Bite the Biscuit (A Barkery & Biscuits Mystery)

by Linda O. Johnston

  I hoped.

  Reed motioned for me to sit down beside Arvie, then reached into a drawer and pulled out one of the boxes I used at the Barkery. I knew it was one from there, even though I used some of that size and larger at Icing, since this one had a Barkery sticker on the end. Sometimes I used these boxes for transporting treats here, and sometimes I used bags—whatever worked for the batch of biscuits I was sending along on any particular day.

  Reed reached across his nearly bare desk and planted the box firmly in front of me. “This was in the kitchen where we keep dog treats, including the ones from you that we give away here.”

  As I nodded, an even greater feeling of dread passed through me. I was afraid I knew what was inside.

  I reached for the box, opened it—and saw I’d been right.

  Yes, I did make dog treats resembling cookies at the Barkery, but I purposely made them look different from the human cookies sold at Icing. That way, there wouldn’t be any confusion about which was which.

  And yet, the cookies in the box that had been in the kitchen here—which techs or volunteers or other helpers or even vets could have fed to patients—were human cookies.

  A kind with large chocolate chips baked inside, only a hint of how much showing at the top.

  And although it was not always fatal, chocolate was poison to dogs.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  “OH, NO!” I CRIED. “This is terrible! Did anyone—”

  “No, fortunately none of these were fed to any dogs.” Arvie’s uncharacteristically cool gaze seared right through me.

  I couldn’t blame him. I wanted to thrash myself for this carelessness. “Thank heavens,” I said.

  “As you know,” he continued, “we usually let the techs parcel out your treats. Yolanda’s the one who discovered the problem—which was fortunate, since we had a bunch of volunteers here today from the high school and would have let them be the ones to give them out to our patients.” His glare softened, but only a little. “I’m sure you didn’t mean it, Carrie, but if the stress you’re under leads to this kind of negligence, we really don’t want you to bring any leftovers here until the problems in your life are resolved.”

  It was Reed’s turn to add his two cents. “I’ve heard you developed a lot of the dog treats you sell now at the Barkery while you were working here, before you started your shops.” His tone was even, but accusation was woven into it. “The effects of chocolate on dogs—it’s elementary, Carrie. Even if you weren’t an expert, you should have known that.”

  “I do know it. It … it was horrible negligence on my part. I’m just so glad Yolanda noticed it. It’ll never happen again, I promise.” It was definitely my fault. I was the one who always packed up the treats that were to come here or to Mountaintop Rescue, whether I was bringing them myself or sending some over with one of my assistants.

  At least no dog had been harmed by my negligence.

  But—

  “Mountaintop Rescue!” I exclaimed. “I usually give them the same kind of treats. Just a second.” I reached into my purse and pulled out my phone.

  Billi wasn’t there. I wasn’t sure whether that was good or bad. I didn’t really want to let our new, growing friendship disappear because of an inadvertent act of stupidity on my part. And I didn’t especially want the other workers or volunteers at the shelter to know, either.

  But the really important thing was to make sure no dogs were given harmful treats, no matter who learned about my mistake.

  The shelter manager on duty answered the phone. I didn’t go into detail, but I let her know that some of the items sent over from Barkery and Biscuits may have been tainted. “Are all your dogs okay?” I asked.

  They were, fortunately. And she wasn’t aware of any of the Barkery treats being given out that day. She promised to pull all treats from the Barkery and hold them for me to pick up in the next day or so.

  I wanted to get a look at them, see just how far my carelessness had gone.

  “Everything okay there?” Arvie asked when I’d hung up.

  I nodded shakily. “Fortunately, yes. And … and I’m so very sorry. I’m really glad my mistake was caught before there were any bad consequences. And I can promise you it won’t happen again.”

  “True.” Reed’s expression looked more wry now. And did I see a touch of sympathy? Maybe. Anyone could make a mistake, right?

  But I never, ever, thought I could be this careless. Being concerned and even scared about what was going on in the investigation into Myra’s death was an explanation for it, maybe, since it was occupying my mind, even obsessing me. But it wasn’t an excuse. Nothing could excuse this.

  And I learned in the next moment how true that was.

  “We appreciate your generous donation of treats here, Carrie,” Reed said. “But right now … well, like Arvie said, please don’t bring anything from your shop here again, at least not for now. And why don’t you take a few days off? Come back on Monday?”

  I glanced at Arvie. He nodded. I didn’t argue. Couldn’t argue. Maybe I’d be able to figure out a way to rectify this and eventually bring treats that Arvie or Reed or another vet inspected before I put them on the shelf.

  Assuming they wanted to take the time to assure themselves.

  Biscuit and I left a few minutes later. I understood why Reed had taken that position, and why Arvie had agreed with him.

  Would they let the world know what had happened?

  It could affect my business at both shops.

  If so, I would have to accept it. I’d made such an awful mistake and could only be thankful it hadn’t led to horrible consequences.

  And if the result was a loss of customers at my stores, I still could be glad that it hadn’t ended in the loss of any dog’s life.

  Maybe Arvie would keep the situation low-key. He knew that both my shops needed to be successful for me to pay him back on time.

  But his worry about endangering dogs would trump his concern about repayment, and, if he said anything, I couldn’t blame him … only myself.

  No harm done, really, thank heavens.

  Except possibly to the ongoing success of my shops.

  And definitely to my state of mind over the next day, and maybe forever. Despite the fact that the outcome could have been so much worse, I was furious with myself. Maybe I should get out of this business, I thought. Leave town altogether.

  Yeah? And do what?

  It was Friday. Both my assistants were around. They knew something was wrong.

  In fact, Judy even asked me, late that morning, what it was. All three of us were in the kitchen baking. Yes, we were even baking chocolate chip cookies for people.

  I’d considered using only carob from now on, for both shops. Then, if I made another mistake, no dogs could be hurt by it. Carob was okay for them to eat, even though chocolate wasn’t. And carob tasted somewhat like chocolate to the human palate.

  The dog biscuit found near Myra’s body had even had carob icing on its ends, as did some of the biscuits we still baked here.

  But no, for now we were still using real chocolate in our Icing products. After all, none of what we made here was going to end up at the vet clinic anymore, or even at the animal shelter, since I wasn’t going to bring or send anything to either for a long time, if ever.

  At least none of the chocolate chip cookies had wound up at Mountaintop Rescue. I’d picked up the box from the Barkery that had been left there, and all were regular doggy treats.

  I’d pondered whether to tell my helpers what had happened and figured it was okay to let them know. They’d have been more horrified if what I’d done had resulted in a dog’s injury or death, but I could use it as a lesson for now.

  A lesson that could, in the future, require them to confirm that their boss hadn’t made another horrific mistake if they were ever given another opportunity to take Barkery treats anywhere.

  I could use their help.

  And so, while Dinah and I worked on the
Barkery side of the kitchen and Judy on the Icing side, I tried to keep my voice light as I told them of my visit late yesterday to the veterinary clinic and why—after making them promise that what I was going to say would go no farther.

  “It all worked out okay,” I finished. “But I was more than embarrassed. I was appalled with myself. Fortunately, no dogs were given any of the cookies, or even a taste of them. And for now we won’t be donating any leftover dog treats anyplace else, not there or Mountaintop Rescue. But I’m telling you this so that if this ever changes, you double check when I pack up our leftover treats so I don’t make that kind of mistake again.”

  “Of course.” Judy looked as horrified as I felt, and so did Dinah. “But … I did kind of wonder if combining the shops, or even just combining the kitchen and keeping them so close together … Never mind.”

  She’d expressed her concerns before, weeks ago when we were getting the two shops ready to open. I just figured she wasn’t happy with change, losing Brenda as her boss and expanding what her responsibilities were without being put in charge, as she’d apparently wanted. And I’d given detailed instructions on how to keep the baked goods separate.

  I just hadn’t followed them myself.

  But both assistants had done a great job since then, and I hadn’t thought since about what Judy had said. Till now.

  “I understand,” I said. “And I still think that having a bakery and a barkery as partially separate shops is a good idea. But let’s all be extra cautious from now on about making sure that here, too, we keep the products all separate.”

  “Okay,” Dinah said. She once again looked a little older than when I’d first met her.

  Was it because of the nature of her job here?

  And how about Judy?

  She still looked about the same to me, although I thought she’d lost some of her seriousness. She even smiled now and then—but this situation might lead to more frowns on her part. I’d just have to wait and see.

  It certainly was causing frowns from me. I was worried—about everything. I’d harmed no dogs, but I might have ruined my shops, or at least my reputation, if word got out.

  I didn’t think either Arvie or Reed would do more than scold me and keep me from bringing treats, but I decided to find out.

  So, later that afternoon, I met with my lawyer, Ted Culbert. It was a casual meeting, coffee at Cuppa-Joe’s. I went to Cuppa-Joe’s with a lot of different people for a lot of different reasons, and this was yet another situation where I didn’t want to be overheard.

  I’d brought Biscuit, and was glad to see that Ted got along great with my little golden dog. He was fine with sitting on one of the patios, and in fact did look more casual than when I’d visited him at his office. No suit coat today, and his blue button-down shirt and slacks enhanced the blueness of his intense eyes as he looked at me often and quizzically. His hair was short and light brown and added to both his professional appearance and his nice looks.

  His friendliness appealed to me too. And given my latest go-around with Reed, no matter how much I’d deserved it, I even considered flirting with Ted—although not now, not under these circumstances.

  This afternoon, it was Joe Nash himself who waited on us. He shot a grin from Ted to me, as if he assumed this was a date. And since I didn’t want anyone to know what was really going on, I let the sweet cafe owner—my dear, fatherlike friend—go with that assumption.

  “So what’s going on, Carrie?” Ted’s voice was deep, his attitude concerned.

  “Are we subject to attorney-client privilege?” I asked, and upon his assurance, I told him the whole story.

  And then he gave me even more assurance. “No harm, no foul,” he said. “Yes, it was not the best situation, but since none of the dogs ate any of the cookies, no one can claim damages for negligence. But next time—”

  “There will be no next time,” I told him firmly.

  For the next fifteen minutes—before he had to get back to his office and I had to return to my shops—we had a pleasant conversation that must have reminded him of a date too, since as he paid he said he wasn’t going to charge me for the consultation, then walked out with Biscuit and me. He said that next time, he’d be the one to call me and invite me out.

  Unless, of course, I needed his legal services. And I, at least, hoped that wasn’t going to happen.

  He was nice enough to ditto that comment as we said our good-

  byes.

  TWENTY-SIX

  THAT NIGHT, LIKE THE night before, Neal was full of sympathy about my screwing up which baked goods I’d taken to the veterinary clinic. He brought me a glass of wine as I sat staring at a sitcom on TV without seeing it. He remained full of platitudes about how it’s human to make mistakes.

  I loved him for trying, but he didn’t make me feel any better. This mistake could have had consequences I hated to even consider.

  Was I overthinking it? Maybe, but my love for dogs kept my guilt trip going.

  Neal also had no further insight, after his latest day at work, into which of his employers might be the best candidate to have murdered his former boss.

  I didn’t mention to him that I’d had coffee with my lawyer to find out if there could be liability issues for what I’d done even without any dogs becoming ill—or worse. Since I felt reasonably comfortable now about that not being an issue, why even bring it up?

  And I certainly didn’t want Neal to imagine I had any kind of social relationship with Ted. I didn’t. Not yet, at least, and probably not ever—no matter what he had suggested as we’d wound up our coffee break.

  Neal was aware of my sort-of interest in Reed, but not of Jack Loroco’s possible interest in me, even if it was solely for business reasons.

  It was better that way. For the moment, I had a lot more on my mind than even considering any kind of relationship with anyone, or allowing my brother to speculate about me.

  After taking Biscuit for her last outing of the night, I went to bed. When I woke at my usual early time the next morning, I realized I actually had gotten some sleep.

  It was a new day. One in which I’d think hard about what safeguards I could put into place at the shops, besides having my assistants check up on me to ensure the product mix-up didn’t happen again.

  Several hours later I was in the shops’ kitchen finishing up a batch of bone-shaped biscuits with carob icing. Carob icing. I’d made sure, first thing, that all the chocolate was inside a cabinet or the refrigerator on the opposite side of the kitchen, carefully labeled. And that the still-fresh leftover items from yesterday were in the correct display cases in each of the shops.

  Both Judy and Dinah had remarked on my new signage when they’d arrived, but they seemed just to accept it, both smiling their understanding. I wondered what they really thought about their careless boss, but I wasn’t going to ask.

  At the moment, they were both out in the shops since it was a Saturday and we had a lot of customers already.

  As I took the latest batch of biscuits out of the oven, Judy entered through the door from the Barkery. “There’s a guy in the shop who wants to talk to you,” she said. “He looks familiar. I think he was at our grand opening. He says his name is Jack something.”

  “Loroco?” I asked.

  “Yes, I think that’s it.”

  I put the large, filled cookie sheet on the counter to cool, took off my apron and oven mitts, and glanced down at myself. No flour on my jeans or Barkery and Biscuits T-shirt. That had to be good enough. I hurried into the shop, Judy following me.

  Sure enough, Jack was there, along with two other men he was talking with near the glass display case. When I’d seen him before he’d been dressed casually. Not now. He wore a white, short-sleeved button shirt with muted blue stripes and navy slacks. The guys with him were similarly dressed. Business associates?

  My guess turned out right.

  “Hi, Carrie.” Jack’s smile was huge as he spotted me, and he approached with his
arms extended as if he wanted to hug me. I stiffened. Glimmers of attraction or not, I didn’t want to appear as if we had anything going, not in front of my assistant or customers or even his friends.

  But he merely shook my right hand as his left hand touched my arm—a gesture that was friendly but not overly so.

  “Great to see you.” Releasing me, he motioned toward the men he’d been speaking with. “I didn’t get a chance to call to tell you I was coming this morning. It was a last-minute thing, but both these guys were available and I’d promised to give them a sales demo, so we left L.A. really early this morning, too early to phone you.”

  “If it was after five in the morning it would have worked fine for me,” I said with a smile. “A baker’s day starts before dawn.”

  “Of course.” He looked a little abashed, as if I’d scolded him.

  “It’s fine,” I assured him.

  “Anyway, Rico and Dwain, here, are new with VimPets and I’m in town to demonstrate how to conduct sales calls.” Jack leaned closer to me. “And maybe discuss what VimPets could do with you in the future,” he said more softly.

  Thanks to the way his hazel eyes caught mine, I had a sense that he wouldn’t mind discussing what he could do with me in the future, but I wasn’t ready to consider that—especially not with all that was going on around me. Plus, the thought crossed my mind that he might believe that a little seduction of my body might lead to the seduction of my recipes, too.

  We’d see about that, but at the moment I wasn’t interested.

  “Okay,” I said noncommittally. Then a thought struck me. Just as Jack wanted to find a way to use me—or at least, my recipes—maybe I could use him too. “Since you know I’m not a good potential source for selling VimPets products to, where will you demonstrate your sales calls?”

  As I’d anticipated, one place was the chain retail pet store on the way to Lake Arrowhead.

  The other was the Knob Hill Pet Emporium.