Or not.
Even my little Biscuit had shown her sympathy to my wonderful and upset assistant, jumping on Dinah’s legs while we were still in the Barkery and rubbing her head against them.
Yet I couldn’t help wondering—was Dinah’s extreme reaction the result of feeling guilty …
No. Dinah researched bad stuff, sure. But actually doing any of it? I’d need to see some real evidence of that, not just her usual desire to discover the truth for her plotting or writing.
When Dinah had calmed a little, she leaned on the counter near the glass display case and said, “Sorry, Carrie. I guess the way I’m acting is because … well, I made notes when I got home, mostly in the adorable notebook Arvie gave me. And as always, I let my imagination take control, so I also came up with some scenarios—all fiction, of course—that could result from our conversations with those guys yesterday, including Henry.”
“Scenarios in which he was murdered?” I had to ask.
I knew the answer even before Dinah whispered, “Yes.”
“And where is that notebook?” I figured that if the detectives considered her a possible suspect, they’d visit her home and look for evidence there.
“In my desk. If anyone sees it, they’ll read the scenarios—including one in which Henry killed his wife, and that guy Mike Holpurn resented how he’d been in prison and therefore killed Henry now. And one in which Henry killed Holpurn instead. And one where those men with Holpurn were the ones who’d killed the mayor way back when. Or—”
“I get it,” I said. And hopefully there was enough speculation and variety in Dinah’s scenarios that no one would assume she was guilty of what had actually occurred.
Leaving Biscuit loose in the Barkery, we came into the kitchen and washed our hands well, and both of us started baking—me on the Barkery side and Dinah on the Icing side.
We talked mostly about general and innocent stuff—although my mind kept leaping back to the situation playing out in Knobcone Heights that might somehow involve the birthday party I’d thrown for Dinah last night. Her eyes sometimes glazed over as she kneaded dough, too, and I figured her mind was doing something similar to mine.
But the time seemed to pass quickly, as it always did when I worked hard to ensure we had enough baked goods for both shops to start the day. Soon it was nearly seven o’clock, our opening time.
The kitchen was filled with mixed aromas of sweet human treats for Icing and the more tart, meaty aromas of doggy treats for the Barkery. Sheets of both kinds of goodies had been fully baked and were out on the appropriate counters cooling. It was time to place them on plates and get them into the display cases.
I headed into the Barkery first, with a couple of plates, sending Dinah to the door that led into Icing. Biscuit was sitting near the front door of the Barkery, looking out and wagging her tail.
I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised to see Detective Wayne Crunoll standing outside. He’d kind of gotten into the habit of this when I was a murder suspect, and he hadn’t changed his habit while investigating subsequent murders. He didn’t have his dachshunds, whom he claimed were his wife’s, with him today, so he probably wasn’t going to use buying treats for Blade and Magnum as an excuse for coming to my shops.
Maybe he’ll just ask my opinion of what happened, I thought as I headed to the door to let him in. After all, my amateur sleuthing, intentional or not, had helped Wayne and his partner, Detective Bridget Morana, solve several murders recently, and they even asked my opinion now and then—sort of.
Well, I’d let Wayne lead this conversation. And if I had to, I’d make it clear I was innocent of anything bad that had happened … and I’d attempt to protect Dinah, too.
The detective didn’t wait for an invitation to come in when I opened the door. “Hi, Carrie,” he said as he slipped by me. Biscuit was still loose inside the shop and hurried over to say hi, standing on her hind legs and wriggling against him. He bent to pet her.
Leaving the door unlocked, since it was nearly opening time, I strode up to Wayne.
As usual, he wore a white shirt and dark gray pants. The dark facial shadow that matched his short, straight hair seemed a little more visible than usual this morning, shadowing his round face. His light brown eyes locked on mine. “So, Carrie—” he began.
“So you want my take on who murdered Henry Schulzer,” I said in a casual tone. “It’s a bit early, so I haven’t figured it out for certain yet. Who do you think did it?”
Not Dinah, I hoped. Or me.
He just laughed. “You know how it works. Even if we have suspects, we can’t talk to the public about it. And you’re a member of the public, not the Knobcone Heights PD, no matter how many murders you’ve helped to solve.” He grew more serious. “I did come here to find out if you’d heard about the murder. And, yes, it’s a homicide.”
“Right.” I maneuvered around him to pick up Biscuit and deposit her gently into her high-sided pen at one side of the room. I didn’t want her loose when customers began opening the door and coming in. I gathered my thoughts quickly—then decided to ask the most obvious question. “So why did you really come here this morning, Wayne?” I wanted to keep the situation as informal as I could, so I called him by his first name.
“Because I know you’re already involved.” His grin toward me was more than ironic. It seemed both amused and irritated.
“What do you mean?” As if I didn’t know. But I wanted the detective’s take on it before I admitted to being involved. Or getting more involved.
He shook his head slowly, again as if amused. “Come here, Carrie. Let’s talk.” He gestured me over and sat at one of the small tables in my Barkery. I crossed the blue tile floor with its brown dog bone decoration at the center.
“I don’t have much time,” I said, obeying him. I was glad Dinah was in Icing. I decided to tell her anything Wayne told me that she would need to know.
“Right. So here’s the thing.” Wayne spoke quickly as he explained that Henry had been found partly thanks to his dogs barking in the middle of the night.
I of course had to interrupt him. “Are the dogs okay? Where are they now?”
“We learned about the dog walker he’d hired when we got to the hotel, but for now we’ve taken them to Mountaintop Rescue. Councilwoman Matlock has been notified and she’s agreed not to adopt out those dogs, at least not until we have a better sense of Mr. Schulzer’s current family situation. If a relative wants to take in his dogs, that might be the best situation for them.”
“Agreed,” I said, hoping it would be. But I would still look into it. Plus, I’d certainly visit the spaniels at Mountaintop Rescue and talk to Billi about them. “Sorry, I interrupted. Please continue.”
He did. Not surprisingly, he had heard about the altercation in the restaurant the previous night involving Schulzer, Mike Holpurn, Holpurn’s comrades—brothers?—and me. And birthday girl Dinah. “As you know, we’ll need to talk to everyone who was there, and I gather that includes not only you but your shop assistants.”
At least he hadn’t jumped on Dinah right away. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t being viewed as more than a birthday celebrant.
“And your brother,” Wayne added. His expression had grown a bit more detached, a bit more professional—until he said that. He was teasing me, and yet not teasing me. Neal might not have been at the top of whatever suspect list they were developing, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t on it. Like me. “And his lady friend Janelle, yet again. Oh, and I heard your main squeeze, Dr. Reed Storme, was there, too.” He knew of my relationship with Reed, of course, because of how I’d helped clear Reed during the last local murder.
“That’s right,” I replied. I needed to be as cooperative as possible and make sure my assistants—as well as Neal and Reed—were as well. I would protect them all, of course. Help clear them, assuming they all were
innocent. And of that group, Dinah was the only one who I had any doubts about—given how Henry Schulzer had threatened to destroy her career as a writer. But it was only a mere smidgen of suspicion.
“Okay, here’s the drill, and I’m sure you won’t be surprised,” Wayne continued. “If you cooperate, as you usually do”—this was kind, and not always true, but I wasn’t going to object—“then things should go faster and easier for all of us.”
He proceeded to tell me that the Knobcone Heights PD wanted to question everyone individually down at the station. He’d let me help set up a schedule that shouldn’t be too bad for my schedule at the shops or otherwise, as long as each of the people involved cooperated and made themselves available at times that also worked for Wayne and his partner, Bridget, and whoever else they might pull into the interviews—otherwise known as interrogations.
But at least, if we all cooperated, it sounded as if the cops would make things as easy on us as possible, at least if or until they zeroed in on one or more of us.
Which I hoped didn’t happen.
“Sounds good,” I said.
“Great. I’ll email you a little later with times that will work best for us, as well as the order in which we’d prefer talking to people.”
“Fine.” I rose, too, as Wayne stood.
“And now,” he said, “I’m ready to buy a few treats for Blade and Magnum.”
“Glad to hear that.” I pondered quickly whether I should just give him some treats for his dogs—not as a bribe, but to keep up the currently good relationship between us. I made an internal compromise. As he picked out a couple favorites, some with carob and some with liver, I added a few extra biscuits to each bag and made sure he was aware of it.
Wayne paid and was ready to go. He was even standing at the door—and that was when Dinah walked in from Icing.
“Oh,” she said, her voice cracking a little. “Hello, Detective.”
“Hello, Dinah.” Wayne and my assistant already knew each other a little, partly because of Dinah’s never-ending research. “Carrie’s going to get you set up for an interview with us.” He was grinning, but there was a hint of suspicion in his gaze.
Drat. They might already have Dinah at or near the top of their suspect list.
“Really? Because of the death of Mr. Schulzer?” Her tone was stronger now. I hoped that was a good thing.
“That’s right. We know about your birthday party and what happened. Just want to be clear on who said what and all.”
“Got it.” And then Dinah aimed a great, big, pleased smile at him. “But don’t be surprised if I ask you some questions, too.”
Eight
Before Wayne left, I reminded him again of others who’d been at or around the party last night besides my friends or assistants—particularly Mike Holpurn and his buddies. Sure, the detectives could question whoever they wanted, but they should keep their minds open till they had enough evidence to arrest the real killer.
Wayne wound up smiling at me ironically as he thanked me in advance for my assistance. “Carrie, it would be fine if you allowed the KHPD to figure this one out without your help. But—oh yeah. You’re already involved.” He waved an unofficial salute at me and walked out the door—with his dog treats and the bonus biscuits I’d thrown in.
The kind of salute I considered waving at him wouldn’t exactly have been appropriate, so I instead bent to give Biscuit a quick pat on the head.
I didn’t have time to talk to Dinah right away since the stores were now open. But I did discuss a possible time for her to go to the station to be interviewed by the detectives—which had to be sometime when at least one of my other assistants was working, and when I wasn’t at the clinic for a shift.
“I guess I’ll need to take even more notes now for my research,” Dinah said, but her expression was downcast, unlike the way she looked when digging into her research with gusto for a story idea.
A thought penetrated my mind that I immediately shot back out again. Could Dinah have murdered Schulzer for the experience, as part of her research? She wouldn’t do such a thing with someone she liked, but she clearly hadn’t liked—
“What’s wrong, Carrie?” Dinah’s tone was sad, almost as if she knew what I was imagining.
“Nothing,” I said. “Nothing at all, except that I’m concerned about our schedules until everyone who was at the party yesterday is finished being questioned by the detectives.”
“Oh. Right.” She didn’t even try to hide her skepticism.
“Okay,” I said. “With all your research, and skills in reading people, you know what I’m thinking, like it or not. I believe you when you say you didn’t harm Henry. But I may be the only one who believes you, at least for now, since so many people heard him threaten you, and you arguing with him.”
“I know. But Carrie, like I said and as you know, others were arguing with Henry, too. And although I might write about people hurting others, you know I wouldn’t—I couldn’t—” Her sharp and sincere retort was cut short by the sound of the bell in Icing. I’d had bells installed on the shop doors for just this kind of situation. No, not discussions about potential murder suspects, but having nobody in one of the shops when we were all busy in the other shop or the kitchen. We needed to know whenever a customer came in.
Fortunately, Janelle and Vicky were scheduled to work later that morning. Frida had the day off. But after figuring out which of my three assistants that day could be sent to the police station, and then checking with them and emailing with Detective Crunoll to confirm the times, I felt good that I had accomplished something.
As long as none of them got arrested while they were there … meaning, mostly, the possibility of the cops assuming Dinah was guilty.
Because of that possibility, I found a time when all three were staffing the shops to pop into my office at the rear of the kitchen. Sitting at my desk, I called Ted Culbert, the local attorney I’d gotten to know since unfortunately becoming involved in solving murder cases in Knobcone Heights.
“Hi, Ted. Have you heard about—”
“—the murder of the husband of that mayor who was also murdered?” His voice was sharp as he interrupted me. “Yes, I’ve heard about it. Another murder in town, and you’re involved with this one, too?”
“Not by choice, any more than with the others.” As Ted laughed, I explained the situation to him, including the excitement at Dinah’s birthday party. “I don’t know that any of my employees or I, or my brother or Reed or Arvie, will be genuine suspects this time, but if so, you might be asked to represent one of us.”
“Sounds like your assistant Dinah may be the lead suspect this time.”
Ted sounded more relaxed now, but I leaned forward on my chair. “How do you know that?”
“Ever since I heard about Schulzer’s death this morning, I’ve been following what that reporter Silas Perring says on TV and online.”
“And he’s been talking about Dinah? Accusing her?”
“Now look, Carrie,” Ted said, his voice more appeasing than before. “He’s a reporter. He’s being neutral in what he says about the situation and the potential suspects, but yes, he’s mentioned several of the people who were at the resort and it sounds as if yesterday’s birthday girl is one he’s particularly interested in. That could mean the authorities will be, too.”
I shook my head, as if he could see it. “Well, I believe in Dinah. Yes, she may wind up being your client, but I really hope the cops land their sights on someone more likely—like Mike Holpurn, the confessed murderer who just got paroled. The timing just sounds ideal for him to have done it, don’t you think?”
“Unless whoever did it decided to use that timing …”
I shook my head even harder. “Maybe. Well, I hope I won’t need to be in touch with you again, but at least I’m glad you’re aware of the situation.”
“Yeah, bye,” I said and hung up. I half wished I hadn’t called him, but just in case his services were needed by someone I cared about—or even by me—it was better to make sure he was aware of what was going on.
Time to get back to work, I thought—and get my mind off all of this.
I succeeded in half of that. I worked hard for the rest of the morning in the Barkery, then Icing. Wayne asked that Janelle be the first one interviewed, which I assumed was because they really had no reason to suspect her—this time. She’d been accused of committing one of the other murders I’d looked into, but, fortunately, the police had succeeded in finding the real culprit.
I wanted to go visit the Joes at lunchtime but Janelle wasn’t back from her interrogation yet, so I hung around to make sure we were fully staffed—and also because I wanted to talk to Janelle on her return. I spent much of my time in Icing selling some of our people treats, mostly to longtime and loyal customers I recognized. Vicky took care of the Barkery, while Dinah mostly stayed in the kitchen baking additional treats for one shop, then the other. I gathered that she was hiding, somewhat, since she knew she’d been mentioned in the news.
Janelle finally returned. My brother’s girlfriend looked harried and unhappy as she came through Icing’s door, wearing her usual purple athletic shoes beneath her light slacks and Barkery and Biscuits T-shirt. “You’d have thought I was a suspect again,” she said, taking me aside so we were near the wall behind Icing’s display case. “Detective Morana kept asking me about every little detail I could remember about Dinah’s birthday party, including when Henry Schulzer joined us, and when Mike Holpurn and his brothers showed up. They were apparently his brothers, based on what the detective said when she quizzed me about what went on.”
So Bridget Morana had taken on the first official interrogation—but not of a major suspect this time. Interesting. But it didn’t really mean anything, at least anything I could feel better about.
For a Good Paws Page 7
