Pick and Chews

by Linda O. Johnston

“You choose.” He was acting as if these cookies’ messages would actually matter.

  But he could use some good luck now, so I certainly hoped that his fortune at least suggested it could happen.

  I picked one of the cookies but waited till Reed had cracked his cookie open before reading my fortune. “What does yours say?” I asked.

  “You tell me yours first.”

  “Okay,” I said. Mine turned out fairly benign, a typical fortune cookie quote. I read it aloud. “Smile. It will make you happy.” I pasted a huge, toothy smile on my face and then said, “Yours?”

  Reed held up the small slip of white paper. The look on his face could have been a smile—or a grimace. “Well, I hope this is right,” he said. He read the fortune aloud: “Things are never as bad as you may think they are.”

  “Hey, we should think things are good,” I said. “We’re healthy and free, have wonderful dogs and wonderful careers, and even if one or both of us are murder suspects—”

  Reed interrupted, shaking his head. “At least neither of us is under arrest.”

  “Right!” I exclaimed. Yet, imposed my mind. I didn’t say it, though. Instead, I said, “I’m tired. Let’s go watch some news, then go to bed.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Reed stood up and held out his hand. “At least let’s hope for some good news.”

  We did go to bed soon afterward. It remained a snuggly, quiet night. I guessed that neither of us was in the mood for any drama—even the fun kind. But I was glad to spend it with Reed, and when I woke early the next morning I was glad he was still there.

  I watched him for a minute while he still slept beneath my lavender coverlet. He looked so much better than he had last night, relaxed. Whatever his dreams might have been, they apparently hadn’t made him feel worse.

  Maybe his unconscious mind was focusing on that fortune he’d gotten: “Things are never as bad as you may think they are.”

  In any event, though I hated to wake him, I needed to start getting ready to go to my shops. Reed knew the routine, and I believed I knew his, too. He’d take Hugo back to their house, shower, and grab his breakfast there. A little later, he would head to the clinic to begin his day as a vet. While I baked dog treats and people treats and sold them.

  I’d see him later, though. I had a shift at the clinic scheduled that afternoon.

  I started to slowly make my way out of the bed, trying not to wake him yet. But as usual, I saw Reed’s eyes pop open, even as both dogs started moving off the fluffy dog beds on the wooden bedroom floor.

  “Good morning.” His voice was raspy—and sexy.

  But the time for those thoughts was over for this visit. “Good morning,” I returned cheerily. “It’s about that time.”

  We both got up, showered, and dressed, then again took our dogs for a walk, still in darkness broken only by streetlights at this early hour.

  We talked only about the new day and the fact I’d be seeing him soon at the clinic, and that we’d need to check our calendars to see when and where to get together next.

  A little while later, we both left in our cars, heading in different directions: Reed toward his house, and me toward downtown Knobcone Heights and my shops.

  I couldn’t help wondering what the rest of the day would hold for both of us—particularly him.

  I was the first to arrive at my shops that day. I placed Biscuit in the Barkery to run around till we opened and hurried into the kitchen. I did some preliminary scrubbing, washed my hands thoroughly, and then got out the ingredients to start baking what were maybe my favorite dog treats, except for the carob ones—one of the first recipes I’d developed for our dog patients at the clinic. These were cheese-favored biscuits to which I’d added crushed yams. Mmmmm. I loved sampling them myself.

  I’d gotten a batch formed and on the baking sheet when I heard someone’s key in the back door. I knew who it would be. Dinah was scheduled to come in first.

  Sure enough, it was her.

  “Hi, Carrie,” she said as she pulled off her blue jacket. Then, being Dinah, she added, “So what have you learned since yesterday about what happened to Raela?”

  Today she was wearing one of the Icing Tshirts. I generally asked my assistants to alternate between promoting the two shops. The black knit shirt I was wearing now, though, was one of my favorites, although so far I hadn’t made it available to my staff. I had come up with the logo that was on the pocket: a heart, with lettering on the top that said Barkery, in the middle said Bakery, and at the bottom said Icing. I’d changed the design a couple of times but thought this one would stick.

  Without new information to relate to my research guru, I just said, “I haven’t gotten into it much since then.” But a thought dawned on me. Dinah was a genuine pro at eliciting information. “I’m thinking about really digging into it, though. I haven’t come up with any kind of plan, but if you have any suggestions, please let me know.”

  The smile on her round face was massive. “I figured you’d do that. First, it’s another murder for my amateur sleuth boss to solve. Second—well, I gathered from all I’ve heard that the most likely suspect is Reed, and I knew you’ll want to help him. Unless, of course, he really is guilty.” The now-innocent look on her face didn’t soothe me or make me feel any better.

  “I believe in Reed,” I said. Which was true. But that could also mean I believed he could be guilty, though I wouldn’t tell her that.

  “Tell you what. I’ll try to come up with some research and interrogation ideas. Maybe we should talk first, though. Who all’s going to be working today?”

  I’d checked the schedule earlier. Vicky and Janelle were coming in, though not Frida. I told Dinah that.

  “Great. Let’s figure out a time to go to Cuppa’s for some coffee and discussion, okay?”

  Cuppa-Joe’s was one of my favorite places in town, a coffee shop and cafe owned by two people who were very dear to me. I loved the idea, and Dinah and I decided to head there around ten thirty, assuming the others appeared on time and that business at the shops didn’t require us to hang around.

  I looked forward to it.

  In the meantime, every time I wasn’t baking something or waiting on customers, I let my mind chug along on figuring out a plan for my definitely amateur, but hopefully fruitful, investigation.

  Fourteen

  Ten thirty took quite a while to arrive, or at least it felt that way. We had a steady stream of customers in both stores, which was good, but no large crowds—and having only a few people to wait on, with or without their dogs in the Barkery, tended to make time go slower.

  But Janelle and Vicky arrived on schedule as usual, and their presence further slowed down time as they efficiently waited on customers, handed out a few samples now and then, and checked to ensure that our products remained plentiful in the display cases. Less for me to do that way, but I liked it.

  I looked forward to my outing, not just because I wanted to talk to Dinah but also because I couldn’t wait to see the Joes—Irma and Joe Nash, the couple who owned the coffee shop. They were more like parents to me than my actual parents, who were so involved with their new families that they didn’t pay much attention to the offspring of their first marriage.

  I realized, while making the date with Dinah, that I’d hardly visited the Joes over the past several weeks, just popping in now and then to say hi and sometimes get a cup of coffee to go rather than spending time with my dear friends like I usually did.

  I couldn’t really remedy the visiting part today, but at least I’d get to see them and hopefully would change my bad habits from now on.

  Plus, I’d get to see Sweetie, their adorable gold-colored dog, who appeared to be part toy poodle and part terrier and resembled Biscuit a lot. Sweetie had been available at a Mountaintop Rescue adoption event and was scooped up by the Nashes, making me feel highly relieved that the—yes, sweet—little dog had found a new and loving home.

  At about ten o’clock I started checkin
g on everything to ensure I’d feel comfortable about leaving, although it wouldn’t be for long. But Vicky, in Icing, made it clear that Dinah and me being gone for an hour or so would work out just fine.

  And Janelle, in the Barkery, stepped out from the counter where a few people were discussing what dog treats to buy and gave me a hug. She then led me into a corner where it would be harder for anyone to hear and said to me, “We’ll be fine here while you’re gone, Carrie. Honest.”

  Janelle understood my concerns probably more than anyone—since she, too, had been a murder suspect not long ago.

  “I know you’ll do a good job,” I assured her.

  “But you’re a worrywart, and you’ve got important stuff on your mind—like Reed.”

  “Right. Like Reed. And murder … again.”

  Her laugh was sympathetic. “You’ll figure it out. I’m sure of it. And I think Dinah’s a good person to bounce ideas off of. So go and have as good a time as you can.”

  I made a conscious decision to go along with what Janelle said. At exactly ten thirty I went into the sweet-smelling kitchen, where Dinah was getting some plates of peanut butter doggy treats ready to take into the Barkery, and said, “Are you ready to go?”

  She grinned, lifted one of the plates, and said, “Soon as these are out there on display. Care to carry one?”

  I did. And as soon as they were in the glass-fronted display case I got Biscuit on her leash, said goodbye to Janelle, and waved to Vicky in Icing. Then the three of us left.

  My shops were on Summit Avenue, facing the town square. Cuppa’s was on Peak Road, right on the other side of the square. It therefore didn’t take us long to get there.

  We had Biscuit with us, but instead of going straight to Cuppa-Joe’s patio, I walked right into the restaurant. I knew the corner where Sweetie would be confined and wanted to say hello to her—and let Biscuit do so, too. Both the Joes were inside, sitting at a table near the counter that contained multiple urns of coffee, and they stood as soon as we came in.

  “Carrie!” Joe called. His voice was strong and carried through the crowded room. In his sixties, Joe had gray hair with a receding hairline, as well as deep facial divots. He was one wonderful older man. “So are you back in town?”

  I knew he was joking, but I still felt bad I hadn’t been there for a while. “My mind is,” I said. “Sorry I haven’t visited lately.”

  “You’re here now,” said Irma, who’d drawn close and now hugged me. She bent and hugged Biscuit and even hugged Dinah when she stood up again. She was as old as her husband but didn’t look it, always dressed up and lovely, with hardly any lines on her face. Today she wore a frilly yellow blouse tucked into tan slacks, and her brown hair looked perfectly styled but a little longer than usual.

  Joe looked down at Biscuit. “Would you all like a table in here today?”

  “One outside under a heat lamp will be fine,” I said, looking at Dinah, who nodded. As if in explanation—though we were truly supposed to sit outside with a non-service dog, per local law—I looked around. Nearly all the tables in the room were occupied, though there were no dogs except Sweetie and Biscuit. I leaned a bit toward Joe and said, “Dinah and I have some stuff to discuss that I’d really prefer no one hear.”

  “About that latest murder and Reed, I’ll bet.” Joe was definitely astute—and he always kept up with what was going on in town. Plus, he knew me.

  “Could be,” I said noncommittally, but the slight smile I aimed at him told him he’d hit it head on.

  “Okay, follow me and we’ll find you a nice, comfortable, private location.” He winked at me and grinned at his wife. “Right, honey?” Then he looked back at me. “But you know, of course, that even if we seat you far from everybody else, you’re going to have to put up with us joining you now and then for a few minutes, got it?”

  “Oh, gee, I don’t know about that,” I teased with what I hoped looked like a horrified expression on my face, which morphed immediately to a big smile. “I guess we’ll just have to deal with it.”

  “You sure will, with Joe,” Irma said. “Now with me, I might just need to check to make sure everyone on the patio is doing okay—and decide to sit down for a while with you.”

  “Only if you can put up with my sticking you in a story somewhere,” Dinah said solemnly. Of course, the Joes knew my full-time employee was a part-time writer, so that didn’t scare them—I hoped.

  Soon Dinah and I were sitting out on the fenced-in patio beneath one of the warmers. It had just been turned on, so I felt a little cool, but not too bad. We were approached immediately by my favorite server, Kit, who aimed one of her toothy smiles at us. She was in her mid-twenties, cute, with curly blond hair and pink cheeks. As with the other servers, she wore a knit shirt that had a steaming coffee cup logo on the pocket. Today that shirt was black.

  “Welcome, stranger,” she said to me. Uh-oh. Even the wait staff had noticed my absence.

  “Since I’m now a stranger,” I said, “I guess I have to tell you every detail of my order.” I tried to appear grumpy but figured I wasn’t very successful.

  “Well, I think I can tell by how you look exactly what you want.” Kit told me I’d want coffee with cream. Oh, and some cheese and crackers to munch on since it wasn’t quite lunchtime.

  I laughed and agreed and let Dinah place an order of some kind of loaded latte.

  “Oh, and a bowl of water for Biscuit,” I ended.

  “Absolutely. Be right back.” And Kit hurried away.

  Finally, it was time to talk to Dinah.

  My mind had been attempting to focus on the discussion I wanted to hold, both to get my thoughts moving in the right direction and to get Dinah’s opinion, but I hadn’t really been able to concentrate.

  But I would now. “So,” I said, “I really appreciate your helping me figure out what to do next.”

  She’d rested a spiral notebook on the table that she must have extracted from the large purse she carried. A pen was poised over a blank page.

  “In other words, investigate the murder,” she said. “It’s what you do.”

  “Yeah.” I sighed. “Though kind of unwillingly.”

  “You’ve helped yourself and you’ve helped some friends,” she said. “And since this time the guy on top of the heap of suspects is Reed—well, of course you need to investigate.”

  “Of course,” I agreed just as Kit returned with our coffees and snacks. I didn’t see the Joes outside yet, which was a good thing since Dinah and I were probably going to get to the crux of this conversation pretty quickly. I thanked Kit and she left. “Okay,” I said. “Here’s the thing. I looked into those other murder cases randomly, without starting off with much of a plan, and they kind of developed. I may still do that this time around, too, but if your writer mind has other suggestions, it will be great to hear them.”

  “Well, I think you always had a bunch of alternate suspects in mind besides the person the police were apparently focusing on. Can you do that now?”

  “Of course, and that’s what I thought of first. The most logical people to suspect are those who knew Raela before—and locally that does include Reed, but also the two other veterinarians who were in town. They all worked together in San Diego. I don’t know if Dr. Oliver Browning will stay in town, though, since Raela had apparently been planning to hire him at her new practice. I need to talk to him to find out if he’s taking it over or what.”

  Dinah jotted something in her notebook. “Fine. That should be first. Who’s the other person?”

  I told her about Dr. Jon Arden, and then relayed how the cops had also interviewed all the veterinarians and vet techs at my clinic.

  “Well, you need to do that, too, but since they’re your coworkers you’ll probably need to be discreet about how you approach them.” Dinah bit at her full lips as she wrote down something else.

  For the next fifteen minutes we just talked back and forth and traded ideas. I felt as if my thoughts were fina
lly beginning to gel. I wondered if I should always run my thoughts by Dinah to get them into some semblance of order.

  I also realized that the major reason I’d felt so discombobulated this particular time around was that I was so afraid I would not find someone who was a better suspect than Reed.

  But I had to do it. Or at least try. And I had formed a fairly good idea of how to approach it when the Joes finally came out of the coffee shop. Someone was with them: Shea Alderson, the lawyer. The Joes stopped to say hi to people at the several other occupied tables, but Shea approached us.

  Over the past few days, I hadn’t thought much about this dog lover who also happened to have a law license. But it occurred to me that I might be able to get some information, and even advice, from him once I started zeroing in on the people who might have had a motive to kill Raela. Of course, Shea had met her, so that by definition made him a suspect. Had he ever taken on her legal representation? Even if he had, it would probably have given him reason to want her alive and paying.

  I motioned for him to join us. Dinah had met him at the adoption event at the Barkery and didn’t seem to object.

  “Hey,” Shea said, “good to see you here. I just left my office for a quick coffee break, but now I regret that I didn’t go home to get Buffer and Earl, too.” He reached down and patted Biscuit’s head. My pup had come over to sniff him in greeting. “Everything okay with you?”

  I knew that was just a friendly question that I didn’t need to answer truthfully. And in fact things were okay with me, at least at that moment.

  Even so, that gave me an opening. “I’m fine, more or less. But like a lot of people around here, I’d like to find out who killed Raela. Did she ever talk to you about representing her in her opening of that new clinic?”

  “We did talk. I even helped her out a little. But if you’re asking if I killed her, guess what my answer is. I’d never kill a client, even a minor one. No profit in that.” He laughed, and so did I.

  Soon the Joes joined us, too. And for about another half hour—much longer than I’d anticipated staying—I was able to cheer myself up, even as my thoughts kept percolating and organizing ideas for how I would actually dive into this investigation.