Pick and Chews

by Linda O. Johnston

  So the rest of the day went by busy and fast, but I was glad when closing time finally rolled around. As usual, I got help closing both stores, and soon Biscuit and I were on our way again. I took my pup home, walked and fed her and then left her there, since I suspected our dinner party would want to eat in the Knobcone Resort restaurant rather than hang outside with a dog—even though all of my companions for the night had to be dog lovers, or why would they be veterinarians?

  But were any of them people haters—or at least, haters of one particular person, enough to commit murder? I hoped I’d have a better sense of that by the end of the evening.

  Reed picked me up at home around six forty-five. Both of us were dressed fairly casually for an evening that might turn out to be momentous—or I hoped so, at least. He wore a light blue sweater over slacks, and I had on a yellow blouse tucked into black jeans.

  “You look good,” he told me as he walked me to his car.

  “You’re just complimenting me so I’ll want to do something nice for you tonight—like clear you of a murder.”

  He laughed as he opened the passenger door to his car. “Yeah, I wish, although I still hope it wasn’t Oliver or Jon.”

  And I hope it wasn’t you, I thought, but I said, “Well, let’s hope we can clear them of suspicion.” And get their suggestions about who else could have hated Raela enough to dispose of her.

  We soon arrived at the entrance to the resort’s parking lot. I’d already checked with Neal. Yes, my brother was working that night until seven thirty at the registration desk, but no, he unfortunately couldn’t validate our parking ticket.

  Reed found a spot close to one of the buildings that housed the hotel rooms, and we walked together toward the registration center. As soon as we entered, I headed toward the right, as usual, so I could wave at my bro, who sat behind the main desk with a couple of other people. He waved back.

  As I turned, I saw Les Ethman walking toward us. Les, like Billi, was a member of the City Council—and a member of one of Knobcone Heights’ most elite families. In fact, the Ethmans owned this resort.

  Of all the Ethmans, Les was definitely the nicest. Although I was currently getting along with all of them, I’d had some bad moments in the past with some of Les’s relations—including when I’d been all but accused of the murder of one of them.

  “Hi, Les,” I called, waving at him.

  “Carrie. Reed. Good to see you here.” Les was fairly elderly, with silver hair and lots of lines on his face. The edges of his eyes turned down, like those of most other members of his family. He was wearing a suit that night, and I figured he must have conducted some city business earlier. “Are you here for dinner?”

  I nodded. I glanced at Reed, wanting to invite Les to join us, but that wouldn’t have been a good idea.

  “Wish I could invite myself to join you,” Les said, as if reading my mind, “but I’m off now to meet a couple other members of City Council.” Aha. That explained the suit. “Let’s do it another time, though.”

  “Absolutely,” I said, somewhat relieved. He was a good guy, and he was owned by an adorable bulldog named Sam, whose medical needs were handled at our vet clinic. “Let’s do it soon.”

  Les walked off, and Reed and I headed toward the left side of the rear of the lobby, where the restaurant was located.

  I started to tell the maitre d’ that we were meeting a couple of people, but Reed said, “They’re right over there.”

  Sure enough, Jon and Oliver were near the entry but off to the right, seated at a table that, fortunately, was large enough for us to join them. Presumably we were welcome.

  I wondered if we’d remain welcome after our discussion started.

  The men, too, were dressed casually. Jon wore a gray Knobcone Heights T-shirt and jeans, and Oliver also had a T-shirt on, a black one that didn’t hype anything. Of course they shared a profession with Reed, but veterinarians were clearly individualists. Certainly these guys were.

  Neither of them was as good-looking as Reed, though—but of course I was biased. Jon was just slightly shorter than Reed and a lot thinner—not much in the way of muscles that I could discern, even though he had to be strong enough to lift large dogs. And Oliver was shorter and thinner than either of them, plus his hairline was receding.

  I wondered if studying their appearances would give me a clue about what was inside the head of each of them. But just staring wouldn’t yield much in that department.

  I approached their table, through the substantial crowd, with a smile on my face, knowing Reed followed close behind. “Hi, guys,” I said enthusiastically. “Good to see you.” Which wasn’t untrue, since I had lots of questions for them that I would attempt to get answers to—though probably more subtly than just belting them out.

  “Hi, Carrie, Reed. Welcome!” Oliver was the first to greet us, which I found interesting considering his possibly tenuous relationship with this town. But he’d been Reed’s friend before either had arrived in Knobcone Heights, so I shouldn’t be too surprised.

  “Glad you could join us,” Jon said, standing as Oliver had. Interesting for him to say that, though. I’d have thought neither would really like the idea of our joining them—except, again, because of their relationship with Reed.

  But welcoming me? I wondered why. Or maybe they were just nice guys.

  Both already had drinks on the table in front of them, and Oliver reached for his glass of beer as we all sat down, Reed right beside me. Jon, across from me, had some kind of clear hard liquor combo with ice in it—gin and tonic, perhaps, since a lime slice hung over the side. He, too, took a swig, and I envied those guys for an instant. But I needed more than alcohol to keep myself relaxed enough to do what I intended.

  I was glad to see a server approach our table nearly immediately. I was even gladder to see it was Stu, who’d been our server the last time we were here—a nice guy.

  Reed and I gave our orders quickly, including for food, since the others had already told Stu what they were having. Reed and I both chose beers for our drinks—mine imported from Mexico and his from Germany. I decided to order one of my favorite dinners, chicken Kiev, and Reed asked for a burger and fries. Both of us also chose side salads.

  When Stu left, I decided it was high time for me to start the conversation I wanted.

  “So, guys,” I said, “I realize this is a more-than-sensitive subject, but at least some of you have talked about Raela with me before and I want to do so again. I hope that’s okay with you.” I didn’t wait for their reactions but turned to Oliver. “I heard you were the one who found her.” It wasn’t a question, but I was curious to see his reaction.

  The shadows on Oliver’s narrow face seemed to grow deeper as his hazel eyes sparked at me with what looked like rage. Was it because I’d brought up a subject that wasn’t far from anyone’s mind around here, or because I’d done so in a manner that mentioned his involvement?

  “Yes,” he said in a sadder tone than I’d expected. Guilt—or genuine mourning? “I was still in decision mode about joining her new practice and was planning to head back to San Diego,” he went on, looking down at his wristwatch as if to check the time. “And that would have been right around now. But under the circumstances I figured I’d better stay in town.”

  “I assume those circumstances include commands from the local cops, right?”

  Oliver smiled sadly, his apparent ire of a few seconds earlier already gone. “You got it. But that’s not all. I don’t know legally what’s going to happen to the new clinic. Raela had just opened it and though it didn’t have all the equipment or staff I’d like to see, and I’m not sure if it had necessary licenses … well, I’m wondering if I should do what I’m sure she’d have wanted and stay here to run it.” He looked straight into my face. “Assuming I’m not arrested for her murder. That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it, Carrie? We’ve heard about you and how you solve this town’s murders. And since I knew Raela and was considering work
ing for her, I bet you think I’m a suspect.”

  “Gee, I thought you were a veterinarian, not a mind reader,” I responded with an overly bright smile. To keep this going, I wanted to stay on their good sides—even if I did dare suggest I believed one or both of them could be murders.

  Both? Had they conspired? Heck, I really didn’t know what the motivation had been for the murder, despite my attempts to come up with several possibilities. Anger? Jealousy? Something else I hadn’t thought of since I really didn’t know who’d done it?

  “Oh, we veterinarians all have some mind-reading abilities.” Since we hadn’t been served our drinks yet, Reed, at my side, lifted his water glass as if toasting his colleagues. “After all, we can’t exactly ask how our patients are feeling, or where and how they hurt, so we have to determine that by looking into their eyes, not just at wounds or tests like x-rays. That skill transfers somewhat to humans as well.”

  “Hmm,” I said. “Vet techs share that skill, too, at least a bit. We have to tell the vets in charge what our patients have related to us so they can get the best care possible.”

  Stu returned with our two glasses of beer plus a basket of rolls for the table. I thanked him and got ready to get even more pushy, but Jon took control of the conversation.

  “Okay,” he said, raising his glass in a toast. “Let’s drink to Raela. May she rest well wherever she may be, and let those who are expert investigators know who really sent her there.” He looked tellingly at me, as if he was making sure I understood his underlying message: it wasn’t anyone at this table.

  “Hear, hear,” said Reed, and we all took sips of our drinks.

  “So okay.” I put my glass back on the table. “I’m glad I have all three of you together again. You’ve got to realize that since you were the only ones in town who knew Raela until a very short while ago, you’re likely to be the primary persons of interest to the cops—and, yes, to me. I’m far from being an expert investigator, but I’ve had a little luck solving murders lately, whether I like it or not. And now that there’s been another one—and someone I care about is a potential suspect—”

  I looked at Reed, whose cocked head and small smile made me want to leap toward him and pound the truth out of him regarding whether I should continue to include him as a suspect. But now wasn’t the time for that.

  “—you can’t be surprised if I ask all of you to convince me that I can stop suspecting you,” I finished. “I’d like to consider you to be potential resources, especially if anything comes to you about who else might have had a reason to dislike Raela. Right?”

  I hadn’t drawn my gaze away from Reed yet, and now he looked both amused and—if I was reading his expression right—fond of me … and probably more.

  But this wasn’t the time for that either. I turned toward Jon, who I believed had more of a motive to dislike Raela than Oliver did. Oliver must have at least liked her somewhat, since he’d been considering accepting a job offer from her.

  It surely had been too early in their business relationship for him to decide to murder her to get control of the brand new veterinary office—hadn’t it? But there could have been other reasons, if Oliver had been the one to do her in.

  Our salads arrived then, making me wish, as I had before in other situations, that I had some control over when plates were plunked down in front of me and my dining companions. The interruption wasn’t welcome at all—at least not by me.

  I nevertheless dived pluckily into eating my greens and radicchio with honey mustard dressing and watched the guys begin their salads as well—while also grabbing rolls from the basket on the table and passing around pats of butter.

  As we all settled down to eating, I again looked at Jon, then from him to Oliver to Reed and back again. “So, doctors,” I said, “why don’t we address directly the elephant in the room, or the pall hanging over this table, or whatever you want to call it. I realize you’ve all spoken with the cops, probably the detectives I’ve had the pleasure—or not—of interacting with before, who are now trying to solve the murder. I’m sure you’ve all sworn you’re innocent. Hopefully, you all are. But just in case—do any of you want to admit to the murder? You can always claim self defense or some other kind of mitigating circumstances. Or should I move all of you to the bottom of my suspect list?”

  I was grinning through all of this, as if maybe I was kidding … or not. And since, at that moment at least, they were my primary suspects, I hoped one of them would claim full innocence but somehow give a sign—a look, or a clenching of fists, or a huge swig of their drink—that they were lying.

  But none of them did.

  “I don’t think you’re going to get any big confessions here tonight,” Reed finally said after several seconds of silence.

  “Well, I could hope,” I said. “Would any of you like to point a finger at one of the others and say why he’s the killer?” I again looked around the table, blinking as if, once more, I was hopeful of getting an actual response. By now, though, I realized I was just playing games. None of them was going to confess. Still, pointing fingers could be fun … and might actually lead me in a direction that would help me figure out whodunit.

  Only I hoped that the others wouldn’t point to Reed—or provide some kind of motive or anything else that might make me suspect even more that it could be him.

  But no one pointed, and since we’d all finished our salads, those plates were removed by a busboy as Stu started passing out our entrees—another interruption at a critical time.

  But this time I didn’t think the distraction was going to keep anyone from doing anything helpful.

  We were soon eating again, talking about how good the food was and how the tables around us that emptied were soon filled with new patrons.

  Nothing about the subject that I felt sure we were all thinking about, at least a little.

  In a while, though, Oliver surprised me by saying, “Look, Carrie, I don’t know why you’re an amateur sleuth, if that’s what you are. But we understand why you’d like to figure this one out.” He looked from me to Reed and back again, and I couldn’t help smiling a bit ruefully. Was I that obvious about how much I cared for Reed? Was he being obvious that he cared for me, too? Had Reed even told his friends that we’d been seeing each other as more than coworkers at the Knobcone Clinic? Or was Oliver just basing his opinion on the glances I’d traded earlier with Reed?

  No matter. Our relationship did seem to be growing, and I liked it that way—and rather hoped it would develop soon into something even more.

  Now, though, Oliver said, “We’d all like to figure it out, mainly because, like we said, the three of us are the main suspects, and understandably so. But I’m convinced that none of us did it.”

  “Me too,” said Jon, and Reed expressed his agreement as well.

  “But what we can and will do,” Oliver said, “is let you know our thoughts about who actually did it and why—if we come up with anything. Right, guys?” He looked at the others, who nodded.

  Good idea—maybe. “So do any of you have anyone in mind right now? Or a motive, even if you don’t know who did it?” I had to ask, of course.

  We spent the next few minutes discussing possible motives, even something as simple as Raela rubbing someone the wrong way more drastically than she had the members of this group.

  Oliver mentioned Arvie and Paul Jensin, who both might have really resented someone opening a competing veterinary clinic in Knobcone Heights.

  “I’ve thought of them, of course,” I said. “But I know them both well enough to figure they’d need a whole lot more of a motive than that to actually hurt someone. After all, they’re devoted to saving lives, even if it’s lives that aren’t human.”

  We kept up this conversation for a short while till it eventually petered out, with no clear motives or definite suspects being named.

  “Well, we’ve all been thinking about it, I’m sure,” Reed said, “and we’ll continue to. Like Oliver sa
id, if we come up with anything, let’s be sure to tell each other—discreetly, of course. And most especially we should tell the one among us who has a history of solving these kinds of cases.” He grinned at me, and I couldn’t help recalling how he’d tried so hard, not long ago, to keep me from sleuthing.

  But that was before he’d become a prime suspect. I got it.

  And I also knew I would continue to do my own form of prying and investigation till, hopefully, I’d be able to clear his name.

  Assuming, of course, that it deserved to be cleared.

  Seventeen

  So I didn’t get to clear Reed of murder that night despite what I’d said earlier—not even in my own mind. At least not completely.

  But we finished our meals and our drinks and stopped talking, at least for a while, about what had happened to Raela and how. Instead, we discussed some recent trends in veterinary medicine, some new pharmaceuticals that appeared to be nearly ready for national distribution, and other things relating to their full-time profession and my part-time one.

  Which was fine with me.

  When we were done, we got our individual bills from Stu since we’d told him first thing that we would need separate checks. I wasn’t about to let any of the men try to treat me, since they knew full well that I considered them murder suspects, or at least had initially. Including Reed, though I kind of hoped he thought I’d seen the light and cleared him in my mind.

  For the purpose of getting along with him as well as I wanted to, I decided to let him assume that no matter what the rest of the world might think, I believed in his innocence.

  And that was, in fact, what I wanted to do.

  After we all paid and walked into the lobby from the restaurant, I was somewhat surprised to see Neal and Janelle standing there.