Bite the Biscuit (A Barkery & Biscuits Mystery)

by Linda O. Johnston

  TWENTY

  “TIME TO GET OUT of here, girl,” I finally said when I could breathe and didn’t feel like crying. Sure, my eyes had gotten a little damp, but I was determined not to let those cops get to me.

  Especially since I figured that was exactly what they’d planned with their much-too-friendly visits.

  But as it turned out, we weren’t leaving the shops immediately after all. Before I’d untethered Biscuit from her crate, my phone rang. As I drew it out of my pocket my breathing stopped again. Was it one of the detectives with another question? Would they suggest another purchase from one of my stores that would sound delightful but have some underlying meaning I couldn’t yet decipher—only worry about?

  Drat. I wasn’t going to let them get to me that way.

  I held onto the end of Biscuit’s leash, though, as if it tied me to sanity. In a way it did. My dog was there for me, sitting and watching me with her big brown eyes, wagging her golden tail on the floor.

  I couldn’t help smiling at her. And when I looked at my phone, relief washed over me. I recognized the number even though I hadn’t programmed it in. It was Jack Loroco.

  “Hi,” I said, immediately wondering about the reason for his call. At the same time, a pleasant feeling washed through me. He wasn’t a cop. And even though this was undoubtedly a business call, we’d parted on good terms and had even flirted a bit.

  I wouldn’t mind a little more of it now, especially considering how my last visit with Reed had gone.

  “Hi, Carrie. It’s Jack Loroco. I just wanted to let you know I’m heading back up to Knobcone later this week, probably Friday.”

  Nothing certain, it seemed, but whatever the reason or timing, it might prove pleasant to me. He’d presumably been back at his job. Did he now have the authority to make me an offer to buy my recipes? If so, I wasn’t ready for it, but it would still feel good.

  I assumed his pending visit was for something like that, though. We hadn’t flirted enough for it to make sense for him to come dashing up here again so soon, possibly in the middle of a work week, simply to get together with me.

  “Great,” I said, then added, “I hope I’ll see you then.”

  “That’s why I’m calling. I hope to see you too.”

  No explanations as to his reason, and we chatted about pleasantries like the weather and Knobcone Heights for another couple of minutes.

  And now I had a good reason to look forward to … well, when-

  ever.

  I wound up having a reason to look forward to that evening, too. I also received a call from Reed, this one as I pulled into my garage.

  “Mind if I come over for a little while?” he asked. “I want to apologize for my attitude before.”

  He did? And how did I feel about that?

  Mostly good. “Sure,” I said. This would make it two nights in a row that he’d come by my house. I hadn’t eaten yet, but I didn’t feel like fixing anything. “Have you had dinner yet? I haven’t, so I could go get us some fast food if—”

  “Don’t bother. I’ll be there in about half an hour, and I’ll bring the food. Is it okay if I bring Hugo?” That was his Belgian Malinois, a smart, friendly dog I’d seen several times before, sometimes at the clinic’s doggy daycare.

  “Fine.”

  “Great. See you soon.”

  It turned out to be a pleasant evening.

  As always, Hugo and Biscuit, although they weren’t best buddies, got along fine after their initial wary sniffs.

  Reed, dressed in a snug blue T-shirt over jeans, brought a roast chicken dinner, and, even better, another bottle of wine. He’d obviously thought about the stress he’d put on me earlier about my working hours at the clinic and seemed to regret his attitude. “I’m just glad Arvie made it clear that whatever time you can put in at the clinic will be most welcome.”

  By then, we were sitting in my kitchen, eating. Neal hadn’t called and he wasn’t home yet. I didn’t know if he was working late or out having fun. For all I knew, he could be out on a date with Gwen.

  The dogs sat at our feet. Hugo was tall enough nearly to place his chin on the table but was well trained and well behaved. When Reed told him “down,” he lay on the floor, head up and eyes pleading for a treat, but he didn’t move.

  Biscuit wasn’t quite that good, but though she sat beside me and begged, she wasn’t too pushy.

  “I’m glad too,” I responded to Reed. As we continued talking, I wound up crying on his shoulder—figuratively, thank heavens. I didn’t even get a bit teary this time. Of course, most of what I talked about involved the logistics of working with my two assistants to make sure I could keep both shops open every day during reasonable hours and still maintain my part-time hours at the clinic. Plus, I admitted I was considering hiring another part-timer soon.

  I didn’t mention my concern about the visits from the detectives. I didn’t want to ruin my mood and possibly his.

  “I realized your new businesses were challenging,” Reed said, “but not as complicated as that.” The expression on his nice-looking face, which at this hour had plenty of after-five-o’clock shadow highlighting it, seemed concerned. “Maybe it would be better if you devoted all your time to your new venture.”

  “Nope,” I said. “I want to do it all.”

  “And I’m sure you can do anything you want.” His deep brown eyes grew warm and I had to look away. I liked this guy. A lot. And since I sometimes had a short temper myself these days, I couldn’t hold his stress against him.

  “Pretty much.” My tone was teasing, but I meant it. That was one reason I’d leaped into my new venture yet hung on to the work I so enjoyed. I never wanted to limit myself when I didn’t have to.

  I certainly didn’t want a stint in jail to do it for me …

  “What’s wrong, Carrie?” Reed sounded worried.

  I must have unwittingly allowed my fears to show on my face.

  “Nothing, really.” But as lightly as I could, and without going into details about police harassment, I mentioned my concerns about being a murder suspect.

  “The police are full of crap.” He stood so fast that both dogs did too, looking from Reed to me and back in confusion.

  I was also confused—since Reed was suddenly right beside me, pulling me gently to my feet. He took me into his arms and held me tightly against him. My cheek pressed against his hard chest, and I felt a sudden sexual yearning being that close to him.

  But was I ready? We’d known each other for a couple of months, but that wasn’t very long. And tonight was certainly not the best time to get to know each other that way—not after his disturbing attitude this afternoon, never mind that he was here to apologize.

  “I’m so sorry about all the bad stuff you’re going through, Carrie,” Reed whispered into my ear. “And I don’t want to add to it by coming on too strong. But one of these days—well, I’d like to get to know you better.” He lightened his hold and we kissed—warmly and caringly, but that was all.

  Then he released me. “I really appreciate your working things out to come to the clinic tomorrow.” I’d already told him that one of my assistants was on board to watch both shops. “It’ll be great to see you then too, and get your amazing help.”

  We soon took Biscuit and Hugo for a brief walk. And then Reed and his dog left.

  I couldn’t help but wonder what his real motivation had been for coming by that night. He clearly liked me—or at least appreciated my services as a vet tech. I’d started believing he liked me for more than that … and now? Well, he’d said he did, and I hoped it was true. But I was a bit wary and knew I’d remain that way.

  And as I watched Reed’s car go down the street, I saw my brother’s arriving back home.

  Where had Neal been? He told me as soon as he came inside, and I shared a smile with him. He’d taken half a dozen tourists from the resort on a boat ride around the lake, complete with water skiing before sunset.

  To my surprise—and rel
ief—the next day proceeded without a hitch.

  Biscuit and I went to the shops even earlier than usual after I fortunately got a good night’s sleep. I was pleased when Judy arrived a few minutes before I expected her. As a result, we finished baking both kinds of treats and got them arranged in their respective cases early too.

  I called Arvie as soon as the veterinary clinic was set to open and we decided on the hours I would be there—two shifts, one mid-morning and one in the early afternoon.

  I was still at the shops for the first customers of the day, staffing the Barkery when they arrived, then heading over to Icing to check on how Judy was doing.

  Everything was smooth there as well, and so I left Judy in charge. I took Biscuit with me to the vet clinic, signing her in at her doggy daycare. Then I got to work at my other job.

  The first surgery of the day that I assisted with, where Reed was operating, went extremely well. The male pit bull mix had been in a fight some time ago and needed some reconstructive surgery on his ears. He got through it just fine.

  And Reed? So did he. Though he was clearly in charge during the surgery, his attitude toward me there was highly professional, and a lot more friendly afterward.

  I assisted Arvie with his afternoon surgery—a male cat whose neutering by a different clinic had left some gouges that needed to be fixed, poor guy. But Arvie did a fine job, of course.

  Biscuit came back and forth with me both times. On the way to my first shift I’d dropped some leftover treats at Mountaintop Rescue. Billi was there and seemed thrilled. We discussed getting together soon for lunch, or at least coffee. I’d then carried the rest of my leftovers to the clinic.

  When I returned to the shops after my second vet tech shift was done, I told Judy she could leave early for the day. She’d done double duty, and I appreciated it. Now it was my turn to take care of both bakeries for the rest of this busy Monday.

  Judy didn’t object, unsurprisingly. And I made it clear that she’d be paid for the rest of the day.

  Biscuit and I were alone after that, except for customers. Delightfully, there were plenty of those too. Fortunately, between Judy and me and during the times we’d both been around, we’d prepared plenty of dog treats and people baked goods, so I wasn’t concerned about running short. I even got ideas from some patrons for new things to try. I’d never baked biscotti and apparently neither had Brenda, but some customers who visited Icing, despite expressing love for our cookies and cupcakes and other treats that we had, felt a little disappointed about the lack of biscotti.

  I’d have to remedy that, assuming I found a great recipe that I could handle.

  Every time a customer came in or the bell rang in the other shop I found myself worrying about who it was till I assured myself it wasn’t either one of the two detectives. I didn’t see them at all that day and couldn’t have been happier.

  It quieted down around five o’clock. I didn’t need to bake any more that day.

  And something that I’d wanted to do, preferably that day, finally became possible now that I could catch my breath.

  It was finally time to call Chef Manfred Indor.

  As it turned out, it was nearly an hour later, just before closing time, that I finally got the opportunity I’d been hoping for. The reason for the delay was a good one, at least: customers. A couple of chatty middle-aged ladies, Sissy and Sheila, came into Icing wanting a half dozen red velvet cupcakes each. They’d been patrons of Brenda’s for years, they told me, and always tried to get some of those yummy cupcakes at least once a month. Then, for the rest of the month, they’d exercise to prepare for the next batch they brought home. They’d missed coming while the shop was in transition, and hadn’t been able to make the grand reopening, but were thrilled to be here now.

  Fortunately, I had enough of the desired cupcakes to sell to them. I even gave them a sugar cookie each as an appetizer.

  As they were leaving, I heard the bell at the Barkery’s door as well as a couple of woofs from Biscuit. I hurried over to find my thin, friendly neighbor Bob there with his dobie, Dog, who immediately pulled on his leash so he could approach Biscuit. My dog, also leashed, was on her feet greeting her sort-of friend, and the two of them traded sniffs of the nose and behind.

  “Hi,” Bob said. He craned his long neck so it protruded even more from his gray muscle shirt. “First time here. I had to come in and see what it was like—plus, Dog’s birthday is tomorrow so I want to get him some special treats.”

  “Great.” I told him we could bake Dog a special doggy cake or some cupcakes. “Or, if you’d like, we could use some special carob icing and just put his name on a couple of those larger bone-shaped cookies.” I pointed toward the cookies in question in the display case.

  “Yes!” He did a fist pump with his free hand. “In fact, I’ve invited some friends over with their dogs to help celebrate. Could you put their names on one of those cookies, too?”

  “Of course.”

  That took about ten minutes, slightly beyond my six o’clock closing time. I already had the icing made but had to be careful about spelling “Thelma” and “Gingerbear” and “Whitney” on the cookies. “Dog,” at least, was easy.

  “Thanks,” Bob said as he paid and yanked gently on Dog’s leash to tear him away from where he lay on the floor near Biscuit. Biscuit, too, seemed reluctant to let her friend get away, but it was time. “See you around. And if these are as good as they look—assuming Dog tells me his opinion—I’m sure we’ll be back for more.”

  I thanked him and watched them leave, then made a quick round through Icing and the kitchen, locking doors.

  Then, finally, it was time to make the call I’d wanted to all day. I took the number Elise had given me for Chef Manfred and pressed it into my phone.

  I’d sat down on the floor beside Biscuit before I did so. That way, she wouldn’t feel so lonely after her friend Dog left. And I had her company and support of sorts while I made the call.

  “Hello?” The voice was male and gruff and quizzical, with perhaps a hint of a Slavic or German accent. He clearly didn’t recognize my number, assuming he’d answered on a phone with caller ID. Of course there was no reason he should know it.

  “Hello, Chef Indor. My name is Carrie Kennersly. I think you know my—”

  “Brother. Neal. Right?”

  “Right,” I said, wondering if he always spoke in one-word sentences. “I know you used to work at the resort too. I’ve heard really good things about your baking skills, and I have a rather odd request. Have you heard of Icing on the Cake?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you know that its former owner, Brenda, sold it to me, and that I’ve changed it so that half’s still Icing and the other half is a dog bakery?”

  “No.”

  So what do you think of that? I wanted to demand. But that would require more than a one-word answer.

  “Well, that’s where I am,” I said instead. “And although I’ve got some good recipes, I’m interested in more, for both shops. I can’t hire anyone full-time now, but I’d love for you to come in and advise me and maybe even sell me some additional recipes. Are you interested?”

  “Yes, but I have a new job now.”

  Hey. A whole sentence.

  “That’s even better, since I can’t take you on as an employee. Are you willing to advise me?”

  “Yes.”

  We were back to that. Or maybe we’d never left his tendency to be brief.

  “So when can you come and talk to me about it?”

  “Tomorrow morning. Eleven o’clock. Okay?”

  My turn to be brief. “Great!”

  TWENTY-ONE

  DINAH WAS THERE WITH me at the shops the next morning, and since I didn’t want her participating in my conversation with the chef, I sent her on a mission to take yesterday’s leftover dog treats to the veterinary clinic. I’d bring some for Mountaintop Rescue later, since Billi and I had arranged to meet for a short stint at Cuppa-Joe’s
.

  In fact, both Dinah and Judy seemed to enjoy taking our extra doggy baked goods places where they could be used to full advantage. They’d previously told me they’d be doing that as much as possible, now that they worked for the Barkery as well as Icing.

  I’d smiled at that, although in the interest of the Barkery turning a profit I’d cautioned them to only take treats that I’d packed up and authorized. That way, I could make sure that what they were taking was close to—but not quite—going stale, and the Barkery’s reputation would be enhanced, not spoiled. Since my assistants had begun staggering their schedules, those ventures would worked out well as part of their breaks.

  So far, I’d had no trouble running both shops alone. Of my assistants, only Judy so far had done so, yesterday. Dinah was going to get her first crack at it this afternoon when I headed to the vet clinic for my shift—only one shift scheduled today, for an hour. No surgeries, fortunately, so I’d be back to doing the normal stuff like shots and flea treatments or whatever.

  It was now nearly eleven a.m. The morning’s baking had been completed hours ago for both shops, unless we got low on something or needed to work on a special order. I hung out in the Barkery to be close to Biscuit. Besides, that was where I’d told Chef Manfred Indor I’d meet him.

  I chatted with Biscuit while reorganizing the cookies and biscuits in the display case. We’d had a couple hordes of visitors earlier and had sold a lot, especially one of our favorite kinds of dog cookies, the small round ones with a slight carob flavoring. Since it resembled chocolate but was safe for dogs, I certainly could understand its popularity.

  “I know you like these too, girl.” My little golden furry friend was sitting up watching me, her head cocked. If she hadn’t been restrained with the leash I figured she’d be right beside me trying to rearrange the items in the case. Better yet—in her estimation, at least—she’d be sampling, or guzzling, them all. “But moderation is much healthier than giving in to our impulses.”

  It was fine for me to spout such platitudes, but I didn’t always follow them myself—another good reason for me to spend more time in the Barkery than in Icing. Although I did sample the healthy dog treats, I didn’t overdo it here as much as I might on the other side of the door.