That was probably because she was Neal’s girlfriend. And also because I’d ensured she was cleared of the murder allegation against her.
Could I wind up doing that for Billi, and Jack, too?
“Great idea,” I said. “I’ve been working on some low-fat applesauce-and-pumpkin treats but have only made them look like little squashed balls. I’ll have to come up with some other shapes—maybe our traditional bones, or some appropriate cookie-cutter form.”
I’d already put a couple of batches of red velvet cupcakes into the Icing oven and now got started on cranberry scones.
I saw the irony, of course. I was working on a baked good that had red coloration … was that a result of my dreams, in which I’d imagined blood? Ridiculous! I had to move my mind far away from the whole scenario of murder.
Just when I thought I’d convinced myself, though, Janelle stopped her work on the gingerbread treats and looked at me in a way I realized right away had nothing to do with baked goods. I tried not to look back, but she said, “Neal called me late last night.”
“He shouldn’t wake you,” I said, ignoring what this was probably about. “He knows your schedule. He must have known you’d be here early this morning.”
“He’s worried about you, Carrie.”
“And I’m worried about him.” Was this never going to end—everyone reminding me to be careful, which was a way of pounding on me to not get involved in the latest murder? Even someone like Janelle, who should like it if I jumped in to try to clear someone innocent?
“You know what I’m talking about. And I told him I’d mention it to you. And now I have. You won’t hear any more from me about it, Carrie. I promise.”
At those words I did look up at her and smile. “Thanks,” I said.
I knew the next person I’d talk to that day on the subject of murder would have an entirely different agenda than everyone else. Billi Matlock would definitely continue to encourage me to try to figure out who killed Wanda Addler.
In the meantime, my shops opened at seven o’clock sharp, and I was delighted at the immediate influx of customers into Icing—people on their way to work who wanted to start their day on a sweet note. We sold lots of scones and people biscuits and even red velvet cupcakes at that early hour.
I loved it!
I loved it even more when I left Janelle in Icing and headed into the Barkery, where Dinah was busy waiting on customers, too—most of them with their dogs along indulging in samples and helping their human companions choose what to buy.
This was me. My life. These shops, and my work as a part-time vet tech. I wasn’t a police investigator. Maybe my friends and family were right. After all, I’d barely known Wanda Addler, and there was no reason to really believe that the people I was a bit worried about, Billi and Jack, would be the sole subjects of the police investigation, the ones they’d focus on—right?
Only … I received a call from Billi at around ten that morning, confirming that she wanted me to come talk with her at Mountaintop Rescue around eleven. By then, Frida had arrived.
Billi sounded a bit frantic. That caused me to feel—well, concerned. And more.
As a result, Biscuit and I arrived at Cuppa-Joe’s at ten fifteen, a bag of leftover Barkery treats in my hand to bring to the residents of Mountaintop Rescue. Maybe it was silly, but I wanted just a few minutes to visit with my close buddies, the Joes, before getting into an emotional discussion with Billi. Once again, Biscuit and I headed to a table along the fence on the outside patio, beneath one of the heaters. I didn’t have to peek inside since server Kit, today wearing a dark blue shirt with the traditional coffee cup logo, saw me as she came out the door and turned back.
In moments, Joe and Irma were outside with us.
“Hi, Carrie.” Joe bent down to hug me and pat Biscuit. He felt warm and supportive and solid.
“What’s wrong, honey?” Irma asked, hands on her hips as she regarded me, worry wrinkling her very attractive face. “As if I can’t guess.”
They both sat down and in a minute Kit reappeared with cups of coffee for all of us, mine in a to-go cup.
Rather than jumping on me about what might be bothering me, my dear pseudo parents started talking about the weather and how they hoped their patio heaters would continue to keep patrons warm. They asked how business was at my shops, then about my latest work at the veterinary clinic.
I relaxed, drank my coffee, and smiled as both gave Biscuit attention, too.
But then I glanced at the time on my phone. “I’ve got to leave.” I knew I didn’t sound happy about it. “I’m heading to Mountaintop Rescue to talk with Billi.”
“I wondered.” Irma reached her hands across the table, and I placed mine into them. “I know they’re looking at her as a person of interest in that killing, aren’t they?” She paused. “No, never mind. Don’t talk about it unless you want to. And don’t talk to Billi or anyone else unless you want to—and I hope you know you can talk with us anytime about anything, right?”
I felt tears in my eyes as I smiled at these two wonderful people. “I do know that, and that’s why I’m here. I love you both.” I forced myself to rise and pick up my coffee cup from the table. Biscuit got to her feet, too, and I made sure the loop of her leash was securely around my wrist. “I’ll be back soon.”
My goal in coming here had been fulfilled, I thought, as Biscuit and I hurried out onto the relatively empty sidewalk. I’d talked with people who cared about me yet didn’t tell me what to do, who trusted me to get involved, or not, based on my own good judgment.
So what would I do now when I talked with Billi?
I found that out about fifteen minutes later.
She’d said yesterday at the spa that she wanted me to help find Wanda’s killer.
I’d said I’d think about it. My thoughts since then had been gravitating toward yes, but that was before everyone but the Joes had come down on me to keep out of it.
So why was I here at Mountaintop Rescue—to reassure my friend that I was going to dig in nevertheless and try to figure out what happened? Or to let her know that, on further consideration, I would be staying out of it this time?
After all, I hadn’t made any promises, except that if I did get involved, I’d look for the truth and wouldn’t try to shield anyone, friend or not.
Having Biscuit with me, I wasn’t going to visit any of the residents today. Instead, I stopped at the reception desk.
“Hi, Carrie.” Today, Mimi’s shirt said Dogs Rule—Unless You’re A Cat and had a feline with a Cheshire Cat smile on it. “And hi, Biscuit. Billi’s expecting you. Go on up to her office.”
I handed Mimi the bag of leftover treats to distribute to the shelter’s residents. Then Biscuit and I walked up the clean wooden stairs to the upper hallway and passed a few doors till we reached Billi’s hangout. The sign on the door now identified her as Councilwoman Wilhelmina Matlock, Boss of the City, Canines, and Cats.
I smiled at that, knocked on the door, and didn’t wait for a response before I opened it.
Billi had decorated her office here, more than at the spa, in a way that conveyed she was a Matlock, one of Knobcone Heights’ ruling families. The desk didn’t look like the run-down piece of pre-used furniture that animal shelters usually used so that all their funds could go toward the animals. Billi had paid for the furniture herself, and had an attractive, professional-looking wooden desk. It sat on an antique area rug with faded gold trim.
My friend appeared professional-looking, too, whenever she sat behind it, even while wearing the standard Mountaintop Rescue T-shirt and jeans—most of the time, that is. This morning, she looked exhausted.
“Hi, Carrie.” She sounded exhausted, too. She had a cup of coffee in front of her, which was a good thing. I should have called to offer to bring one for her from Cuppa’s, like the one I carried.
&nb
sp; “Hi, Billi.” I moved one of the wooden chairs facing her desk so I could get closer to her than the people who sat here usually did—often potential adopters. “How are you getting along?” I thought I knew what her answer would be, but she surprised me.
“Okay, I guess. Look, Carrie, I really appreciate you saying you might be willing to help figure out who really killed Wanda for me, but after thinking about it, I don’t want to make you do that again. I know how stressful it can be to investigate something, and like last time, you’d just be doing it to be a good friend.”
“You are a good friend,” I responded. “Tell me what’s been going on.”
Softly, she described being confronted a couple of times since the murder by the Knobcone Heights PD, including both detectives—who’d been the banes of my existence when I was a suspect, and who’d even interrogated me briefly this time, when I had nothing to do with the situation. Well, not much, anyway.
“At least Wanda’s body wasn’t found near here, but they know I know where Jack’s apartment is and that Wanda was still bothering him. Since they’re at least considering me a possible suspect, I did the right thing and hired an attorney. I considered getting a high-powered criminal lawyer from LA, but I figured someone who knew this town and its quirks would be better, so I’ve hired your former lawyer, Ted Culbert. Just in time, by the way. He indicated he’d been approached by someone else regarding the same situation—Jack, probably—but hadn’t taken the case yet.”
“But he took on your defense?”
“Yes, and I’m glad. Since he’s from the area, he knows me as a City Councilwoman and local businesswoman.”
And probably as a Matlock, too, I thought—and Matlocks were big wheels in town even though, except for Billi, they weren’t always around.
So now my mind was twirling once more. I could stay out of this.
Did I want to stay out of this?
Billi was acting responsibly under the circumstances. Maybe Jack was, too. And the fact I thought neither of them had killed Wanda … I could be wrong.
“So this time, please stay out of it, Carrie.” Billi’s look toward me was sad but resigned.
“Why, because you’re guilty?” That just blurted from my mouth. I clearly wasn’t thinking straight.
“No!” Billi’s shout reverberated through the room. “No,” she repeated more quietly. “Of course not.”
“Then are you trying to protect Jack because you think he’s guilty—and you know that if I do investigate, I’ll figure out the truth?”
What was I doing? Trying to convince myself I was a detective, despite all the concerns and warnings voiced to me in the past day or so?
Being the person the Joes thought I was and making the best decision possible?
Heck if I knew.
“No, I don’t believe he’s guilty, and I think he and I will try to help each other, but—Carrie, I think we’ve talked this over enough. I appreciate your interest and experience and all, but I don’t want to do this to you again. I don’t want to do it to me at all, but I’m stuck with it till the truth comes out. But thanks anyway.”
Her attitude stoked my curiosity. Even if I told her I wouldn’t try to help her, that didn’t mean I’d have no interest in figuring out what really happened. After all, someone had killed Wanda. I didn’t truly think it was Billi, although now that she’d invited me to keep my nose out of it, I kind of wondered …
And if it wasn’t her, it might be Jack, who remained my friend, at least for now—and possibly Billi’s friend, too.
Besides, maybe the killer was someone else altogether, I thought, recalling Neal’s report of Harris Ethman arguing with Wanda at the resort.
Or—
“There is one thing, though,” Billi said. “I know we were talking about having an adoption event in a week or two at the Barkery, but I’m just not going to be able to handle that and everything else, too. If we do one of these again, it’ll have to be in the future … and that could wind up being a big if, depending on how things go.”
When I first opened my shops, Billi and I had talked for quite a while about possibly doing an adoption event with dogs from Mountaintop Rescue at Barkery and Biscuits. We’d finally done one a few weeks ago. It had gone great! Not only had some wonderful dogs who needed a forever home found them with people who’d come to check them out at my store, but we’d sold—and given away—a lot of treats.
And lots of people had begged us to do it again.
Okay. Maybe this was a dumb reason to postpone it, but it made sense to me. And if we couldn’t count on doing another adoption event at my Barkery as long as Wanda’s murder remained unsolved and Billi was a suspect, I had to help figure things out as fast as possible.
Don’t try to change my mind, I called out silently to Reed and Neal and the whole world.
Or maybe my mind had already been made up …
“We’ll throw another adoption event soon,” I told Billi, looking straight into her sad brown eyes. “I’ve decided that I am getting involved, no matter what, and I’ll try to find out what happened to Wanda as fast as I can.”
Thirteen
A crisp breeze was blowing as Biscuit and I left the shelter to head back to our stores. Good. The chill boosted my circulation, especially since I’d worn only a light jacket over my knit shirt.
Or maybe my inner warmth was due to thoughts of facing down those who cared about me but who’d tried, with the best of intentions, to tell me what to do. Reed and Neal, Les, and now even Billi had expressed concern about me. Reed had acknowledged that it was my decision, but he clearly wished he could order me to back off, sweet and caring guy that he was.
Of course, he couldn’t.
And now, after talking to Billi, I was very concerned that the adoption events we’d started might evaporate. Not to mention that her life was in danger of doing the same.
People who cared about me giving orders or not, I had reasons to get involved this time. Multiple reasons.
As we reached the sidewalk, I decided to take a brief detour, one I’d purposely avoided even thinking about on our walk here.
Exactly where had Wanda been killed?
I didn’t know which apartment Jack was living in, or which one Wanda had apparently moved into. I googled the news report on my phone, to see if the media had pinpointed the location of the murder scene. I found only general speculation, but it did appear to have occurred east of here, in the area I’d have guessed—not the most elite residential area, but a place where several apartment complexes blended with supermarkets, liquor stores, and general retail outlets where locals often bought supplies.
That area wasn’t on our way back to my shops, unfortunately, but I led Biscuit along Hill Street in that direction—passing the police station and City Hall across the street from us. My dog seemed fine about heading in a direction we rarely took on foot, sniffing lots of new spots and earning smiles from the few people who were walking around us. Traffic was fairly sparse this way, too.
The location wasn’t hard to spot. Police tape still blocked off the rear part of a parking lot near the closest apartment building. The rest of the parking lot held a lot of cars—and people seemed to get in and out of them slowly, observing that far side where someone had been killed.
I wondered what kinds of crime scene investigators were still around. And what they’d found—in addition to the poop scooper that the media claimed was the murder weapon.
The scoopers I’d seen being used at Mountaintop Rescue didn’t have points on them, so how was she stabbed? Had someone used the scooper like a bat, as in my dream? Had the killer modified the scooper to put a point on one or both of its crossed handles—the upper ends of them, farthest from the metal parts that actually did the scooping—specifically to use it as a murder weapon?
I hoped no one was watching me as I pulled
gently on Biscuit’s leash, urging her to join me as I turned and walked away. I was smiling, but grimly—and not because I was happy to have observed a murder scene, even at this distance.
But I was happy that I was listening to my own mind and heart again—still—and considering how to satisfy my curiosity and hopefully help my friends in the process.
I stopped smiling when Biscuit and I passed Mountaintop Rescue again and reached the corner of Pacific Street. If we continued straight ahead, we would arrive at the veterinary clinic. My clinic, where Reed currently was at work—and he and I were to meet for dinner tonight.
I considered calling him right away as Biscuit and I turned down Pacific. If he was going to return to giving me a hard time about the choices I was making, even in a nice and caring way, I could call off our dinner date.
But that wasn’t the kind of conversation that should interrupt any veterinary exams, and I certainly didn’t want to leave a message.
No, I’d tell him first thing about my decision to investigate, and dare him to kick me out of his house.
I gave a quick nod, as if in commitment to that thought, as I waited for the traffic to pass, at the edge of the town square across the street from my shops. I was ready.
I was very busy for the rest of the day, since the shops were crowded. Locals seemed to love both stores. Plus, although Knobcone Heights wasn’t a huge tourist spot, it did attract a lot of visitors. Today, a tour bus had stopped on its way to nearby Big Bear, and the occupants had gotten out to stretch their legs—and visit the town’s upscale retail area.
Apparently a lot of the tourists had dogs at home, and apparently they felt guilty about leaving their canine kids behind, since they bought a lot of treats at the Barkery. They also must have thought they deserved some treats of their own, since they swept into Icing and left with nearly everything there. I sent Dinah and Frida scrambling into the kitchen to bake a few more things so we’d be able to end the day with enough if any other customers dropped in.
Bad to the Bone Page 11
