Johnna put a hand on my shoulder. “I called and talked to Betty last night. She says if you’re wanting to test how your treats will sell, to let her know. She’ll help however she can. Why don’t you run down and chat? Oh! And look!” She picked up a square knit pouch the size of a sandwich bag. “A treat cozy!”
If ever there was a time to lay my forehead—smack my forehead—on the counter, this was it. “It’s cute,” I said. “I’ll go talk to Betty.” And make my escape from the crazy Dog Diggity overlords who had taken control of my kitchen.
Outside, Andy battled bees. “Why don’t I call an exterminator?” I said, watching him dart across the yard with a handful of buzzing black and yellow balls after him.
“Don’t you dare. I got this.” He swatted his hand and dodged one. “I picked up a bottle of this powdered stuff that you shoot in their hive. It’s the same stuff exterminators use.”
“Okay, if you say so, but do me a favor and don’t end up in the hospital.”
I left him to wage war and headed down the road past Schoolhouse Antiques, where Will was outside jabbing rusted lawn ornaments into the ground—big metal cattails and flowers on the ends of rods that bobbled around when the wind blew. I was certain that at one point in their lives the ornaments were painted, but it was hard to tell with all the rust. I was also certain that Will would call it an antique patina.
“Hi Will,” I called, waving, remembering that the last time I saw him he wanted to run away, like I was about to bash him over the head and make him my second victim.
He looked over and smiled, then hastily shoved his lawn ornament into the ground and retreated inside his shop. I’d have to talk to Brenda about her boyfriend’s crazy, misplaced ideas. I hadn’t talked to her since the disastrous calling hours. I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and sent her a text, asking if she was able to meet for coffee in ten minutes. I got a reply right away: Meet you at Soapy’s.
I’d chat with Brenda and stay away from Ellsworth House a little longer. Two birds, one stone.
Betty was sweeping her front walk, and I scared her when I said, “Hello!” from only a few feet behind her.
“Oh!” she said, placing a hand over her heart. “I didn’t hear you walk up.”
Her short hair was shiny blue-black today. “Cass color your hair again?” I asked.
“You know I can’t tell that girl no when she insists she can do as good a job as my beauty parlor.”
I wanted to ask if her beauty parlor used shoe polish as hair dye, because it looked like Cass did. “She sure does a good job.” Nothing wrong with stretching the truth a little to make someone feel good. Plus, Cass’s heart was in the right place. With business down, it was surely hard for Betty to part with her money at the beauty parlor.
She propped her broom by the door. “I hear you’re not only making dog biscuits, but interested in selling them?”
“Johnna and the rest of my phone crew have taken to the idea like fish to water. I’m not so sure it’ll work, but I’m thinking about it giving it a shot.”
“What do you have to lose? What you don’t sell, those dogs of yours will gobble up.”
“True. There’s still the investment of packaging and advertising to consider.”
“Well, let’s cross our fingers that the Canal Days Festival this fall brings in a crowd since the play was cancelled.” She opened the door to the Cookie Cutter and beckoned me with a wave to follow her. Inside it smelled like vanilla and cinnamon and the walls were lined with shelf upon shelf of collectible cookie jars.
“That’s four months away,” I pointed out. “There has to be a way to get the musical rescheduled before then. The town needs it.”
Betty rounded the counter and pulled her oven door open, releasing a waft of steam and a heavenly aroma that made my mouth water. “Grandma’s Snicker Doodles,” she said, “with cinnamon chips.”
The grandma of Grandma’s Cookie Cutter was Betty’s Grandma Underwood. Although she’d been gone for decades, her cookies were still legendary.
“Hot from the oven,” Betty said, sliding one onto a napkin and handing it to me.
“These are my second favorite after your chocolate chip.”
“You’re a traditional girl. No fancy, newfangled cookies for you. But I bet I could get you to change your mind. My cousin Tillie just sent me a recipe she found in one of Grandma’s old photo albums—no idea how it ended up in there. Cheesecake cookies.” She shrugged her eyebrows up and down suggestively.
“I think I could go for that,” I said. “I do love cheesecake.”
Who was I kidding? I loved all sweets. Pies, cakes, cookies—I was an equal opportunity dessert eater.
“You know,” Betty said, as I nibbled on a snickerdoodle, “we don’t have to put on a play about murder. It wouldn’t be inappropriate to choose a different one and start rehearsing.”
It was a great—and perfectly logical—idea. “Why has nobody thought of that? We don’t need to fill in Jenn Berg’s role if the players put on a whole new play. I’ll ask Soapy about it. I’m headed there next.”
“Well, then you best get to the reason for your visit. Dog treats, right? I have a spot right up front where I can put a round table for you to set up a display. I’m not too busy to sell them for you. I can tuck your money under the register and keep it safe.”
“Wow, that sounds great. I guess I don’t have any reason not to then, huh?”
Betty tilted her head, appraising me. “Unless you don’t want to. That’s a valid reason. Don’t let anyone talk you into doing something you don’t want to do. You have to be committed to it, or it won’t work.”
I nodded. She was right. And I wasn’t committed yet. “I’ll think about it some more and let you know.”
“My offer stands. No rush.” She patted my arm. “Take another cookie for the road,” she said and scooped up another with her spatula.
Gazing at the churning water in the canal on my way to Soapy’s, it was hard to believe it had been a week since I found Jenn Berg.
One week and no murderer.
Loud, persistent barking and quacking grabbed my attention. I could hardly believe my eyes. Ben was walking along the road with Brutus on a leash. Brutus was engaged in a quarrel with Metamora Mike. The duck flapped and quacked, not leaving the big black brute alone.
“Maybe next time you won’t try to eat him,” Ben said to the dog, tugging on his leash. He saw me and raised a hand, smiling.
“How’d you manage to get near him without losing a leg?” I called, waiting by the wooden bridge.
“Bribed him with a steak bone. I wouldn’t say we’re friends, but we put up with each other.”
“And you’re walking him,” I said, taking a step back as they approached. “I don’t have a steak bone, so don’t let him bite me.”
“I think you’re okay. He’s only tried to eat ducks so far.” He looked back to where Mike was waddling, huffily, to the bank of the canal.
We strolled across the bridge, and I kept my distance from Brutus even though I was featherless. I didn’t trust him not to take a piece of my backside. “Anything new with the investigation?” I asked.
He looked at me, then at the ground. I could tell he was weighing his options. To tell me, or not to tell me …
“Reins’s men found two set of prints in the mud. One matched Jenn’s tennis shoes. The other prints were a man’s.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, grabbing his arm. “Am I off the suspect list?”
“Don’t get excited. Nobody’s off the list yet.”
“But if a man was with her … ” If a man was with her—and it wasn’t Ben—who was it? Zach? Nick? Cory Bantum?
I had to get to Connersville.
“Don’t go poking around anymore, Cam,” he said, catching the flash of adrenaline in my eyes. “Disba
nd your Action Agency and stay out of trouble before you really get Reins after you. Or worse.”
“Worse? What’s worse than Reins thinking I killed someone?”
He jolted to a stop. “Being killed yourself. This isn’t a joke, Cameron. Going after bad guys isn’t a game. How would you feel if one of your crew was hurt?”
“I’d feel terrible. Obviously.” I walked on ahead of him. I didn’t need a lecture.
“Cam,” he called, behind me. “I’m not trying to be condescending, but you need to think about these things. You have two teenagers and two senior citizens along with a felon working for you. It’s not exactly CSI.”
“I don’t even watch CSI,” I said, spinning around to glare at him. “If you remember, you watched that upstairs in the bedroom while I watched my shows in the family room.”
“That’s right, I’m the villain because I didn’t want to watch reruns of Parks and Recreation.”
“It’s funny!” I said, adamantly defending my favorite show to him for the millionth time.
“Well, this isn’t. I want you to stop whatever it is you’ve got going on with that group of yours before you end up hurt or worse.”
“Worse, like dead? I’m not going to end up dead, Ben.”
He ran a hand through his dark hair and lowered his head, looking up at me with those dark eyes through thick lashes. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”
“Don’t,” I said.
“What?”
“The eyelash thing. Don’t do that.”
“Fine,” he said, resting his hands on my shoulders. “Can you do me one favor, though?”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t go searching the closet of every man in Metamora for canal mud, okay? We all have canal mud on our shoes.”
My lips cracked into a smile. “Oh, that. I guess I can do that. For a minute, I thought you were going to tell me Mia was headed back from Irene’s.”
“That reminds me,” he said, cringing.
I decided to take pity on him. Darn eyelashes. “Okay. I guess it’s no big deal since I don’t have another car she can wreck. As long as she’s not plotting a hostile takeover with your mother.”
“I doubt Mia has any interest in hostile takeovers.”
There was a lot he didn’t know, or care to see, where Mia was concerned. One of these days, he’d figure out she wasn’t the angel he thought she was. Soon she’d be back with her mom, sunning herself on a beach, and all would be right with my world again. Or at least on its way to right-side-up again.
“I’ll pick her up and take her out to dinner,” he said. “I’m glad she’s spending time with my mom and dad, but I need some time with my little girl, too.”
“I’m sure you do,” I said. I knew how much he wanted to spend more time with her during the year. It was hard on him to live over two hours away, but at least it wasn’t farther.
“Hey, Cam! Ben,” Brenda said, strolling out of her shop, Read and ReRead. “You joining us?”
“No,” he said. “I’m just walking this guy.” He nodded to Brutus.
“That’s brave of you,” she said.
“I’ll talk to you later,” I told him.
“Are we still on for tomorrow night?” he asked.
The movie. “As long as you’re nice to me.”
“Popcorn and M&M’s,” he said. “My treat.”
“Pick me up at seven.”
Soapy brought our cappuccinos to our table and sat down with us. “How are things, ladies?” he asked, stroking his beard.
I wrapped my hands around my mug and sat back, eager to relax into coffee bliss. “Well,” I said, “I’ve got a kitchen full of people making dog treats and trying to talk me into opening a business. I’m not off the hook for Jenn Berg’s murder yet, and I have more dog hair in my house than a whole herd of Shop-Vacs could suck up. On the bright side, Betty gave me a snickerdoodle on my way here.”
He chuckled. “Sounds about right for you.”
“Business is slow,” Brenda said, “even online. Will’s holding a tag sale next week to get rid of some of his bigger pieces. We’re hoping it draws a good-sized crowd. How’re you and Theresa doing, Soapy?”
“Hanging in.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Used to be a time when summer meant late hours and running out of stock. Now we’re lucky to get ten customers a week in here.”
“Something has to give,” I said. “The town can’t falter like this for much longer before completely falling apart. Let’s do a different play.” I shifted toward him in my chair. “Betty and I were talking, and we both agree that picking another play—one that doesn’t have a murder in it—wouldn’t be insensitive or disrespectful. The town was relying on the play to bring in customers. We need to see it through.”
“I agree,” Brenda said. “Our town’s been through a terrible tragedy, but we’re going to face even more—financial tragedy for all of us—if we don’t try to get people here somehow.”
“Okay, okay,” Soapy said. “I can see your point. So if we do put on a different play, which one?”
“I’m not familiar with plays and musicals,” I said, “but I’d be happy to help pick one out if there’s a list or a book to look through.”
“Here,” Brenda said, taking out her phone. “I’m sure there’s a list online. You have to buy the rights and the scripts and music.”
“There’s a website,” Soapy said. “That’s where we found Oh Horrors! It’s Murder!”
Brenda searched around online with her phone and finally found a website that looked promising. She started reading the titles and descriptions, and nothing stood out to me until she came to A Dog’s Life, a musical comedy that cast a few actors as dogs. My mind went into high gear.
“That’s the one,” I said, banging my hand on the table like a gavel. “We can tie in the play with Jenn Berg’s dogs. Well, my dogs now. It can be put on in memoriam to her. A tribute. We can even collect donations for the Brookville Animal Shelter if we wanted. She’s gone, but she’s still a part of the program.”
Soapy rested a hand on my shoulder. “I like it. It’ll be a nice gesture from the town. Good thinking, Cam. I’ll give the players a call, and we’ll get to work right away.”
“I’ll get my crew back on the phones!” I said, jumping out of my chair. “You better add a third performance, because this play is going to be standing room only.”
Maybe I’d even get the Action Agency out of my kitchen.
• Nineteen •
Back at home, Andy wasn’t lying listless in the front yard, and the bees seemed to be gone, but it looked like a cyclone picked up a bakery and dropped it in my kitchen. Banana peels, melon rinds, and apple cores littered the floor, while the remnants of dough and what I hoped was cottage cheese dotted the countertops. “Is this a green bean?” I asked, plucking the object out from between my toes.
Next time I’d leave my flip-flops on.
“I’ll clean it all up,” Monica said, taking a sip of iced tea and wiping her forearm across her brow. She had flour in her hair. “We came up with some good recipes today. Dog-approved!” she said, giving me a thumbs up and a big smile.
I poured myself a glass of tea and motioned to her to follow me out onto the patio. The dogs were chasing each other around in circles in the yard. Well, Isobel growled and nipped at their legs when they ran by her.
“You’re really getting into this,” I told her. “It surprises me.”
“I like dogs. And cats. I should’ve gotten allergy meds sooner, I guess.”
“But Mon, you’re baking. I’ve never seen you do anything domestic in my life.”
She grinned. “I never knew I was good at it before! Good by dog standards, that is. I’m going to take vacation days to come back and help you when you o
pen Dog Diggity.”
“About that … I’m not sure it’s something I want to do. I like the sound of having a business, but what gives me the most satisfaction is sharing my successes. If I’m the only one benefiting, I’m not sure it’ll be as fulfilling as helping the town build itself back up. Soapy’s putting on a different play, and I want to keep promoting it, and everything else that’s to come. I love the dogs, but my heart’s not into making up recipes.”
She sat back in her chair and sighed. “No Dog Diggity?”
I studied her and wondered if she saw herself the way I did. The way she was when she let down the big-city professional-woman facade. “There’s nothing saying you can’t open Dog Diggity.”
She laughed. “I think the overhead would be way too high in Columbus. Plus, there are already tons of gourmet pet boutiques in the city.”
“I didn’t say in Columbus. Do it here.”
“Here? Like stay here? I don’t know.” She shook her head, but I caught the gleam in her eye.
“We’ve grown on you,” I said. I pointed a mock accusing finger at her. “This place and the people do that, and you don’t even realize it’s happening.”
“No,” she said, still shaking her head. “I mean, sure, I’ve gotten used to your crazy bunch, but I don’t think I could live here. There’s no mall. Where would I get my nails done?”
“Brookville. It’s not that far to civilization. Although whoever decides to open a McDonald’s in Metamora will have my undying devotion and probably ninety percent of my money.”
“Tired of fried chicken?” she joked.
“Never. I love the Cornerstone’s fried chicken. Which reminds me, when did Andy leave? He hasn’t been around much lately.”
“About two. He said he had things going on at the castle. I didn’t ask what.”
“Film-related, I’m sure. Stoddard’s probably making him the next Spielberg.” I waved the subject away. “Anyway, instead of you taking vacation days to come here and help me, why don’t we do it together? I’ll work during the day promoting the town’s events, and in the evenings, I’ll be your lackey to boss around.”
Deadly Dog Days Page 15
