Copyright Information
For a Good Paws: A Barkery & Biscuits Mystery © 2019 by Linda O. Johnston.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
First e-book edition © 2019
E-book ISBN: 9780738755946
Book format by Samantha Penn
Cover design by Ellen Lawson / Shannon McKuhen
Cover illustration by Christina Hess
Midnight Ink is an imprint of Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Johnston, Linda O., author.
Title: For a good paws / Linda O. Johnston.
Description: First edition. | Woodbury, Minnesota : Midnight Ink, [2019] |
Series: A barkery & biscuits mystery ; #5
Identifiers: LCCN 2018059339 (print) | LCCN 2018060790 (ebook) | ISBN
9780738755946 (ebook) | ISBN 9780738752440 (alk. paper)
Subjects: | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3610.O387 (ebook) | LCC PS3610.O387 F67 2019 (print) |
DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018059339
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Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd.
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Manufactured in the United States of America
As with the other books in this series and just about
everything that I write, For a Good Paws is dedicated to
people who love their pets. And to those pets, who are
so important to their human family members.
For a Good Paws is also dedicated to you, my readers, who
enjoy mysteries, including those involving pets and food.
And, yes, for those of you who read other things I’ve written, you know I always dedicate each book to my dear husband Fred.
One
“Good morning, Carrie!” My assistant Dinah Greeley’s voice sounded even more exuberant than usual as I turned to see her close the kitchen door behind her.
“Good morning, Dinah. Happy birthday!” Was her special day the reason she seemed so jazzed? I assumed so.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Hope you don’t mind working on your day of celebration.”
“I love it,” she replied. “And I’m really looking forward to tonight.”
“Me too.” I’d already invited her to a celebratory dinner at the Knobcone Heights Resort that evening, along with my other assistants and a few more people.
Now I tossed her a big smile that matched her own but didn’t stop kneading the dough for some of my favorite carob-flavored dog biscuits, next on the agenda for me to bake.
I was standing on the Barkery and Biscuits side of the kitchen’s long, stainless-steel counter, which was divided by center shelves that separated the Barkery half of the room from the Icing on the Cake side. The kitchen was connected at the front end to both of my bakeries. Since one shop sold healthy dog treats, which I created, and the other side sold sweets for people, I kept what we baked as separate as the stores.
At six a.m., the kitchen already smelled delightful from the people treats. And, as always, I listened for any sounds from my beloved dog Biscuit, who was loose in the still-closed Barkery. But she stayed silent.
“By the way, sorry I’m a little late.” Dinah headed to the supply cabinet at the back of the kitchen and put her purse on the bottom shelf.
“That’s forgivable on your birthday,” I said. “I’ve got cookies baking already for Icing, but I’d love for you to start on the red velvet cupcakes.” They were among our most popular products for people, and I wanted to make sure we had plenty to start the day.
“Sure.” As per standard protocol, Dinah grabbed one of our long, clean aprons from a hook on the wall and put it on over her Barkery and Biscuits T-shirt and jeans. Then she spent some time washing her hands at the large sink against the wall near the door to the Barkery. Only then did she grab ingredients from the fridge and kitchen shelves. Finally, she faced me across the counter.
What did that huge-eyed, enormous grin still on her round face mean? Was she that happy it was her birthday?
Maybe so, but I suspected it was something more.
Dinah’s slight pudginess always suggested how much she enjoyed sampling our baked goods. She was a pretty young lady, and I was delighted that she continued to work for me. I’d inherited her over a year ago when I bought Icing from my dear friend, Brenda Anesco, who had to move down the mountain from Knobcone Heights to care for her ailing mother. Brenda had been very supportive of my turning half of her former shop into my Barkery.
Although I had other assistants, Dinah was now my only full-time one. She did take two days off a week, although she occasionally worked overtime and stepped in for others on Monday and Tuesday. Today was Wednesday.
In a few minutes, Dinah was kneading dough, too, though our respective ingredients were quite different. She didn’t say anything more at first, but something in the way she kept aiming giant smiles at her busy hands made me ask, “So what’s going on, Dinah? Are you smiling that way because you’re happy it’s your birthday?”
“That’s part of the reason,” she responded without explaining further.
My curiosity had snapped into high gear, however. Knowing Dinah and what appeared to make her happy, I hazarded a guess. “Have you been doing any research lately?”
In addition to being a wonderful assistant here in my shops, Dinah enjoyed writing. She’d had a few articles published online, as well as a short story or two, but I knew she’d been working on some longer fiction as well.
“I sure have.” This time her vast, toothy smile was aimed toward me. “And there’s been an amazing twist in what I’ve been checking out.”
Aha. I’d guessed it—sort of. But with Dinah, my guess hadn’t been difficult to come by. “What’s the twist?”
“Well …” The pace of her kneading increased, as if she was revving up to say something highly significant.
To her, it undoubtedly was.
“That doesn’t sound very amazing,” I prompted.
“Oh, but—well, Carrie, this morning while I was getting dressed I turned my TV on, and the most astonishing coincidence occurred�
�kind of.”
“What’s that?” I again prompted, as she seemed to hesitate. Was she trying to torment me into pushing her, or was her mind circling around whatever that new coincidence was?
“Amazing!” she said again. But this time she continued. “There was a teaser on KnobTV news that said Mike Holpurn was being paroled.” Her blue eyes were huge again as she studied my face for a reaction.
“Who’s Mike Holpurn?” I had to ask. The name didn’t sound familiar.
She shook her head slightly, as if in exasperation, but then sighed and said, “I forgot you’re a relative newbie to Knobcone Heights. I only moved here after graduating from college—but ever since I got here, I’ve been researching the town’s history, or part of it at least.”
“So Mike Holpurn is a historical figure?” One who was being paroled, evidently … but why had he been incarcerated, and where? I had no doubt that Dinah knew the particulars.
“Kind of.” Dinah had pulled out a rolling pin, as I had, and was now flattening her dough, too. “Here’s the story that I’ve found so far.”
She proceeded to explain that Mike Holpurn had been a contractor for a home-building company in this area. But he’d been sent to prison around ten years ago after entering into a plea bargain—for apparently murdering former Knobcone Heights Mayor Flora Morgan Schulzer.
“I’ve been researching it because it’s so fascinating,” Dinah finished. “I’m considering turning a fictionalized version of it into a novel—and the fact that the guy got parole? Wow! How can I resist? Especially since I may even be able to interview him!”
I’d vaguely heard of the mayor and her murder, which occurred about five years before I’d moved to Knobcone Heights. Dinah’s desire to interview the apparent perpetrator didn’t sound like a good idea to me. I liked my able assistant—a lot.
Plus, I’d found myself in danger now and then lately, when I’d snooped into several murders that had occurred in our otherwise quiet town. I didn’t want anything to happen to Dinah.
“You can, and should, resist,” I told her. “I doubt someone in that situation would want to talk about it. And—is he getting out because someone else is now a suspect?”
“I don’t know,” Dinah said. “That’s one of the things I need to learn.”
“You don’t need to,” I said. “And—”
Just then, the door from our parking lot opened again and another of my assistants, Janelle Blaystone, walked in. She and my brother Neal were an item, and since Neal lived at my house with me but hadn’t come home last night, I suspected Janelle had left him at her house early this morning as she headed to work.
“Hi,” she called out immediately. “Happy birthday, Dinah.”
“Hi, Janelle.” Dinah shot her a smile and raised her eyebrows as she looked back at me.
I gathered that she wanted our conversation to end. Which was fine with me. For now.
But if Dinah really was going to try to research that long-ago murder in person, with a paroled convict who was now loose … well, we would discuss it again.
She could be sure of that.
All three of us talked briefly for a while about Dinah’s birthday, what was already baking in the oven, what treats I’d been working on most recently, and what Dinah had just started on.
We also talked about the time for the party, the anticipated weather this August day, and what kinds of crowds we could anticipate in each of our shops …
Neither Dinah nor I mentioned the news item that had excited her so much, but I could still see the anticipation in her eyes when she looked at me … and, occasionally, at her wristwatch. Was she anticipating her party that much? More likely, she was trying to figure out a time to return to talking about what really interested her at the moment. And as far as I could tell, time was passing at its usual rate.
I soon ceded my place in the kitchen to Janelle, so that I could stick the dog treats I’d been working on in the appropriate oven to bake. Then I moved my newly baked people cookies out of another oven to cool before they were put into the display case in Icing.
Next, I needed to check on Biscuit.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I told my assistants. My other two helpers, Vicky and Frida, weren’t scheduled to work that day, though they would join us at the resort in the evening. All but Dinah were part-timers, and with Vicky’s able assistance I was able to schedule and keep track of who would be around when.
After removing my apron and hanging it up, I washed my hands again and left the kitchen, heading into the Barkery.
Barkery and Biscuits was my favorite of the two shops. It was my own creation, just like the recipes for the treats I sold there. When I opened the door, I was immediately greeted by my adorable golden toy poodle/terrier mix, Biscuit. She sped to me across the blue tile floor, which had a beige decoration in the center that looked like—yes—a dog biscuit. When she reached me she stood on her hind legs, her paws on the legs of my jeans as she greeted me.
“You weren’t by yourself very long,” I reminded her, even while smiling at the excitement of her greeting. I knelt and hugged her, then stood again and patted her head. Checking the clock on the wall, I saw we still had a half hour before opening time, so I hugged her once more. “It’s not time yet for you to go into your enclosure,” I told her.
Leaving her loose, I took a couple of sanitary wipes from the counter behind the glass-fronted display cases and cleaned my hands, then went around to the front of these refrigerated cases to assess again the treats we already had there. I would wash my hands more carefully when it was time to actually move any of my products.
Earlier, I’d removed the items that, although edible, were getting too old to sell. I placed them in boxes I’d take to either Knobcone Veterinary Clinic, where I still worked as a vet tech, or to Mountaintop Rescue, our local shelter. I had a shift scheduled at the vet clinic that afternoon.
Thinking about it reminded me of my discussion with Dinah, since my boss at the clinic, Dr. Arvus—Arvie—Kline was a long-time resident of Knobcone Heights. I wondered what he might be able to tell me about the murder of that mayor a while back …
Yes, my curiosity had been piqued. I felt certain I’d hear enough about the situation from Dinah if I gave her the slightest encouragement. Which I would do, as long as it didn’t affect her ability to concentrate on her work at the bakery—or at least, no more than it already had. And this would also give me more opportunity to discourage her from doing anything dangerous.
For now, I peeked out my shop’s front window. Daylight had arrived and there were cars on Summit Avenue in front of the stores, but I didn’t see any people walking by. That was fine. I hoped, though, that some would appear once we were ready to open.
“Okay,” I finally told Biscuit. “You stay here.” It was time to remove my first batch of dog treats of the day from the oven and bring out the cookies I’d baked for Icing. After I was done with that, it would be time to walk Biscuit before putting her into her open-topped enclosure at the far side of the Barkery.
First thing, back in the kitchen, was to wash my hands again. Or maybe that was the second thing, since I immediately began eavesdropping on the conversation Dinah and Janelle were having.
No, it wasn’t about the murdered mayor or the apparent parole of the person incarcerated for killing her. Nor was it about Dinah’s birthday. They were discussing, appropriately, some recipes for sugar cookies, a standard of Icing.
“Hey, Carrie,” Janelle said. “I was wondering if you’d be interested in trying a new version of sugar cookies. I saw this recipe online on a site that’s devoted to healthy sweets.”
“An oxymoron,” I said right away, but I listened to her suggestions for changing the recipe we used. When she was done, I said, “Well, feel free to bake us a batch, but I’m reluctant to change something that’s been selling well. And I
don’t think our Icing customers are too concerned about healthfulness. Although …”
“Although we could maybe start a section of Icing that we’d call something like our ‘Healthier Alternatives,’” Dinah piped up.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “That would suggest that our other products are unhealthy. If they turn out well, and we like them enough to sell some, let’s just give them another name.
In a few minutes, my assistants and I brought the morning’s first newly baked items into the appropriate shops and placed them in the display cases. A little while later, we brought out the new cookies, too. Yes, we liked them. I decided to just call them “lighter” sugar cookies. If they sold well, we would make more.
Full daylight shone through the windows, and our clocks told us it was quarter to seven.
“Okay, sweetheart,” I said to Biscuit. “Let’s go for a short walk.” Which we did. When we returned, it was opening time.
Several people, a couple with dogs, had followed us back to the Barkery, while a few more had headed for Icing. I placed Biscuit into her enclosure and opened both shop doors.
Our day had begun.
I helped serve our customers, gave out a few samples to canine customers in the Barkery, and felt happy that the day seemed to be going great. The first to get free goodies that morning included canine customers who came to my shop often, such as Dog, a Doberman owned by my neighbor, Bob, and Morocco, a fuzzy Chihuahua who, as always, arrived in the arms of her owner, Lonnie. Lonnie was clearly generous with treats. I made sure everyone had a sample or two before choosing what to buy.
As much as I preferred hanging out in the Barkery, I always divided my time between the two shops. So, leaving the Barkery in Dinah’s capable hands, I headed over to Icing on the Cake. Yes, Dinah seemed to be concentrating on her work, despite her birthday and her obsession with researching the news about the paroled killer.
I didn’t see any of our regulars in Icing that morning but also gave out free samples there, including some of our new cookies, which seemed to be a hit. Janelle gave some samples out as well. Icing was her primary focus that day. Like Dinah, Janelle had a secondary career—I often saw her studying our patrons as if she were determining how they’d look in a portrait. Pretty Janelle, with her big blue eyes, was a distinguished photographer as well as a wonderful assistant in my shops … and a really sweet girlfriend to my brother.
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