Bite the Biscuit (A Barkery & Biscuits Mystery)

by Linda O. Johnston

  “Good morning,” I said. “Why are you coming in this way?”

  She jumped a little, as though I had startled her instead of the other way around. Maybe I had. “Oh. Sorry. A … friend dropped me off so I didn’t park in back. It was easier to come in through the front.” She edged forward enough to give Biscuit, who was straining on her leash, a pat on the head—a gesture that earned her back some missing brownie points. Even so …

  The way she’d referred to her friend made me think she had a boyfriend. I’d never really asked either of my assistants about their love lives, but maybe I should have. Was Dinah attempting to hide something … besides possibly trying to sell my recipes?

  She supposedly was a writer. Was she studying people to see how she could use them in her stories? Steal from them? Kill them?

  “Coming in this way is fine,” I told her, stifling my inner thoughts for now. “Anyway, maybe it’s easier to talk out here than in the kit-

  chen.”

  “Talk?” Her childlike face seemed to grow pale in the still artificial light of the shop. Why?

  “Yes,” I said firmly. “When was the last time you talked with Harris Ethman?”

  She blinked her blue eyes and grasped her large leather purse as if she wanted to use it as a shield. Because she was hiding something, or because my attitude scared her? “At … at Myra’s memorial. I told him I was sorry for his loss.”

  “And what did you tell him about the Barkery’s recipes?” I’d taken a step toward her, still acting aggressive to see her reaction.

  “Recipes? I never said anything to him about our recipes. Should I have?”

  “No,” I said, deflating a bit. “No, that’s fine. Go ahead into the kitchen and get ready. We need to do some more baking.”

  I watched her hurry off, wondering if she’d lied. I didn’t think so, but I’d started mistrusting my own abilities to read people and interpret body language around what they were saying.

  Well, I still had one more assistant to quiz. Maybe Judy would come right out and admit it.

  But she didn’t.

  By the time she arrived, mid-morning, I hadn’t had Biscuit out for a walk for a couple of hours. I used Judy’s arrival as an excuse to do so, and insisted that she come along too since Dinah was working in the shops.

  We walked slowly along the sidewalk surrounding the grass-

  covered hills and trees of the parklike town square while Biscuit sniffed and greeted other dogs with nose sniffs and did what she was supposed to.

  As we walked I asked Judy the same questions I’d used on Dinah earlier.

  Judy also said that she’d last spoken with Harris at the memorial. She acted equally puzzled about my questions regarding the Barkery recipes, and mentioned again that perhaps the shops should have stayed singular—Icing only, since the Barkery seemed to keep garnering problems. She didn’t go pale in the sunlight, so my suspicions stayed more on Dinah, but I really hadn’t gotten enough from either of them to determine which one might have made a sale to Harris.

  I needed more.

  I needed my sanity, my routine, my normal life—whatever that might turn out to be after all this.

  How was I going to fix things?

  I wasn’t at this moment. Dinah went on break, and I mused about it all as I organized the remaining cookies and cupcakes in Icing’s display case.

  I still had a few hours of work in my shops before closing time. And today was my last day without a shift at the veterinary clinic.

  I wasn’t sure how I’d be during my shift there tomorrow. Defensive because of those cookies? I’d definitely not be bringing any dog treats with me for now. When could I again? I needed to somehow redeem myself with my friends at the vet clinic—Arvie in particular.

  And Reed? Well, I’d had high hopes not long ago for us forming some kind of relationship. But the kind of relationship we seemed destined for now was solely professional—and I’d still need to redeem myself with him even for that.

  A young family came in looking for a special treat. The five-year-old’s birthday was tomorrow and he wanted a cake from Icing.

  I was delighted to oblige. I took their order for a vanilla cake with chocolate frosting and his name on it. “It’ll be ready for you by ten in the morning,” I promised.

  The child clapped his hands—and I gave him and his older sister each a strawberry cupcake to tide them over. Their parents seemed delighted. So was I. I needed the distraction of something as cute as this.

  And I’d make that cake particularly special.

  As I walked them to the door, I was surprised, when I looked outside, to see Reed there—not in veterinary apparel but jeans and a Knobcone Heights T-shirt. He held the leash of his dog Hugo. I didn’t know his schedule this week, but if he’d worked at the clinic today his shift was apparently over. So what was he doing here?

  The only way to find out was to ask him. I followed my customers outside.

  “Hi, Reed,” I said tentatively. Had he come to chew me out further about my misdeed with the cookies?

  “Hi, Carrie.” He approached me and I reached out my hand to pat Hugo, looking down at the dog instead of at Reed’s face. “Look, I—” He hesitated. “I know what happened was an accident. You wouldn’t do anything to hurt a dog, I’m sure of that. And I know you’re under a lot of pressure right now. So … ” His voice trailed off.

  I did look up at his face then. His expression looked pained and maybe wistful, as if he regretted the attitude he’d had. Or was I just hopeful, wishing to see that there?

  “So,” he continued, “Hugo and I are here to invite Biscuit and you out for dinner, whenever you’re free. I’d like to take you to the Arrowhead Diner so we’ll be away from here and can talk. They have an outdoor area where dogs are welcome. And—”

  His voice had speeded up, as if he was trying to find as many ways as possible to convince me quickly to agree.

  I smiled, if only a little, as I raised my hand to interrupt. He stopped talking and waited for my response.

  So, for an instant, did I.

  But I knew what I had to do—if I wanted to feel comfortable at the clinic again.

  And if I hoped to see if there was any possibility of something ever materializing between Reed and me.

  “Sure,” I said. “Biscuit was just telling me she’d like to try that diner. We’d be delighted to join Hugo and you there tonight.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  I LIKED THE ARROWHEAD Diner. It was a family-style restaurant that had apparently, in the past, been built to resemble a train’s dining car. At least photos to that effect were hung on the wall inside.

  We were outside, thanks to Biscuit and Hugo. The air was brisk and suggested that rain was on the way, but it wasn’t predicted to start until late that night.

  I’d talked to Jack earlier. He and his trainees had decided to return to L.A. tonight. But he’d be back soon, he promised. I wouldn’t have been required to join him that evening anyway, but his absence made my decision to go out with Reed all the easier.

  “Arvie recommended this place but I’ve never been here before,” Reed said, looking around. The patio was nearly empty, although the restaurant inside was crowded. His movement was caught by the dogs, who both sat up and regarded him expectantly, as if hoping for treats. But when none were forthcoming they both settled back down.

  “I have, although Biscuit hasn’t,” I said. “It’s pretty good.”

  “Not as good as your cooking, I’m sure.” The smile on Reed’s face was wide and contagious, so I grinned back. But I still wasn’t sure how much to trust him and his now-flirtatious attitude. Not after how he’d acted when he accused me of carelessness about my dog treats.

  Justifiably so, but still …

  “Thanks,” I said, without inviting him back for a home-cooked meal at my place. Not yet, at least. We’d just have to see about whether that ever occurred again.

  We both ordered margaritas to start, although
my intent was to have a burger for dinner and not any of the Mexican dishes on the menu. When the server brought our drinks, she also took our orders.

  After she left, and as I took my first sip, Reed regarded me with what appeared to be concern and asked, “Are you okay, Carrie? I know what happened with the cookies you brought was unintentional and I’m sorry I came down on you so hard. Is that still why you look so sad? Or is it because of the other things you’ve been going through?”

  I knew he was referring to the Myra situation, and I did appreciate his apology. But I found myself needing to vent. “It’s everything,” I told him. “My being a murder suspect could have led to my carelessness, and I realize that. But now there’s something else.” I told him about my quandary about who might have offered my recipes to Harris Ethman.

  “If Harris wasn’t lying about it, could it have been one of your employees?” Reed asked. I related to him that I’d already quizzed both of them and couldn’t be sure if it was either.

  But as we spoke, something hit me so strongly it felt like a physical blow rather than mental. “One of my employees,” I whispered aloud.

  Reed seemed to hear what I hadn’t said. “One of your employees could have been the one to swap the human cookies for the healthy dog treats at the clinic.” His tone was crisp yet full of questions. “I know they sometimes brought your leftover dog treats in the mornings, even when you also brought some in the afternoon.”

  “But which one would do that? And why? And why offer my recipes to Harris?”

  “I haven’t a clue—but I think your initial questions to them need to be expanded.”

  “With something more than just my suspicions,” I agreed. “I can’t tell you offhand which one brought treats to the clinic that day—assuming it wasn’t me. But it was Thursday, right, that Arvie and you discovered the problem with the treats?”

  It was. And I believed that Dinah had been working with me at the shops that day, while Judy had had it off. Had Dinah taken the cookies to the veterinary clinic that morning? I would have packed them, but I didn’t inspect the package afterward so I wouldn’t have known if she’d decided to do something so nasty. I hadn’t had a shift at the clinic that day, but Reed had called to ask me to come in, and Arvie and he had scolded me for the mistake … which might not have been a mistake at all.

  “I’m not sure if I had a supply of those chocolate chip cookies that day that could have been taken by Dinah,” I mused. “But my computer records would give some indication, since all our sales receipts are copied there. We keep chocolate chip cookies around on most days, and I might be able to tell if we had any left over from the day before that Dinah could have brought to the clinic that morning. Or … ”

  “Or?” Reed was leaning over the table toward me, but he moved back when our food was placed in front of us.

  “Or,” I said when we were alone again, “there are other possibilities. I usually start that kind of baking early in the morning, depending on whether we have any cookies left from the day before. They’re usually fine to keep for a day without worrying about them going bad. I need to review the records for a couple of days. But if we had none left when I came in on Thursday morning, that could be an indication that we’d sold out on Wednesday—or the ones that showed up at the clinic were brought then and stored there.”

  “Will you be able to tell from that which of your helpers was more likely to have brought them?”

  I shrugged. “Not sure, but it may give me more ammunition when I question each of them again, not just about the recipes, but about the cookies … ” I looked down at the hamburger on my plate. “Of course, this combining of my two problems could all be in my head, to give me the ability to try to blame Judy or Dinah for my own carelessness. These issues might not be related.”

  “Then again, they might be.” Reed looked excited on my behalf. I supposed he didn’t really want me to be guilty of endangering the dogs at the clinic. Well, neither did I.

  But I’d reserve judgment on whether I could be exonerated till I at least checked the computer—and spoke with my assistants yet again.

  I couldn’t wait. When we finished eating, Reed returned Biscuit and me to my shops. I’d had to bring a box of hamburger home since my appetite had all but disappeared thanks to the change in my mood. But this was a good change—the anticipation of resolving a couple of problems.

  And there was more. It made no sense, but what if all three of my problems were somehow related?

  But why on earth would either Judy or Dinah kill Myra, then try to frame me for it?

  No, that couldn’t be. But my sense of hope had expanded every-

  thing.

  “Would you like Hugo and me to come in while you check things out?” Reed asked as he pulled up in front of my shops on Summit Avenue.

  “No need, but thanks. I don’t know how long it’ll take.” And if I found something that appeared to be an answer, I wasn’t sure how I’d sleep that night.

  But how could I find an answer just by forming an educated guess about how many chocolate chip cookies I’d had available when?

  No, I’d need to talk with Judy and Dinah again, and I planned to figure out the best approach rather than accusing them not only of trying to steal from me but also trying to make me look bad as a vet tech.

  “Okay, then.” But Reed didn’t let me out of the car right away. Instead, he leaned over and gave me one big, sexy kiss.

  It felt like whatever our problems had been before, they were now fully resolved. Or was it my own re-stoked optimism making me feel that way?

  No matter. I participated in that kiss, and then, picking up the bag containing my hamburger, I got Biscuit out of the back seat, patted Hugo goodbye, and entered the Barkery side of the shops.

  Turning on the lights, I waved goodbye to Reed and hooked Biscuit’s leash up to her crate. I gave her a hug and then headed through the kitchen, where I deposited my leftovers in the fridge on the Icing side. Then I adjourned into my tiny office.

  I turned the computer back on and waited for it to boot up. Was this a fantasy on my part?

  Probably. But I had an urge now to fire both my employees and start over. Neither act—endangering dogs with the wrong kinds of treats, or trying to sell a boss’s recipes—would wind up in the perpetrator’s being thrown in jail. I liked both Judy and Dinah personally—or at least I had. But maybe I needed a completely fresh start here. Maybe who’d done it was irrelevant. Maybe—

  There. The computer was finally ready. I got into the pertinent files that contained copies of receipts and started going through them, starting on Monday of this week. And maybe that wasn’t even early enough. If one of my assistants had been taking cookies in preparation for leaving them at the vet clinic to make me look bad, she could have been collecting them for a while. They hardly needed to be fresh for something like that.

  I heard Biscuit give a woof out front. I’d left the lights on, so maybe someone outside thought we were open. I went back into the Barkery and turned off the lights, giving Biscuit a hug. Then I returned to the computer.

  Cookies. We’d baked a lot over the past week—or at least we’d sold a lot. Brenda hadn’t kept much of an inventory of her Icing baked goods, so I hadn’t started one for either shop. What was important was a tabulation of expenses, including purchases of ingredients, as well as another accounting containing sales and income. But maybe now I’d keep better track of what was baked first, then sold.

  I couldn’t tell from my records which of my assistants might have been the one to collect potentially dog-harmful cookies. And I realized that this had always been somewhat wishful thinking on my part.

  I still could have done it myself, by horrible error.

  I nevertheless sat at the computer letting my mind go a bit wild. If I assumed that one of my assistants had done these nasty things, which would it be?

  Brenda had warned me that both had had hopes of taking over Icing when she’d left. Could thi
s somehow be an outgrowth of their rivalry?

  If so, I could let my imagination move a little further and consider the possibility that whoever had done it might have also wanted to frame me for murder. But that was bizarre. Would either Judy or Dinah really have killed Myra for something as ridiculous as trying to get rid of me?

  But as much as I tried, I wasn’t able to get my imagination in check. I recalled bits of conversations I’d had with both of them.

  And then I realized, if any of this was true, which of them I suspected most.

  It was almost as if I’d conjured her up when the back door of the kitchen burst open and one of my assistants came in—holding a gun.

  Judy. Of course.

  TWENTY-NINE

  “WHY A GUN, JUDY?” I felt pleased that my voice sounded relatively normal despite the way my heart was pounding. “You used a leash and rock to kill Myra.”

  “I caught her unawares with the leash and strangled her till she was unconscious first.” Judy no longer looked so pretty and pleasant. Not with her eyes narrowed, her mouth grinning evilly. “But I didn’t think that would happen with you, so I came prepared.”

  “Well, you were right, sort of. I knew it was you who killed Myra.” For all of three minutes I’d had some small degree of certainty, at least. “What I don’t know is why.”

  I had stood at her arrival and remained standing at the door to my office. Biscuit had heard us talking and was now barking out in the shop. I had hopes that someone would pass by and call the cops, but why? A dog barking inside a dog bakery didn’t mean there was anything wrong.

  “Because she deserved it.” Judy’s nostrils flared as her lips tightened. “You should never have been put in charge of Icing, let alone been allowed to change it this way.” She waved her free arm bitterly toward the Barkery part of the kitchen, and I noticed she had some kind of tote bag under that arm. “Brenda told me a long time ago that I was her gem, her perfect helper—but that was before she decided she needed even more help and hired that witch Dinah. But I could live with that—until Brenda said she had to leave town. I begged her to put me in charge, but Dinah wanted it too.”