Pick and Chews

by Linda O. Johnston

  Then I sat down again. I didn’t really want to tell them anything, because I was afraid it would make the threat seem even more real. But I’d already looked the threat in the face, and then ridiculed and ignored it by telling the cops, which was exactly what I was warned not to do.

  And so, sitting at the edge of the sofa and looking from one to the other of the people that I felt closest to, I told them about the note—and my fear for my beloved dog.

  “What!” Janelle exclaimed. She plunked her beer glass down on the table beside the sofa and sank onto the floor, where all three dogs joined her. She hugged them, especially Biscuit, and that brought tears to my eyes.

  The men reacted less emotionally, although I could see the anger and concern on their faces.

  “No one can mess with my Bug,” Neal growled. “What are we going to do about this?”

  “I’ve already done something I probably shouldn’t,” I admitted, scrunching my shoulders. “I immediately went against what the note said and dropped in at the police station to let the detectives know, and to see if they could get any fingerprints off the paper—but they only got mine.”

  “You what?” Reed, who’d moved against me on the sofa as if in support during my revelation, now stood and glared at me.

  I didn’t need that, although I understood.

  “I guess,” I said somewhat humbly, “that I just refused to let whoever it was intimidate me. I’ll do everything to ensure that Biscuit is okay, of course.”

  “What are the cops doing?” Reed pressed.

  I gave a big sigh and drooped my head. “Not a damned thing.”

  Reed wasn’t giving up, although he resumed his seat beside me. “Then we’d better—”

  “Let me tell you everything,” I interrupted, and described, blow by blow, my trip to the police station, including Oliver and his confrontation. And yes, I briefly mentioned Oliver’s confrontation the day before, too.

  “Okay.” Reed placed his arm around me and drew me against him. “I was wrong. Very wrong. I encouraged you to investigate this time, since I’m a suspect. But I shouldn’t have, even with your perfect track record in solving murders. Get out of it now, Carrie. And let all your friends know you’ve stopped. Somewhere along the line Raela’s killer—and I’m still hopeful it’s not Oliver—will learn about this, and hopefully he’ll think he’s won and leave both you and Biscuit alone.”

  “I’d like to believe that,” I said. “And maybe I will let word get out that I’ve decided now to stay far, far away from the situation. Even if I don’t.”

  “You’ve got to,” Janelle said. “For Biscuit’s sake.” She was back on the sofa now, regarding me earnestly with her soft blue eyes. She probably was right.

  But if I appeared to back out now, and let the world know, would that guarantee that whoever it was would stay far away from me—and Biscuit?

  I knew better.

  The pizza was delivered as we continued to talk. I put the boxes on the kitchen counter and we each served ourselves, placing plates with our pizza slices, and more beer, on the kitchen table.

  I didn’t eat much, and I ate quietly. I let the others discuss the situation and possible alternatives and suspects—and I noticed that neither Neal nor Janelle suggested Reed could even be a suspect, let alone guilty.

  Eventually, we were done eating. After cleaning up, we adjourned again into the living room, where we turned on some news, but not for long. It was late enough that we soon talked about going to bed—here. All four of us.

  First, though, the whole group went on an outing, We walked Biscuit, Go, and Hugo, everyone staying close together, including the dogs. Everyone was on heightened alert.

  I saw nothing unusual on my street, and apparently neither did anyone else.

  Reed stayed the night in my room, with Hugo and Biscuit on the floor. Neal and Janelle stayed together in his room, with Go joining them.

  Reed and I engaged in nothing sexual, partly because we weren’t alone in the house, I supposed. But it was also because, at least on my part, I wasn’t feeling that way at all.

  Being held close by Reed, sharing strokes and occasional kisses—well, that certainly helped me get through the night. And I hoped that someday soon, all of this would be behind us, Biscuit would be healthy, and a suspicion-free Reed and I would be able to resume our relationship as it had been heading before, including the physical part.

  Boy, did I hope …

  Reed woke up along with me early in the morning, and he and Hugo accompanied Biscuit and me outside. Again, carefully. Go stayed inside with Neal and Janelle.

  A short while later, I was glad to see I was being followed as I drove to my shops. Reed was there to ensure that Biscuit and I got in okay.

  I’d invited him to join me briefly at the shops before he took Hugo home and headed for the clinic, and I quickly made a pot of coffee. There were enough somewhat-fresh leftovers in the Icing display case that I was able to share scones with him, and we sat at one of the tables on the Barkery’s tile floor, with the lights dimmed and the dogs confined in their usual spot on the far side.

  “So what are you going to do today?” Reed asked almost immediately as we sat down with our light breakfasts. “And how are you going to start letting people know you’re through with your latest murder investigation?”

  He looked at me as if my doing this was a done deal, and I didn’t glare back or argue. Instead, I sort of went along with what he said.

  I hadn’t told him yet about the appointment I’d made for this afternoon. But, heck, it was a self-protective measure. Plus, it was somewhat compatible with what he was demanding I do.

  “I’m consulting a lawyer,” I said. “Shea Alderson, in fact. I consider Oliver’s verbal attacks on me here and at the police station to be threats, and I believe he could have been the one who threatened Biscuit, too. And maybe killed Raela, though I won’t get into that with Shea. Since the police haven’t given me any assurance that they’ll try to protect me, let alone Biscuit, I want to find out what options I have to do it on my own.”

  “I’m really sorry Oliver is acting so miserably toward you.” Reed’s grip on his coffee mug tightened. “He might be at the clinic today to talk to Arvie. I’ll talk to him.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. Those two knew each other from before, and Oliver’s initial presence in Knobcone Heights, at least, was thanks to Reed.

  “Okay,” I said. “Just—well, in case he is the killer, please be careful.”

  “I will. And you do the same. It’ll be interesting to hear if there is some kind of legal action that can be taken to at least quiet him down, even if he’s just reacting to the way the investigation’s going and the suspicions against him—yours and any official ones.”

  “Let me know what he says,” I responded. “That might make a difference in what I decide.”

  “I’d hate to see a lawsuit against Oliver on top of everything else,” Reed said, “especially since I feel somewhat responsible for his being here. But if he’s the one causing all this—well, he’ll deserve that and more.”

  I couldn’t argue with that, either.

  And the fact that later today I’d be talking to someone else I somewhat considered a suspect?

  Well, my list of potential suspects kept growing. But no matter what, Oliver remained at the very top. I needed advice on how to stop him. Fast.

  Wouldn’t you know it? Things were a bit slow at both shops that day, which gave me too much time to think.

  And to worry about Biscuit—not that I’d stopped worrying about her for a second, but I was focusing even more on my fears for her than I had the day before, if that was possible.

  Was Oliver the one who’d threatened her? Would I get any legal advice from Shea that would be helpful enough to keep Oliver—or whoever the note-writer really was—from harassing or harming me?

  I had to. I couldn’t keep going like this.

  Janelle knew what was on my mind. She wa
s helping out mostly in Icing that day, and she kept checking on me if I wasn’t in the same shop as her, which I considered particularly sweet.

  I was glad she and Neal were an item.

  She had brought Go to work, too, so Biscuit wasn’t alone.

  Dinah kept pressing me to tell her what was on my mind—and she made it clear it wasn’t because she was conducting any kind of research. She was worried about me, which I appreciated.

  And her concern, plus Janelle’s, caused Vicky, who was there that day working on our scheduling, to be concerned.

  I reassured them all. Focused on baking and talking with the customers who did come in.

  Took Biscuit for brief walks, and Janelle came along with Go.

  Went to Cuppa’s, both for a quick cup of coffee and to see my dear pseudo parents. I didn’t tell the Joes what was going on, but since of course I’d brought Biscuit—watching all around us, both ways—she got an opportunity to see Sweetie.

  And, after returning to the shops, was glad to see the time eventually roll around to the hour when I could finally head to Shea Alderson’s office.

  Twenty-Eight

  Biscuit and I drove there, even though it was within walking distance of my shops.

  Shea’s office was in one of the quaint, aging, and elongated Art Deco buildings that matched the Knobcone Heights Civic Center. I knew that some city council members, including Les Ethman, had individual offices in this building, and Billi had an office there that she shared with a few other representatives. It was a good meeting place for council members when they didn’t want to be bothered with finding an open conference room, especially since it was only a block or so away from the Civic Center.

  Interesting that as a newcomer to town, Shea had chosen this location. The other attorney I knew in the area, Ted Culbert, had an office on the other side of town, nearer to the lake and the Knobcone Heights Resort—another upscale location.

  I realized that I’d actually left my shops earlier than I needed to, so after finding parking—at a meter along the street—I decided to peek into Les’s office to say a brief hello and take up a little bit of time.

  I wasn’t certain whether dogs were permitted in the Civic Center or the buildings around it, but I also wasn’t about to ask. I simply walked up the stone steps to the entrance with Biscuit leashed beside me, as if I knew exactly where I was going and had done it before.

  Fortunately, no one questioned me. And once inside, since it was a general office building rather than an actual government locale, I didn’t have to check in anywhere, even though I did see some men in suits patrolling, who might have been security.

  I scanned the directory in the lobby and learned that Les’s and Shea’s offices were both on the third floor. I got onto the elevator with Biscuit and we were joined by several other people.

  A few made a fuss over Biscuit, and no one gave us a hard time. Neither did anyone seem threatening, which remained my major concern. But since I didn’t see people I recognized, anything going awry here didn’t seem likely.

  Most of us got off at the third floor. After glancing around, I recognized that both of the offices I was going to were to the right, so I headed that way. Les’s number came up first, which was handy. Since it was during regular business hours, I opened the door and we walked in.

  There was a desk in the room where I assumed a secretary might sit, although no one was in there. A door behind it probably led to Les’s office. This one I felt more reluctant about just opening, so I went up to it and knocked.

  “Come in,” called the somewhat high, elderly voice I recognized as Les’s.

  I opened the door and Biscuit and I entered. The room was larger than the reception area, and Les sat behind a desk that looked just as I suspected one belonging to him would look: antique, polished, nearly empty of everything but a desktop computer and a few neat piles of paper. He sat behind it in a high-backed chair, but rose as we came in.

  I really liked Les. He was always friendly, always on top of what was going on in Knobcone Heights. And he’d remained kind to me even when I’d been suspected of killing his brother’s daughter-in-law—which I hadn’t, of course.

  He wore a light blue shirt and a huge smile. We approached each other and engaged in a warm hug. “Carrie! What are you doing here?” he exclaimed.

  I didn’t want to get into the particulars with Les, although I could have gained his sympathy if I’d mentioned my concerns about Biscuit. But I only had a couple of minutes before my appointment with Shea, and I didn’t want to get into the scary situation just then.

  “I’ve got an appointment with someone in the building,” I told him. “I need to head there pretty quickly, but hoped I’d have a chance to say hi to you here.” As Les bent to give Biscuit a pat on the head, I asked, “How’s Sam?” That was his adorable bulldog.

  “Fine, but I’ll bet he’ll really grumble when I tell him you brought Biscuit here. As you know, I generally leave him at home during working hours, although he gets plenty of attention from my housekeeper.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  I was glad I’d come, even though we had to end our conversation a few minutes later.

  “So when are we going to meet for dinner at the resort?” he asked when I started to say goodbye. Of course it would be at the resort, since his family owned the place.

  “Soon,” I assured him. “I’ll give you a call, or you can call me anytime.”

  “Or text,” he said. “That’s what everyone does now, even more than emailing.”

  I laughed. “Okay, text me anytime.”

  Biscuit and I started to leave, and Les stood and followed. “I need to leave this door open,” he said, pulling it open like an old-fashioned gentleman. “My assistant’s running errands and I always like to make sure I know when someone comes into the office.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I hope I didn’t startle you.”

  “No—and even if you had, there aren’t many people I’d like to be startled by as much as you, Carrie. And Biscuit, too.”

  I laughed, and my dog and I exited the outer door.

  Shea’s office was near the end of the hall. Since he was relatively new to town, I wondered how he’d even gotten an office in this prestigious building, let alone one in such a good location. Probably just good luck in the timing, I figured—perhaps he was seeking an office when someone had just moved out.

  When Biscuit and I reached the door with his number and name on the outside, I once more just walked in. As with Les’s office, there was an outer room with a desk set up for a secretary or, in Shea’s case, maybe a paralegal. But as before, the room was empty. Did Shea have any help? I wasn’t sure, especially since the door at the rear, presumably to his actual office, was open.

  Biscuit and I approached it, and I drew in my breath as Shea suddenly appeared in the door’s center, startling me a little.

  I had wondered, previously, what he would look like in a suit, and now I knew. He looked good in it, but then I already considered Shea a good-looking guy, and apparently Billi did, too.

  “Carrie, come in,” he said. “And you brought Biscuit.”

  “Yes. Mainly because she’s part of what I need to talk to you about. I assume that Buffer and Earl aren’t here, right?”

  Shea laughed. “Right. It’s professional and appropriate for you to have your dog at your work, but that’s not such a good idea for a lawyer. Here, have a seat.” He gestured toward a couple of chairs facing a desk in the middle of the room. His desk was newer yet more worn-looking than Les’s, and there were plenty of piles of papers and file folders on it.

  I sat where he’d pointed, and Biscuit took her place, as always, at my side on the floor.

  “So what can I help you with? We can just talk in generalities now, but if you decide to hire me we’ll need to go through some formalities.”

  “Right,” I said. I assumed that would establish attorney-client privilege. Did I care about establishing that kin
d of lawyer-client relationship with Shea? Possibly, if the best way to get Oliver to back off would be to sue him, or at least threaten him with a civil suit since the cops weren’t going to arrest him.

  I’d decided that initially, I’d just ask Shea a few general questions—only enough to determine if I needed to go further and have him represent me. For now, I was just paying for his time and potential suggestions, not necessarily his loyalty.

  “Someone has threatened Biscuit,” I began. My little dog, hearing her name, stood and wagged her tail, and I bent a bit so I could pet her. “I think I know who it is, but I’m not sure.”

  Shea placed a tablet computer on his desk in front of him and apparently began making notes on it. “And you want to learn what can be done to get that person to back off before any harm is done, I assume.” He glanced up at me.

  “Absolutely.”

  We started talking in generalities, but I became frustrated that I wasn’t finding much that was helpful in what Shea said. Apparently he recognized this.

  “Look,” he finally said, “why don’t we just come to an agreement that I’ll represent you for this on a limited basis. Then we can get into more detail.”

  “Good idea.” I leaned forward over the edge of his desk. Biscuit was settled back down on the floor beside me. “The only thing is that … well, I think you can guess what I believe was the origin of the problem. The threats I received, including that note, resulted, at least indirectly, from Raela Fellner’s murder and the aftermath. You already confirmed that you were her lawyer.”

  Shea nodded. “That’s right, on a limited basis regarding opening her veterinary clinic here. But of course I still can’t get into any detail about that.”

  “Can you still represent me, if my situation is somewhat derived from your client’s death?”

  “I don’t see any problem with it. What you and I will be talking about shouldn’t touch on anything I’d have to keep quiet about under attorney-client privilege with Raela, even if she were alive. You’re not opening another vet clinic, I assume.”