“Yes, but he excused himself a few minutes ago,” Janelle said. “He said he had to go say hi to someone.”
“Oh, really? Who?” I was curious who Jack would be talking to around here, but he’d come to the resort often enough before the current difficult situation to know quite a few people in town. Not that it really mattered, since I doubted he’d admitted—or denied—anything about the murder in conversations he held here. Even so, it wouldn’t hurt for me to follow up with anyone he’d spoken with, just to learn what they’d talked about and if it had anything to do with Wanda, or VimPets, or anything else of interest.
Although if he’d popped in to say hi to Elise, I wouldn’t follow up directly with her.
I didn’t get a response to my question, so I assumed he hadn’t mentioned anyone, and he returned just then with the extra chair.
“So how are you doing, Carrie?” Jack inquired before I could ask him the same thing. He looked a bit pale, and not just because he was wearing a beige long-sleeved T-shirt, which was a lot more casual than I was used to seeing on him. His straight nose, as always, was prominent over a wide mouth that was generally smiling, but not now. His light brown hair was cut even shorter than usual, adding to an impression I got that this good-looking guy was falling apart.
Because he was a killer, or only because some people thought he was?
“I’m okay,” I replied to him. “I suspect you can’t say the same.”
“I could say it,” he said, “but it wouldn’t be entirely true.” He took a swig of his beer, looked around at the others at our table as if to acknowledge their presence, and then centered his attention back on me. “How did you do it, Carrie?” he asked in a tired voice that he raised loudly enough to be heard over the crowd. “I mean, survived day to day with the fear you might be arrested for something you never did.”
“You just do it,” I said, then looked toward my other side. “Right, Janelle?”
“Hey.” Jack looked from me to Janelle, then back again. “How about if we start some kind of support group. Call it something like Murder Suspects Not-So-Anonymous.”
I smiled, and so did Janelle, though neither Reed nor Neal did.
“Well, at least the truth won out with Janelle and me,” I said. “And neither of us was guilty. Can you honestly say the same?” I leaned toward him with my elbows on the table, batting my eyelashes as if eager for his answer.
“Honestly and truthfully and accurately and absolutely.” The words came out in a rush. Then he lifted his beer glass, as if in a toast, and chugged the rest of his drink.
But as much as I wanted to believe it, that didn’t convince me so absolutely that Jack was telling the truth.
My piña colada arrived, then, along with another beer for Jack. I knew that his apartment wasn’t very close and I wondered if he was drinking too much.
I, on the other hand, didn’t finish my drink, as much as I’d have liked to. As was often the case, Reed was going to drive Biscuit and me back to my stores to get my car. Then each of us would drive to his place, where he would feed Hugo and I’d make sure Biscuit wasn’t starving, either. Reed was going to pick up a pizza dinner on the way home so that neither he nor I would go hungry as well.
After that, we might satisfy another kind of appetite, depending on our mood.
As a result of those plans, Reed and I didn’t stay much longer. Neal and Janelle said they were leaving, too, and I wondered if they had a similar arrangement in mind.
That would leave poor Jack alone for the evening—maybe. I wasn’t going to ask.
He might just stay at the resort and soothe himself with more to drink, or maybe he could join up with whomever he had spoken with before.
But as the rest of us stood, including Biscuit, so did Jack. Our tabs were paid, so we just headed into the lobby, which seemed a little less crowded than usual. This was somewhat surprising for a Saturday evening, but it was getting late.
As we walked through the lobby, Gwen caught up with us. Apparently her work for this day was done. She wore a denim jacket that hid what was underneath, which was probably her serving uniform.
“Did—was your meeting okay, Carrie?” she asked.
“Okay’s a good word for it,” I assured her. “And thanks again for the refreshments.”
“Oh, you’re very welcome. Besides, Mrs. Hainner paid for them.”
“I thought she might have.”
“Anyway, good night to all of you.” Her gaze took in Reed first, then Janelle and Neal and Jack. She seemed to look hardest at Neal, and I wondered if there was any regret on her part that they really hadn’t entered into a relationship.
“Good night to you, too, Gwen. I’m sure at least some of us will be back soon to see you at the restaurant.”
“I hope so,” she said. Then, waving, she hurried ahead of us to the door.
As we got into the parking lot, I didn’t ask Neal when he was likely to get home that night, and he didn’t ask me, either.
But each set of couples headed off to wherever our plans took us that evening.
I looked forward to it, despite anticipating I’d have to give Reed more information about what I’d learned, or hadn’t, from Harris and Elise. We revised our earlier plan and decided to go to his house first, picking up a pizza on the way, and he’d take me to my car later.
And as expected, Reed was definitely interested and concerned about any information I had—although he promised he’d stop asking questions on the subject once we were at his house and finished walking the dogs.
I held him to that.
Twenty
I was tired the next morning, but in a good way. Biscuit and I had stayed longer at Reed and Hugo’s than we should have, and even though this was a Sunday my hours didn’t change.
That meant needing to hurry to my shops and start baking, when I felt like I could have remained in bed—alone, at my house—for a long time.
I started out by making some fresh scones and muffins and biscuits for Icing, since customers had proven they were more likely to want people treats for breakfast early than to get out of bed and dash here for good stuff for their dogs. Besides, I had some leftover dog treats from yesterday still in the refrigerated display case that were far from going stale.
Frida and Vicky were coming in to work that day, thanks to Vicky’s highly competent scheduling, and she had even determined that she would arrive first. But since it was Sunday and I’d still open at seven, I’d told her she didn’t need to arrive before eight.
That meant I had to start on dog treats as soon as I got the first trays of human goods into the oven. Biscuit remained quiet in the Barkery, so I figured at least one of us was enjoying catching up on her sleep.
To keep myself awake, I rehashed things in my mind from yesterday—primarily the good things, like being at the bar with friends, and afterward with Reed.
I inhaled deeply and often, appreciating, as always, the sweet, alluring aromas caused by my baking while I blended new doughs and formed them into dog biscuit shapes and round cookies.
And, yes, I couldn’t help it. I soon started to rehash the things I knew about Wanda and her life and what could have led to her murder, as well as to think through who would have been the most upset about which of her actions and perhaps even angry enough to kill her.
That last thought still puzzled me. A lot. Yes, Wanda wasn’t a nice person; in fact, from the little I knew about her, she’d spent her entire life trying to figure out how to put herself in the best of positions, all at the expense of other people. But still, someone must have been pretty angry.
One person I knew very little about was the VimPets executive she’d apparently been dating, the guy who’d been helping her rise through the corporate ranks no matter who got hurt—like Jack.
Did that executive have a motive to kill her? Maybe, since nea
rly everyone Wanda knew did.
But to murder her, wouldn’t he have had to be in Knobcone Heights? And wouldn’t Jack, at least, have recognized him?
That was something I should ask Jack. He’d probably thought of it himself, though.
If the executive had come to town with the idea of killing Wanda, he could have worn a disguise—although some kinds of big-wheel executives would have the funds to hire a hit man. Were the cops looking into that possibility, too?
And did Jack know of a reason why one of his bosses, even one with some kind of romantic interest in Wanda, would want to get rid of her? I’d seen a few statements to the media online, from executives at VimPets, expressing sorrow and sympathy about losing this excellent employee, but nothing had stood out as coming from someone who cared for Wanda as anything more than a peon.
A buzzer sounded in front of me, signaling that the people goods I’d been baking were ready to be removed from the oven. The timing worked well, since I was nearly ready to stick a couple of trays of dog treats in the other oven, behind me. I’d soon be prepared for customers to start coming in—a good thing, since it was approaching seven o’clock.
I left the trays of scones and more out to cool, put the dog treats into their oven, then went into my office to check on some scheduling and financial stuff. I didn’t really have time, but, seated at my desk, I booted up my laptop and quickly googled “Wanda Addler” yet again, to learn what was being said about her murder. There were still a lot of articles about her death here in Knobcone Heights, and the fact she was from LA and worked for VimPets, but nothing I found was helpful other than that the authorities were following up on some leads.
But were there actual leads, or was that only to ward off the pushy media? I wasn’t about to contact anyone who might know, or I might be the one who got pushed, and not by any reporters.
Sighing, I put my computer into sleep mode, half wishing I could do the same for myself. I’d check on Biscuit, give her a quick walk, then open the Barkery, followed by Icing.
Biscuit seemed to like my plan, especially when we went outside onto the sidewalk and I gave her a minute to sniff the ground and a couple of other dogs walking by. “Come on into the Barkery in about half an hour,” I told the owners at the other ends of the leashes. “I’ll give your baby a sample treat.” And hope you buy more of them, I thought.
Biscuit was well-versed in this kind of short morning outing and seemed happy enough to come back inside. I kept the Barkery’s outer door open and checked to make sure the bell was working so I’d hear when someone came in.
Next, I enclosed Biscuit in her confined area and went through the door from the Barkery into Icing, to open it for the day, too.
Only then did I hop back into the kitchen to remove the day’s newly baked Barkery treats from the oven and let them start cooling. I took the Icing items that were already cool into the shop to place into the display case.
While I was doing that, the bell on the Barkery’s door chimed. Customers! I glanced at the time on my phone, made sure the trays of product were secure on the counter behind the display case, and hurried back to the Barkery.
Only it wasn’t customers who’d triggered the bell. Or maybe it was. But the person who stood there surveying the contents of the glass-fronted case was Detective Wayne Crunoll.
I’d already primed myself for some fun taking care of someone who wanted to buy dog treats. The detective had brought both of his wife’s dachshund mixes that morning—Blade and Magnum.
Did he actually want to buy something, or had he brought the dogs along in a feeble attempt to try to fool me into talking with him?
He appeared to be casual, wearing a gray hoodie with the large letters KHPD on the back. When he turned to look at me, his dark brows were raised and he appeared all friendly.
I didn’t trust that.
Meanwhile, his two dogs were pulling on their leashes to go see Biscuit, who stood on her hind legs in her enclosure as if she wanted to greet them, too.
“Hello, Detective.” I attempted to sound pleased to see him. “And Blade and Magnum, too. I assume it’s okay for me to give them a treat?”
“Absolutely.”
I went behind the case and pulled out three pumpkin biscuits. I didn’t want Biscuit to feel slighted. After passing them out, I turned back to the cop. “What treats would you like to take home with you today?”
I’d thought about asking what I could help him with, which was often what I asked customers, but that was too broad. I didn’t want to help him with anything related to Wanda Addler’s murder—even if I could. Which I really couldn’t.
“Oh, the biggest treat of all would be for me to haul you into the station for assaulting Harris Ethman.” His round face turned up into a grin that looked entirely evil to me.
“What! I didn’t assault anyone.”
“Well, you barged into his office and threatened him, I understand. Claimed he murdered Wanda Addler. Are you sticking your pretty little nose into this homicide, too, Carrie?”
My nose wasn’t pretty and little. It was the longish Kennersly nose. And though I supposed I was snooping into that homicide, I wasn’t about to admit it to this difficult detective.
“Who told you that?” I countered. “I have to assume it was either Harris or his sister, Elise, but I thought I convinced her of the truth of what happened. So what is Harris trying to prove?”
Wayne’s grin melted into a frown. “When did you supposedly convince Elise of that?”
I was glad there weren’t any real customers in the store from whom I’d have to hide this conversation. I motioned for Wayne to join me at one of the nearby tables, where I melted onto a chair. I felt as if I were the one being assaulted. But I had to turn this around somehow. If I acted cooperative with the detective, maybe I could learn something helpful.
“I did have a conversation with Harris at his store yesterday, Wayne,” I said, attempting to sound rational and friendly. “He in fact told me some pretty good reasons he should be considered a murder suspect. Have you talked with him?”
That frown grew even deeper. “Yes, briefly on the phone, but I didn’t hear anything like that from him.”
“Really? Well, maybe there’s a reason for that—like his guilt. Unlike with our City Councilwoman Billi Matlock, or Wanda’s coworker Jack Loroco. I gather your department has been investigating them in particular.”
“Who told you that?” Wayne demanded, one of his hands, the one not holding the dog leashes, fisting on the table between us.
“They both hinted at it, not that either wants to talk to me about what’s going on. But they’re both friends of mine, and I hate to see them go through the same kind of circus I had to put up with a few months ago.”
“I can’t talk about a pending investigation. I’m sure you learned that from your two prior interferences with official cases.”
“You’ve already approached me about this one,” I said, looking him straight in the eye. “It would be a lot easier for me not to pay any attention to this case if you could convince me that you’re looking into other potential suspects, too. Is anyone else on the table?”
Wayne looked as if he wanted to get up and throttle me. His two dogs, sensing his distress, dashed over to us, and even Biscuit gave a couple of sharp woofs.
“What. Did. I. Just. Remind. You?”
“You don’t have to tell me details,” I said innocently. “Although you might like to know the details of why Harris Ethman and maybe Elise, too, should be on your suspect list, if they aren’t already. I’d be glad to tell you more, if you’ll tell me more so I don’t need to worry so much.” I’d wondered previously how I would let my detective non-friends know about my Ethman conversations, and surprisingly I now had the opportunity. I hoped.
“Okay,” he said through gritted teeth. “I can’t give you any sp
ecific details, although I expect some from you. But, yes, there are other suspects. Ms. Addler had expressed some romantic interest in Mr. Loroco, although the two of them stopped getting along together, I gather. But she did have another boyfriend in Los Angeles, whose location at the time of her death is still being investigated.”
The VimPets exec, I figured. Once again, I was reminded that I needed to quiz Jack about him.
“I see,” I said. “Anyone else?”
For some reason, Wayne seemed to relax a little. “Do you want the whole list? Yeah, I bet you do. Suffice it to say that our victim did not always act like the nicest person, and that caused her to have enemies. We haven’t discovered many who were treated badly enough to be likely to consider murdering her—but we’re still looking into it. And now you’re potentially adding another to our list.”
“Two,” I said, realizing he hadn’t really given me much additional information that I could jump on to clear Billi—and hopefully Jack, too. But I decided to provide my little bit of info to confuse the cops even further. Or it might lead to their actually solving the case faster and accurately. Maybe.
“I assume from what you said that it was either Harris or Elise who got you sent here to interrogate me.” I stared at Wayne’s face to try to discern his internal response, but though he was fairly young, he’d apparently been a cop long enough to hide what he was thinking, at least sometimes. “Maybe it’s because they’re both concerned about my discussions with them yesterday—and the fact that if you now look into it further, you’d see that both of them could be viable murder suspects.”
“Yeah? Convince me.”
I tried to do just that, giving a brief rundown of my confrontation of sorts with Harris Ethman, his anger with Wanda for her threats to his store, and to him, if he didn’t cooperate in ruining Jack. Then I explained my other confrontation with Elise Hainner, after her phone call with her brother and his supposed claim that I’d attacked him, at least verbally. “I guess that’s what you heard about, maybe from Elise. I didn’t attack anyone, and I don’t want to point fingers without evidence, but I can assure you that Harris was very angry with Wanda, even after her death. Did he kill her? You’ll need to look into that. And what he told his sister about what Wanda was doing could have made her angry enough to do something to protect him and the Ethman family name.”
Bad to the Bone Page 17
