business?

  Others, like the basset’s owner, were in jeans and T-shirts, wearing backpacks. Neal would have been better off talking to them, since he might have been able to sell them one of his hikes or boat outings.

  But I was making assumptions that could be entirely untrue. What was clear for the moment, at least, was that Elise was acting as if she had invited me, and was using my presence and my biscuits to score points with at least some of the guests.

  Which might help to secure her position here at the resort into something more permanent, if that was her goal.

  If so, my idea about her possible motive was stoked all the more.

  We soon had quite a crowd around us, even petless folks. Most said they’d take a treat or two home with them, maybe even to help make themselves feel better about not having brought their pooches along on this trip.

  I laughed and handed out samples—and told them they could make themselves feel even better if they stopped at my Barkery and picked up more than a sample to bring home. I had a feeling that at least some of them would do just that.

  Soon, all the treats were gone. “This was a good idea,” Elise said. “In fact, I’d enjoy having you to do this again. But next time, get in touch and schedule it.”

  She was actually smiling at me.

  “Of course.” I smiled back.

  It looked like our short, friendly get-together was about to end. That was okay with me, for now. I had some new things to think about and look into.

  But I didn’t want to leave without one more inquiry.

  “I’ve got a question for you. I have a lot of good recipes I’m trying, but I want to attempt even more. I may need some help. It might be way off base, but I heard the resort’s restaurant”—namely, Myra, who’d apparently been in charge there too—“recently let a chef go from the restaurant. Do you know how I could find him? Maybe I could pay him to create some recipes.”

  “Right. Manfred Indor. He got sloppy with his cooking here.” No longer did Elise look friendly. “But hey, maybe he’d do better cooking for animals. Sure. Come back to my office. His contact information is probably on the computer. You know that he messed up here. Myra told us how he’d used inferior ingredients in a meal prepared for an important party, so don’t consider this a referral or rec-

  ommendation.”

  “I won’t.” That wasn’t the story I’d heard, but if it was the one that had gotten out and harmed Manfred’s reputation, he might have been even more strongly peeved with Myra.

  Her smile came back, at least halfway. “Maybe this would be a good thing since he messed up with his people food. Manfred at least deserves a cooking demotion. You’ll have to let me know how it works out.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  And you might wind up being glad if I determine he’s the one who killed Myra, I thought.

  That way I’ll stop suspecting you.

  EIGHTEEN

  I SAID GOODBYE AND left Elise in her office along with the empty bags with my Barkery and Biscuits logo on them. She’d probably just toss them, but for now they’d be a reminder of how the formerly unwelcome Carrie Kennersly had jumped in to help Elise make a good impression as the current resort manager.

  Maybe Elise wouldn’t have any questions about why I’d been so helpful. She knew I was promoting my shops, right? Why would I have any ulterior motive?

  I gnawed gently on my lips to hide any wry smile that might otherwise have emerged. When I went
into the vast lobby this time it was just as crowded as before, and when I looked over at the registration desk I didn’t see Neal.

  Not till I glanced toward the door that led toward the beach.

  My brother caught my eye at the same time and gave a nod that told me to join him. I made my way gently but determinedly through the maze of people, some of whom had their dogs with them. A few tried to stop me, but I held up my empty hands and shrugged. “Sorry,” I said to a couple of them. “No more treats here right now. But please visit my Barkery.”

  I finally reached the door, and as I got there Neal pushed it open. I followed him onto the patio with the stairway down to the sand. A few people stood out there, mostly in pairs, staring out at the lake, which was shimmering brightly this afternoon. I followed him to the far end of the patio, which was empty.

  “So how did it go?” My good-looking brother stared down at me as if trying to read my thoughts. Not that I was trying to hide them from him.

  “Surprisingly well.” Then I said in a low voice, “Do you know whether Elise has any aspirations to make her new managerial slot permanent?”

  Neal blinked and his brows knitted together. “Really? That’s the impression you got?” Before I could respond, he continued, “Very interesting. She’s always hung out here a lot, and she seemed to be happy when she was helping, but then she was mostly following Myra’s instructions.”

  “Was she doing that recently?”

  Neal’s expression grew pensive. “No, lately she didn’t come here very often. And when she did, it was to have dinner with her folks and Walt, not to hang out and do something to help the resort.”

  That didn’t prove anything, but neither did it dispel my wonderment about whether Myra and Walt had had something going.

  Well, why not ask someone who might have observed it, even if he didn’t recognize it at the time?

  “Neal,” I said, “a possibility occurred to me that might be completely ridiculous. But something Elise said made me think she was … well, a bit unhappy with Myra. And the context was—okay, let me just ask.” I glanced around first and fortunately didn’t see anyone standing nearby. In fact, most people had their backs toward us as the groups who hovered on the patio continued to watch the water, which now contained a few noisy motor boats rushing by.

  “What?” Neal looked both interested and curious.

  “Did you ever see any indication that Myra and Walt were … let’s say, better than friendly in-laws?”

  Although Neal shook his head, it was slow and looked as if it was more in surprise than denial. “How you come up with stuff like that out of the blue, Carrie—I’m amazed. And impressed. You don’t even know these people, do you? At least not very well.”

  “I need to get to know them better now,” I said. “As long as I’m considered a possible suspect in Myra’s death.”

  “Are you saying Walt might have done it?” His tone sounded incredulous, though his expression was more calculating.

  “Maybe. But I’d be more likely to suspect Elise, if she caught them in something. Especially if she was jealous because Myra was running this place.” I nodded toward the resort’s lobby.

  Neal laughed aloud, but softly. “I knew you were an intuitive witch,” he said. “But you mostly aim that toward the animals you care for. I can’t say for sure that you’re correct, but I had a few suspicions of my own now and then. Not that I particularly cared. It wasn’t my business who was screwing who around here, as long as it didn’t affect my job.”

  I nodded as I pondered what he’d said. The answer was yes. My brother had suspected that Myra and Walt had something going.

  Had that in some way led to Myra’s demise?

  Elise certainly had reason to get rid of her. Maybe Walt did too, if she threatened him with exposure. He seemed to be a successful-enough building contractor, but it surely didn’t hurt him to have the financial cushion of being married to a wealthy Ethman. If his relationship with Myra became public, Elise would have felt humiliated and might have divorced him.

  So it was better for Walt, too, if Myra was out of their lives, assuming he didn’t really love her.

  Did the cops know or suspect any of this? I had no proof of anything, so running to them and trying to point them toward these people as better suspects than me might make them hang on to me even harder.

  But I’d check things out as best I could. Look for proof. Give the detectives the benefit of my inquiries if the appropriate occasion arose.

  And in the meantime …

  “Thanks for your insight,” I told Neal. “It might not mean anything. I realize that. But it doesn’t hurt—”

  “To know about other people who might have had a whole lot more reason than you—or me—to kill Myra,” he said.

  I smiled. “Which brings me to my next idea.”

  “Which is?” By now, Neal’s grin was huge.

  I told him about my other thought, that the fired chef Manfred Indor might have resented the manager who’d canned him.

  “I figured that might be one way your thoughts were headed,” Neal said. “I never knew Manfred well, but I know someone who did. Let’s see if Gwen can tell us more about him. Wait here a second.”

  As Neal hurried into the lobby, I saw him take a sharp right turn—toward the restaurant. When he returned with Gwen a few minutes later, she looked a little frazzled but stayed at his side, talking to him as they approached me.

  I’d noticed last week how attractive she was, with her dark hair and friendly demeanor. She wore a chocolate-colored skirt today with a white blouse and coppery pinecone necklace, clearly helping to promote Knobcone Heights and the resort. Her glossed lips glowed in the late afternoon sunlight, and she smiled as she continued to converse with Neal.

  When they reached the edge of the patio where I was leaning on the railing, both stopped. Neal appeared happy too, with a large smile on his face.

  I thought once more that there must be something between him and the pretty server, but I wouldn’t mention it again now since she was standing right there. Later, though …

  “Gwen said she’ll give us more info about what happened with Manfred, Carrie.” Neal grinned down at her, then toward me.

  “I’m all ears,” I said.

  “Our Manfred was quite a character.” Gwen rolled her deep brown eyes.

  “Our Manfred?” I had to ask.

  “He was the main chef when I started working here a year ago.” She turned to look dreamily out over the lake. “I heard from him, and from the other servers, that he considered this place his, and that he also considered all of us a team. We were one many-tentacled unit, in his estimation. Or that’s what I gathered.”

  “Interesting,” I said. “Then it must have been hard on him when his unit dumped him—or at least its leader did, if I understand correctly.”

  “I’ll say. And the way, and reason, it was done … ” Gwen’s voice trailed off.

  “Tell me.” If she was looking for encouragement before continuing, I’d definitely give it. Or was it something else?

  She turned to look at Neal, as if his encouragement was what was lacking. Or maybe she was worried about whether gossiping more with his sister, whom she didn’t really know, was such a good idea.

  Especially since she knew why I was asking: I was trying to potentially pin a murder on her former unit-member.

  Neal nodded at her, possibly conveying that I was an okay person. Or at least giving Gwen support in going further.

  Rather than looking at me, she leaned on the railing beside me and again looked out over the lake. It was less sunny now, and there was a kayak rowing team nearby. As Neal followed her gaze, I saw a wistfulness in his expression, as if he’d like to be out there with the rowers—maybe leading them on one of his beloved expeditions.

  Maybe I was wrong about his feelings for Gwen.

  Or maybe he wanted to be out there with her.

  “Okay, here’s what actually happened,”
Gwen finally said. “Cohesive unit or not, Manfred was the one in charge of food, or at least the special recipes he used for the restaurant’s most gourmet dishes. One afternoon a couple of weeks ago, Myra came into the kitchen and told him and the rest of us that there would be a very special party here that night. She wanted a very special menu, too, since the guests were people with a lot of influence down the hill, mostly from L.A. and San Diego. If they liked their experience here, in the restaurant as well as at the resort, they’d not only return but would also tell their affluent friends about it.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” I said.

  “Yes, on the surface. And maybe below it.” Gwen again looked toward Neal.

  “You were all briefed,” Neal suggested, “in a way that you recognized meant your jobs were on the line.” When Gwen nodded, he looked toward me. “That was one of Myra’s favorite ploys. If she wanted something done ‘right’—meaning her way—she would make sure everyone knew that, if anything went ‘wrong,’ heads would roll down the San Bernardino Mountains. Fast and hard.”

  I’d suspected something like this was the case when Neal occasionally seemed irritated when he returned home after a day’s work, but he’d always slough off my questions. He would just say there’d been some stuff going on that day involving the management but that it all had worked out fine.

  Meaning, I now figured, that Myra had been satisfied with whatever the result had been.

  “That’s it,” Gwen agreed. “Then Myra was nasty enough to tell Manfred that she not only wanted his proposed entrée of beef Wellington changed, but she had chosen chicken Parmesan, which was much more mundane to him. Then she told him his recipe for chicken Parmesan was okay, but she wanted him to change it to meet her specifications, which she handed him. Those of us who were near them in the kitchen could almost feel the earth shaking beneath our feet as Manfred’s temper got ready to explode.”

  “And did it?” I figured I knew the answer but asked anyway.

  “Did it ever!”

  “I even thought I felt the explosion out by the registration desk,” Neal said, his eyebrows raised in irony.