Bite the Biscuit (A Barkery & Biscuits Mystery) (17 page)

“Sounds good to me.” My tone was fervent. I considered inviting him to my house and cooking something, but decided that might sound like an invitation for more. “Let’s talk in about an hour to figure out what to do.”

“Okay.” He kissed me on my forehead, then walked me to my car.

It was late when I returned to my shops. Fortunately, my assistants had gotten back faster than me and had both sides open. Only the Barkery had some business at the moment. And we’d only be open for another hour.

Dinah was staffing the Barkery side. I observed her waiting on our current customers, a young married couple who said they were both teachers at local schools. I wondered if they knew Cece, who’d also been at the memorial, but didn’t interrupt to mention her.

Dinah asked the right questions about the dogs they had at home who deserved these wonderful treats: what their likes were, whether they had any health or allergy issues that would help in the decision. Then she encouraged them to buy a whole box of different kinds of treats for their two Chihuahua mixes.

I stayed out of her way as she finished by charging their credit card, then joined her as we both watched the apparently pleased customers leave the store.

“Good job,” I told her. “I’ll bet they’ll be back.”

“Me too,” Dinah said with a smile. “As long as their pampered babies like at least some of those wonderful treats.”

It was my turn to smile. But then I watched Dinah’s pleasant expression morph into something I couldn’t interpret.

“That was quite a memorial this afternoon,” she said quietly. Her glistening blue eyes scanned my face, as if she was trying to determine whether I’d felt comfortable there or hated every minute.

And maybe as if she was trying to determine whether I was actually the one who’d killed Myra. Or was I just expecting everyone I knew to wonder that?

“Yes,” I said. “It was. I’m sorry that Myra’s dead, and that we had a disagreement before she died. A lot of people seemed to care for her and be genuinely grieving. Maybe if I’d gotten to know her better we would have made peace with one another, even gotten into a position where we’d both encourage customers to try stuff from each other’s shops.”

From Myra’s initial reaction, and from the impression I’d gotten even from the people who’d eulogized her, compromise might not have been in her vocabulary, so I doubted it could have happened that way. But it sounded good. It even felt good, in a way.

What if it actually
had
occurred? I’d have liked to have had an ally in the pet retail business here in Knobcone Heights.

Maybe I still could—in Harris. But that could only happen if someone other than me was proven to have killed his wife … and if that person wasn’t him.

“Heard you talking about Myra and her celebration.” Judy had just walked through the door from Icing. “I … I was really moved by it. And I hardly knew her.”

“She used to come in here—I mean, Icing—to order a lot of cakes for her big parties and other special occasions,” Dinah said, coming out from behind the cash counter to look at Judy.

“Well, sure.” Judy’s long face was flushed and scowling, as if Dinah had accused her of killing Myra. “But that’s all I knew her from—just taking her orders and helping to bake her cakes, and even sometimes delivering them.”

The belligerence in Judy’s tone made me step out too, to place myself between them. Even though most of the time my inherited assistants had been getting along just fine, I couldn’t predict when they’d start confronting each other—like now.

“I get it,” I said. “You’d met her—both of you—but you weren’t her closest friends.” I gave a wry smile. “I suspect those who were her closest friends had money, or something she wanted, or—Okay, I won’t speak ill of the dead. I certainly didn’t know her well either, but the fact that we didn’t hit it off as buddies doesn’t mean I couldn’t eventually have gotten along with her.”

“It doesn’t mean you would have, either,” Dinah pointed out.

I nodded, then intentionally moved my gaze from my assistants to the watch on my left wrist. “Know what? It’s time to close up.”

“Good. I’ll get things in Icing ready.” Judy quickly turned her back and went through the door once more.

“I didn’t mean—” Dinah began.

“Me neither. Anyway, go home and relax and come back refreshed tomorrow,” I said.

She helped me get the Barkery ready to close, then we both went into the kitchen. Judy was there giving a final scrub to the ovens, which I appreciated. Dinah did the same with the counters and I helped out, neither of my assistants looking at the other.

“Thanks to both of you,” I said when we were done. “See you tomorrow.” I watched as they both left together—fortunately talking civilly to each other. The crisis, such as it was, was over.

I got ready to leave too. Time to go get Biscuit from doggy daycare, then follow up on joining Reed for dinner. I went out through the front of Icing, leaving my car parked behind the building, and walked toward the veterinary hospital.

The more I thought about it, the better inviting Reed to my home for dinner sounded. Not that I had any intention of seducing him, or being seduced. But it could be a nice, pleasant, casual evening of just getting to know one another better.

It wouldn’t involve figuring out which restaurant to try next. And I’d definitely get to treat, since I’d be the one to stop at the grocery store and to cook. Because of the growing lateness and my need to get some sleep that night, the meal would have to be something relatively quick and simple, but I already had a few ideas.

On impulse, I tried calling Neal to see if he was at home yet and whether he’d join us if Reed agreed to my proposed plan. When he didn’t answer I assumed he was still working, and I didn’t know when he’d get off. I didn’t leave a message. No need.

I entered the clinic and waited till Reed was finished with a patient, then issued the invitation for him to come to my home for dinner. He seemed delighted by the idea. I then went into the daycare facility and hugged an excited Biscuit, but confirmed with Faye that it was all right for me to pick her up in about half an hour.

I hurried back to my car, drove to the nearest supermarket on the fringes of town, picked up the ingredients for the dinner I intended to cook, and then went back for my dog.

I was soon at home. After walking Biscuit briefly, then letting her out in the dog run for a few more minutes, I got busy creating my own version of a rich and creamy chicken Alfredo. When the doorbell rang, the meal was nearly ready.

I opened the front door to let Reed in. He stood there with a bottle of Chianti that looked of special vintage, although my expertise was limited. “Does this work for dinner?” he asked, holding it out to me as Biscuit, now in the house, jumped up on his legs. He was clad once again as he’d been at Myra’s memorial, much dressier than at the clinic.

“Delightful,” I said. I smiled as he bent down and gave me a brief kiss, then knelt to pat Biscuit’s head.

“Mmm, delightful,” he parroted, and I turned my back and hurried into the kitchen so he couldn’t see my own happy grin.

Dinner went well. Neal joined us when we were about halfway done. I saw his gaze go from Reed to me and back as he said hi, as if assessing why I’d invited this man here and if he’d be a third wheel who should roll out of here for the night.

“Glad you made it for dinner,” I told him, to assure him that he could stay.

At least this time …

The three of us talked mostly about the delights of our small town that provided something captivating for everyone’s interests, and Neal invited Reed to come on any of the boat rides or ski outings he hosted, whenever. He said he did have a couple scheduled now and hoped for more. The two of them seemed to get along well, which was a good thing—in case my enjoyment of Reed’s company actually did turn into some kind of real romantic relationship.

When we were done, my well-trained brother helped to clean up and so did Reed—another thing to add to the plus column about this good-looking, kind guy who saved animals’ lives.

Then Neal excused himself and went to his room, probably to watch TV.

Reed and I sat down on the living room couch, although he said he couldn’t stay long. As we talked, we finished the bottle of wine he’d brought.

When he prepared to leave, a little later, he kissed me good night at my front door and I savored the flavor of his warm, sexy lips.

“See you tomorrow afternoon, Carrie.” He held me for a moment longer against his hard body.

“Yeah,” I said. “Thanks, and good night.”

I grinned the whole time as I walked Biscuit, then got ready for bed. I’d left my cell phone in my purse and got it out to charge overnight.

Only then did I see that I’d missed a couple of calls. One was from Jack Loroco. The thought of him and his business ideas—and his apparent interest in me—chilled my very warm thoughts of Reed just a little. I was glad it was so late, though. I wouldn’t call Jack back until tomorrow.

The other call was from an unknown number, but when I checked voicemail I saw that I’d received a message from Walt Hainner, again thanking me for coming to Myra’s memorial.

That really sent icy fingers up my spine. Why was he thanking me so much? Because my being a suspect in Myra’s murder kept the authorities from looking too closely at him? Or was it something more innocent than that—he was just a nice guy who’d married into the Ethmans and knew that apologizing for their usual arrogance and condescension and accusations was a nice thing to do?

Whatever, it kept me awake, thinking, for much longer than I should have been that night.

FIFTEEN

S
OMEHOW
I
SLEPT OKAY.
Maybe I was just too exhausted to do otherwise.

The next morning I did what was becoming my usual: woke early, got dressed, put Biscuit in the dog run and then fed her, and headed for my shops with my dog beside me in the passenger seat of my car.

I managed not to think about Walt’s phone message—at least not much.

When we arrived, I secured Biscuit in the Barkery and scanned the leftovers from the prior day. Some would be fresh enough to sell, but I preferred giving most away—some at the clinic and some at
Billi’s shelter. As for the Icing leftovers, I’d also sort them out later. Brenda had begun giving some to a homeless shelter down the mountain and had left me a way to reach the staff if I had any donations.

Then I got the baking for both sides started and was well on the way to being able to fill the display cases by the time either of my assistants arrived.

It was Sunday, and I knew weekends could be the busiest times in my shops if a lot of visitors came to Knobcone Heights between their work weeks. That’s the way things had been for Icing, according to Brenda.

I was hoping both my stores’ sales would surpass hers. Not that I’d ever tell her or rub it in.

Dinah was earliest to arrive that day. If I wasn’t mistaken, my younger helper looked even more tired than I felt. In fact, her demeanor reminded me that she was older than she usually appeared. She entered by way of the kitchen just as I removed some dog treats from the oven, which wafted a delicious sent of meat and apples into the air.

“Good morning,” I said cheerfully.

“Hi. Smells good.”

“Yes, it does. Do you want to take over baking the dog treats for now?”

“Sure.” She put her purse down in the usual place, on the bottom shelf of the closed supply cabinet at the back of the kitchen, and put on an apron.

I could tell I wasn’t going to get a scintillating conversation going with her so I just asked, “Are you feeling okay?”

“Sure,” she said again. She dragged her slightly chubby body in my direction and gave me a tired smile. “The thing is, I think I told you that my first love is writing, right?”

I nodded.

“For some reason, all that’s been going on, including Myra’s memorial yesterday, has triggered a story inside me and I stayed up much later than I should have to start writing it.” She looked at me earnestly. “I like the way it’s going, but I promise I won’t do that again.”

I laughed. “From what I’ve heard about writers, your inspiration may control the rest of your life. But do what’s best for you—as long as you’re here on time and able to work.”

“Oh, yes, I am. I will be. I promise.”

She made good on that promise, jumping right into baking, and then helped stock our two sets of display cases.

Judy arrived about an hour later. By then, most of the early baking had been completed and both displays were fairly full. I’d remained mostly in the kitchen, where I’d packed up some Barkery leftovers to take to the vet clinic and Mountaintop Rescue. I also called the homeless shelter down the mountain and discussed which leftover human treats to save for them, like cookies that wouldn’t go stale.

Then I began playing around with one of my favorite dog biscuit recipes. It was one I particularly liked as it was, but I enjoyed experimenting with my creations for pets. I figured one of these days I might try playing with Icing’s recipes too, but since I’d inherited those from Brenda, I didn’t have as much knowledge about them—nor did I have as much of myself invested in them. I knew they were good and wasn’t sure I could make them any better. With the Barkery products that might also have been true—but I also had a desire to find out.

I added some crushed yams to my favorite cheese-flavored biscuits. Hey, there were plenty of good sweet-potato-and-cheese recipes available for humans, and I liked the combo, so why not? I tasted the batter before I evened it out with a rolling pin and used biscuit-shaped cookie cutters to form the treats.

While they were in the oven, I visited first Icing, currently being run by Dinah, and then the Barkery, staffed by Judy. They both were sweeping floors and washing the insides of the windows. No customers.

In fact, so far that day we’d had only a few customers. The bells I’d had installed on both shop doors to let us know when someone came in hadn’t rung often. I needed to think about how to promote both stores. An ad in a local paper or online? A contest of some kind?