To Catch a Treat (13 page)

“Hi,” I said, my tone pleasant but firm. “I didn't expect you today.” I looked first at Delma but landed my gaze on Janelle.

“I didn't expect to be here, either, Carrie.” Janelle's voice sounded uneven and moist, as if she was crying. Her big blue eyes were, in fact, a bit wet.

“What's going on?” I asked.

“It's those damned cops,” Delma said, running her fingers through her cap of dark hair. I wanted to tell her to stop, that I didn't want loose hair fluttering around the kitchen, but at the moment it was more important to learn what she was talking about.

I also wondered where Delma had left Shobie, but figured her dog was at their hotel.

“What cops?” I asked, assuming I knew the answer.

But before either had the opportunity to explain, I heard the bell go off over the door to the Barkery. Customers were always a good thing. But then I heard the voices. Familiar ones.

“Hi. I'd like some treats for my little dachshunds, here.” That had to be Detective Wayne Crunoll, who had brought his doxy mixes here before.

“And I'll go next door for some goodies from Icing.” That was Detective Bridget Morana. “Oh, and by the way, is Janelle Blaystone over there?”

Janelle let out a small gasp as Delma threw her arms around her in a hug.

“I think they're here to arrest me,” she cried.

nineteen

“What makes you say
that?” I asked. Before she answered I added, “When they considered me a murder suspect they just dropped in here now and then, sometimes individually and sometimes together. I think it was more to unnerve me than anything else. They often succeeded. But I kept maintaining my innocence and not talking much about what they wanted. And eventually the truth came out.”

“Really?” Janelle's hopeful expression made me regret my optimistic description, at least a little. Every situation was different.

“Don't count on it,” Delma told her with a look of distaste and mistrust on her face. “Just be careful what you say. To everyone.”

Like me? Well, I didn't trust Delma, either. In fact, I had a sudden urge to point at her and demand that she provide all the information as to where she'd been at the time of the murder, hopefully as the two detectives walked in.

Maybe I had no reason to mistrust her. I was just trying to add more suspects to my mental list.

Both detectives came into the kitchen, flooding it with their in-charge attitudes. Good thing I wasn't baking anything, or kneading any dough. I'd have feared that their unwelcome presence might add an unwelcome smell.

I assumed that Wayne had appropriately left his dogs in the Barkery. I quickly decided how to play this game.

“Hi, detectives.” I maneuvered around Delma and Janelle down the thin aisle between the dividing shelves and the ovens and plastered a smile on my face as if delighted to see them. “Have you come in here to see how we bake? Or would you like some lessons?”

“Neither.” Bridget's voice was curt, even though she, too, smiled—a cruel one, I thought. “We just wanted to talk to Ms. Blaystone, get her input on some information we received from the authorities in the dog park locales.”

“This seems a strange place to discuss that,” I said. “Let's go into the Barkery.” I motioned for them to turn around, and, surprisingly, they complied, leading the way back through the door they had just entered. Them, obeying me? How unheard of.

“Can I just run out the back?” Janelle whispered frantically.

“No, that would just make it worse. Let's see what th
ey really have in mind. But let me take the lead, at least for now.”

“Gladly.”

Vicky was still in the Barkery. She was waiting on a group of customers, including, apparently, the parents of three kids who were making a fuss over the four dogs in the corner—Biscuit, Go, and Wayne's Magnum and Blade, which always seemed to me like strange names for little doxy mixes. I regarded the group warily, but the parents appeared to be watching, too, and the kids were gently patting the dogs and talking to them.

“Let's sit down here.” I pulled a couple of small metal tables together and started to move enough chairs around them. I considered placing only four there, to exclude Delma, since she didn't need to be here.

“Why don't we go outside with Janelle for a few minutes? We just have a few questions we think she can answer.” That was Wayne, looking all friendly-cop. I didn't trust it.

“How long can you stay?” I asked. “Janelle obviously needs her attorney with her if you're going to question her, and I don't know how long it might take him to arrive.”

“It won't be those kind of questions.” Wayne's expression soured fast. “We just want some more information.”

“I think a lawyer can determine what kind of questions or information his client can safely provide,” I said sweetly.

“It's just about the damned dog parks,” Wayne said through gritted teeth.

His superior officer waved her hand toward him over the table where we were all now sitting. “Detective Crunoll is right,” she said smoothly, “but I can understand your concern, Ms. Blaystone. If you agree with Ms. Kennersly and would rather come to the station again with your attorney, that's fine. We'll figure out a time for tomorrow.”

Janelle looked trapped, her gaze going from me, back to the cops, then to Delma, as if her friend could provide assistance.

That lady appeared nonplussed, as if she wasn't used to not having answers to dilemmas like this. Apparently feeling she had to say something, she spoke. I was surprised when what Delma said made sense. “Why don't you ask your questions, detectives? If there's anything about them that worries us at all, Janelle can do as you said and schedule a time to talk at your station with her lawyer.”

“Fine.” Bridget looked at me as if for my okay. I raised my brows and didn't disagree.

Then she looked toward Janelle, who appeared like a deer in headlights with her blue eyes huge, but she didn't disagree, either. “Okay.” She sounded tentative and not at all comfortable.

“Okay,” I repeated, deciding to try to stay a bit in charge here. “What do you want to ask her?” I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table as I stared first at Bridget, then Wayne.

What they asked really didn't sound as if they were using it to get Janelle to implicate herself in Ada's death. Maybe just the opposite. They wanted more information about which dog parks she had seen Ada in when, and who she'd seen talking to her.

“The local authorities have started asking the same kinds of questions at those parks,” Bridget said, “but the more data we have, the better for trying to determine what actually occurred, and who might have had a motive to kill Ms. Arnist.”

“Who
else
might have had a motive,” Wayne said with a smirk. I saw Janelle flinch as I rolled my eyes. Delma looked almost ready to stand and confront the guy.

Maybe she really did just want to help her friend. Although …

“Maybe you could provide some insight, too, Delma,” I said to her. “I assume that you sometimes met Janelle and Go in some of those parks with your dog—what's her name?”

“Shobie,” she said through gritted teeth. “I really didn't know Ms. Arnist, not any more than I knew other people who brought their dogs to the parks when I was there. Shobie and I went wherever Janelle and Go did, so Janelle would be better than me at coming up with names and such.”

Should I be suspicious of her? I wasn't about to assume her innocence, at least.

“Not that I'm really involved here,” I said, “but maybe it would be helpful for Janelle to do some kind of list of whatever new information she can provide about the parks where she saw Ada, and what other people she saw talking to her. Assuming you can remember things that specific, Janelle?”

“I'm not sure, but I can try—more of the people, and their schedules that I can remember, too. Would that help?”

I heard what she didn't add: would that help the cops focus on other people and get off her back?

“It wouldn't hurt.” But Wayne's smile was again so smug I wondered whether this was a good idea after all.

It would also give more specifics about when Janelle saw Ada.

“Well, then,” I said, “Janelle can contact her attorney and run the idea by him. If it sounds okay to him, she can start putting the list together soon. Okay, Janelle?”

“Fine with me,” she said, and the smile she aimed at me was full of gratitude.

The detectives were gone. So were Detective Wayne's cute dogs. I'd given them a couple of peanut butter biscuits to see them on their way. I'd be happy if the dogs came back, just not their owner or his police force compatriot.

Was I now certain that Janelle was innocent? Not really. But I still hoped so. And I still hoped to zero in on that Tim guy.

I needed more information about him and his relationship with Ada. They'd known each other. From what Janelle had said, Ada had had a thing about pedigreed dogs—so she certainly might have been the dognapper, especially considering the Go situation.

The two dogs Tim had brought to our clinic appeared to be purebreds. So did the few pups I'd seen in the yard of that house—which might or might not be where he was living.

None of that was enough to convict Tim of killing Ada. And she must have known zillions of other people, from the dog parks or elsewhere.

Including her parents, who'd put in an appearance here.

I was able to wrest Janelle away from Delma for a few minutes to call Ted Culbert. I accompanied her back to my office so she'd have privacy—from everyone but me.

I wanted to hear what he said.

Standing near the door, I let Janelle sit on the small chair behind my compact desk to use her cell to make the call.

She must have had his number programmed into her phone already, since she just pushed a couple of buttons and put it up to her ear. She had to wait for a minute, but then Ted apparently got on the phone.

“I'm at Carrie's shops,” she told her lawyer. Then she related the visit from the detectives and how they'd said that the questions they asked couldn't be used against her, so she didn't need to have her lawyer present.

She held the phone away from her ear for a minute, and even I could hear Ted's shouting.

“Okay,” Janelle said when he was done, sounding chastised. “I won't talk to them at all unless you're with me. But I did agree to make a list of the times I saw Ada in the various dog parks I've told them about, and who she was talking to then, and what I can remember about the times.”

Once again, Ted's response was loud. Once again, Janelle sounded chastised when she responded. “Well, I wasn't going to give it to them without letting you look at it, but I won't give it to them at all now.” Another pause from her end. “Okay, I'll go ahead and see what I can come up with, and I'll give it only to you. And you'll let them know we've talked and that I won't be handing them anything. I got it.” Another pause. “Yes, Carrie's right here.”

She held out the phone. Apparently Ted wanted to talk to me.

I felt fairly certain it wasn't to try to indulge in our occasional light flirtation.

I leaned against the frame of the closed door and held the phone against my ear. “Hi, Ted.”

“So you are there, Carrie. I assumed so, since Janelle said she was at your shops. Were you there while the detectives were harassing her?”

“Well, yes. It did sound to me like they weren't asking her questions about herself, so I didn't completely discourage them. But I guess I was wrong.”

“I guess you were. I thought you'd learned better when I was representing you. In any case, people who are suspects in any kind of crime who are represented by counsel shouldn't talk to anyone about the case except that counsel, and especially not cops. Got it?”

“Yes, I get it.”

“And you'll make sure Janelle gets it, too?”

I couldn't promise that. But what I could promise was, “I'll tell her what you said and won't encourage her to talk to the detectives or anyone else in authority without your being there. Is that okay?”

My eyes were on Janelle's, and she gave a tiny, understanding smile, followed by a gesture with her thumb and forefinger together that suggested agreement.

“Now … When are you and I going to get together for dinner?” Ted asked. The change in subject startled me—enough that I didn't immediately tell him not in the foreseeable future.

Not only was there my relationship with Reed, but I figured this would be a bad idea if I wanted Ted to continue representing Janelle to the best of his ability—and that certainly was in my brother's, and possibly my stores', best interests.

“I'm not sure,” I dissembled. “Soon, I hope, although I've got some things going on at the shops—oh, and a friend who wants to do some business with my Barkery products is in town, so I just can't commit to anything at the moment.”

“Well, soon it is. Give me a call if you think you'll have some time—and I'll be calling you, too.” He paused. “Oh, and Carrie?”

“Yes?”

“I know you did a good job figuring out who killed Myra Ethman when you were the primary suspect, but that doesn't make you a licensed and skilled detective. I appreciate your wanting to help my client, and I understand you have reason to. But keep out of it. You hear?”

“Yes,” I said. I heard.

But that didn't mean I agreed.

twenty

I purposely had a
nice, calm rest of the day, glad when it was finally time to close my shops.

We'd had a good day of business. I'd had an odd day dealing with people on a non-business basis.

When Reed called and suggested we get together for dinner, I asked for a rain check, and he mentioned that rain was predicted for the next night.

“That may be when I'll cash it in,” I said.

“Then let the rain come down,” Reed said, and I smiled as I hung up.

I was in the Barkery closing up and looked down at Biscuit. “Now let's go home and veg out,” I told her, and we did.

I talked to Neal a bit when he came in later. I wasn't surprised to hear he'd gotten together with Janelle, nor that Delma had joined them, along with both their dogs. Neal escorted them all on a nice walk that would have been better, he said, if it had erased all that Janelle said she'd been through that day with the detectives and her lawyer.

I didn't disagree, but I did go to bed early, which helped me wake up very early the next morning.

At least my day at the shops started off well. Frida came in first thing and helped with the baking, and everything was ready for me to open both shops on time.

A few hours later, I had just entered the kitchen to check on some scones baking for Icing when my phone rang. I pulled it out of my pocket and looked to see who was calling.

It was Billi Matlock.

“Good morning,” I said, walking slowly toward the Icing oven. I smelled the luscious aroma of blueberry scones and inhaled as I spoke. “How are you this morning?
Where
are you this morning—at your spa or at Mountaintop Rescue?”

“I'm actually at City Hall right now since we're preparing for an impromptu lunch meeting of City Council. But I just came from the shelter, and—well, have you met a visitor to town named Garvy Grant?”

I sucked in my breath. That guy was apparently getting around. And why was Billi asking me about him?

“Yes,” I said. “I gather he's looking for a new dog since he recently lost a pet. Did he ask you about English bulldogs?”

“Yes. It apparently wasn't his first visit to the shelter but I hadn't seen him there before. I was the one to talk to him this time, though. He seemed quite interested in seeing what other dogs we had in residence when I confirmed to him that we didn't have any English bulls. And no, before you ask, I didn't tell him that my fellow City Council member Les Ethman happens to have an English bull. I'm not sure where Les got Sam and didn't want this guy bothering him about it.”

“Good choice,” I said. “Now, would you please hold on a minute? I need to get something out of the oven, but I want to continue this conversation.” I wasn't sure why, except out of curiosity. At least Garvy was apparently listening to my suggestion to really look around our local shelter to see who was there. On the other hand, he was holding out for the particular breed, which was fine, but in that case he should be hunting online for rescues or breeders. “Okay,” I said after taking the pan of scones from the oven to cool and picking up my phone again. “Back to Garvy Grant. I don't suppose he was interested in adopting Sweetie, was he?”

I was sure I knew the answer, since the little dog resembling Biscuit didn't look at all like a bulldog. But adorable Sweetie hadn't been swept up into a family yet, and I felt a bit guilty for not adopting her myself. On the other hand, I'd worry if I heard that someone like Garvy had adopted her.

“I think you know the answer to that,” Billi said dryly.

“Okay, then, why did you call to ask me about him? Did he say something about me?”

“Yes, he said he'd talked to you and you'd sent him to my shelter.”

Oh. Okay. “And is he going to check for breeders now?”

“I got that impression.”

“Good.” I prepared to change the subject somewhat, to ask if Billi had engaged in any good rescues since we'd talked last.

But before I could, Billi said, “Did he strike you as a little … well, let's say, odd?”

Rather than just shouting “Yes!” I wanted to hear Billi's rationale first. “In what way?” I prompted.

“Well, he kept asking questions—not only about where we rescued our dogs, which public shelters and all, but he asked to see a list of all the dogs we'd brought in lately, and whether any appeared to be purebreds. And then he asked if anyone had tried to dump any dogs off here, and if so, what their backgrounds were. I thought of Go, of course, but by then I was freaked out enough about the guy to just answer generically and not entirely truthfully. Is he some kind of over-the-top animal rescuer?”

“He's apparently in real estate. I don't suppose he made an offer to sell the property that Mountaintop Rescue is on, did he?”

“No. Not at all. How interesting.” But Billi didn't sound interested, just more bemused by the situation.

I was glad I wasn't the only one who didn't quite get Garvy Grant.

Maybe I could find out more about him.

After I hung up with Billi, though, I heard the bell over the door ring a couple of times in Icing. This wasn't one of Dinah's regular working days, but Vicky had requested that she come in and Dinah had agreed. I poked my head in to see if she could handle the crowd, since I only had one part-timer on duty that morning, Frida, and she was in the Barkery.

All seemed fine in Icing. Dinah was waiting on one small crowd of customers, and another man and woman were peering into the glass display case and discussing what they might want to buy.

I nevertheless strolled in and raised my voice. “In case anyone's interested, I just pulled a really nice, fresh, and delicious tray of blueberry scones out of the oven.”

“That sounds perfect,” said the woman, and the guy nodded.

Dinah's crowd, too, also made excited noises, and I wondered if I'd made enough new scones.

I went into the kitchen again, itching to go into the Barkery but knowing I'd better deliver the promised scones first.

Which I did. And five minutes later, I at last got to head to my other shop.

Frida seemed to be doing fine there, too. Biscuit, in her enclosure, was trading nose sniffs with a Lhasa Apso on the outside, and that dog's owner was busy instructing my assistant which doggy treats she wanted, to go. Two more crowds of people were there, a couple sitting at one of the small tables with their coffee and a couple of goldens on the floor beside them, chewing on something.

The others—three women in nice outfits, suggesting they were on a break from their jobs—appeared to be waiting to be helped, so I helped them. One looked familiar, probably had shopped here before, but I didn't recognize the others. I gave all of them sample treats for their pups at home, then gathered the products they wanted to buy.

Fortunately, my phone didn't ring again until after I'd rung up their purchases and they'd all left the Barkery.

It was Neal, who invited me to join him for dinner at the resort. That was highly unusual. My brother rarely invited me out anywhere, let alone his place of work. Not that he would necessarily pay; I realized this after I'd hung up.

I figured I knew what was on his mind: I was being nosy again regarding a murder situation, and, since we'd just discussed it last night, he knew my latest involvement. But apparently, not only were Ada Arnist's parents now eating often at the resort restaurant—Neal had mentioned this before—but they'd made dinner reservations for that very night.

Did Neal even have access to dinner reservations at late notice, or was he still—or again?—friends with waitress Gwen? It didn't really matter.

“Maybe you can get some additional insight from them about their daughter and her friends and dogs and all,” he told me.

“While you and I eat dinner there?”

“Well, it won't hurt to try. And you're better at it than I am, although we can hopefully get a table near them so we can at least eavesdrop.”

“Well, okay.” I made myself sound reluctant, though I was a bit intrigued.

Before I hung up, I heard noise from outside the Barkery. Rain.

I recalled my rain check, and thought it wouldn't hurt at all to have someone else at the table with us.

“I hope it's okay with you,” I said, “but Reed will most likely be joining us.”

“Sounds good,” Neal said.

No
, I thought.
Sounds like rain.

We were busy for the rest of the day, and I only had the two assistants on duty. That meant I didn't have time to look on the Internet and see what I could find out about Garvy Grant and his real estate transactions … or anything else.

But I planned to do so soon.

I finally closed both stores for the evening and Biscuit and I headed home. Despite the rain, I walked my little girl outside after pulling into the driveway, then dried her paws as we entered the house through the kitchen. She had a good dinner of VimPets food plus a couple of Barkery treats.

Since it was Monday, Jack had already headed back down the mountain to his home, but he'd called and promised to come back soon.

I hoped he'd give me some notice next time—although I wasn't sure I wanted to spend any more time with him.

Reed soon picked me up at my house, and I greeted him with a kiss. We were dogless for the evening, partly because of the ongoing rain shower, which wasn't very heavy but definitely steady. We wouldn't want to sit outside on the resort restaurant's patio.

I didn't want to do so in any case, since I'd no indication that Ada's parents would come with a dog or would otherwise wish to eat their dinner outside.

I did, however, explain to Reed as he drove why we were eating with Neal, and at that particular restaurant.

“You're determined to find out who killed Ada Arnist, aren't you?” he asked when I was done.

I watched his face for disgust, admiration, or whatever he was feeling as I responded, but he simply looked alert as he drove. “I'm concerned about my brother,” I said. “He cares for Janelle, and she's a suspect like I was before. If I can learn the truth, or at least attempt to, I'll either help him further that relationship or nip it in the bud—if it turns out she really is the killer.”

“And who do you think it is at this moment?”

I waited before responding, pondering the possibilities. “I'd like to think that it's Tim, the guy who brought those two purebred dogs to the clinic. Maybe he and Ada were conspirators in the dog­nappings that included Go, and had a falling out, and … ”

“And he killed his accomplice? That sounds like a good theory. But I gather the cops haven't pounced on it. Any idea why?”

“I've mentioned that situation to them, especially the whole dog­napping thing and the house I found with dogs in it where Tim might be living. But I don't think they've talked to him to check him out. Janelle's still a convenient suspect because of her argument with Ada.”

We had reached the resort and Reed took the ticket to enter the parking lot. I'd check with Neal about whether he could get it validated tonight. After all, we were here primarily because he'd set things up so I could listen to, and possibly talk to, Ada's parents.

Reed had to hunt for a spot in the crowded lot, but we soon parked and headed into the lobby—busy as usual. I hurried to the reception desk to let Neal know we were here.

“Go ahead into the restaurant and use my name,” he said. “I'll join you in just a minute.”

Reed and I followed his instructions and, despite how crowded the restaurant was, we were seated fairly quickly, taking up one of the few empty tables.

And, sure enough, the senior man and woman I'd last seen at the Arnists' mansion were at the next table.

I hadn't gotten a really good look at them previously, but it seemed to me that they now looked even a bit older. I wasn't sure whether Ada's body had been released yet so they could have it transported to whatever funeral home they'd chosen.

They both had on clothing that appeared expensive and dressy, and Mrs. Arnist wore a lot of jewelry, as she had when I'd seen her before.

For the moment, I just settled in at the table. Reed and I each ordered wine and glasses of water. Our server wasn't Gwen but a guy I didn't recognize, and I was glad I didn't have to make conversation with the woman Neal had previously been interested in.

As I studied the familiar menu, I said nothing but kept my ears perked up. The Arnists didn't seem to be conversing with each other. They must have ordered, though, since there were no menus on their pristine white table cloth, but there was a basket of rolls.

I wasn't quite sure how to handle this and was glad when Neal finally joined us. We all three placed our orders fairly quickly after that. Both Neal and I chose rainbow trout, which could have been caught right in Knobcone Lake. Reed selected a chicken dish.

When our server left, I looked first at Neal and then let my gaze rove tellingly to my right, where the Arnists sat, and back again. What I didn't do was ask what I should do next.

Neal gave a brisk nod in their direction, silently telling me to approach them.

And do what? Well, offering my condolences wouldn't hurt.

I stood and walked toward the table. “Mr. and Mrs. Arnist?”

“That's right,” the man said, and they both looked up. The woman's gaze looked wary.

“I was one of the people on the hike near your house the other day, but I didn't get much of a chance to talk to you. As I said then, though, I'm sorry for your loss. I'm a real dog lover, and I heard that Ada was, too.”

“She didn't steal that woman's dog,” Mrs. Arnist—Sondra, if I remembered correctly—hissed.

“I'd really love to have whoever hurt her brought to justice,” I said, without actually responding to her statement. “I'm sure you've talked to the police about it, but did you have any idea Ada was in trouble? That someone might harm her?”