To Catch a Treat (15 page)

Afterward, since Neal indicated he was going to stay around for a while with Janelle and Delma, then take them back to their hotel room, Reed invited Biscuit and me to his home for a drink before taking us back to my place.

We each, indeed, had one more drink at his house. And engaged in some very enjoyable and personal stuff, too. Soon, though, I had to ask that he take us home because of my usual early hours the next morning.

So that was that. My evening had been wonderful, but I'd gotten no information about Garvy Grant or Grant Garvy or whoever. Maybe it was just as well. I'd do a lot better on Janelle's behalf by going in other directions.

Maybe I could even find a reason to stop in at the police station and talk to the chief. Loretta Jonas had not been particularly excited when I'd given her the information about the possibility of stolen dogs being in the area. Maybe I could bring her treats for her rescue dog Jellybean and find a way to ask how other things were going—like, had any law enforcement organization found out about those dogs I'd been concerned over, or were the cops ready to arrest someone in Ada Arnist's death?

Sure, I could do that subtly.

Once more that night I didn't sleep extremely well, even though I felt very relaxed after being with Reed earlier.

And for the next few days I tried to rein my mind in, since I didn't have any further ideas about how to help Janelle. She hadn't been arrested yet anyway. Maybe all was good with her.

Until Friday. That was when she called me at the shops, sounding utterly upset, to say she couldn't come in that day to help out. She'd been asked to bring her attorney and come back to the police station since they had a few more questions for her.

I was in the Barkery when she called, along with Vicky, who was also helping out that day. Dinah was working in Icing. I hopefully had enough assistance that day, and I had to do something to help Janelle. But what?

More customers entered the shop, so I had to concentrate on them first. A good diversion, and a profitable one, since they were planning a doggy birthday party and wanted a whole bunch of Barkery treats.

When they left with numerous packages in their arms, my mind returned to Janelle's call. I still needed to figure out what to do.

Unless, of course, the cops actually did just need some more information from her about her suspicions of how Go had gotten to Knobcone Heights.

Then why would they advise her to bring her lawyer?

I was standing behind the counter at the Barkery, my head somewhat spinning. I closed my eyes briefly to try to settle down my thoughts—and the bells at the door rang.

I opened my eyes—just as Garvy Grant walked in.

“Hello, Carrie,” he called out effusively, avoiding Vicky and the people she was waiting on and striding straight toward me. “Did I hear that you were looking for me?”

twenty-three

Interesting. How had he
gotten that impression? Was he some kind of remote mind-reader?

When and where had he heard … ? He hadn't been at the resort on Tuesday when we'd had dinner there, had he? Even if I hadn't seen him, Neal would have known if he was there.

Then again, if my intuition was working right and the guy really was a professional PI, he'd surely want to know who was checking him out. Was there some way he could sign up for some kind of notification if his name was searched online—any possible name?

My puzzlement must have been obvious since he laughed, brightening the shine in his green eyes. Yes, he was good-looking. Too bad I wasn't interested.

“Hey, I think we've got some stuff to discuss,” he said. “Care to take Biscuit for a walk across the street with me?”

We weren't extremely busy, and I knew Dinah and Vicky could handle the shops. I could keep an eye on things remotely, too, from the town square as I walked Biscuit and talked with Garvy. “Fine,” I said. “Let me tell my assistants.”

A few minutes later, I hooked Biscuit's leash to my excited pup's collar and we exited the Barkery with Garvy. There was a bit of traffic on Summit Avenue, but we soon got across the street. A few other dogs were sniffing out the busy town square filled with parents and kids, so I let Biscuit slowly wend her way in the direction of these dogs, watching to make sure the nearest ones, a pit bull and a collie mix, didn't appear aggressive. Only the pit bull got close, and Biscuit and he seemed to get along fine.

Then Garvy gestured toward a path leading into the town square beneath some of its knobcone pines, and Biscuit and I began walking in that direction.

Today was one of the days Garvy dressed casually. Did that mean he wasn't on duty—either as a real estate agent or, possibly, a PI?

It was time to start our conversation, but he didn't seem inclined to even though he'd suggested it.

So I took control. “What made you think I was looking for you?” I asked.

“A little bird told me.”

I glared at him.

“A little bird at the Knobcone Resort,” he amended. “I went there for a drink last night.”

I pondered who he might be talking about, who'd been there when I hinted that I hoped to chat with him sometime. Neal and Reed wouldn't have told him. Janelle? Delma? Then the most likely candidate dawned on me. “Was the restaurant server Gwen chirping in the bar?”

“I'll never warble about it,” he responded, which told me I was correct. “So now that we're together, what did you want to talk about?”

I only hesitated for a second. “I've been thinking about how to find you a new bulldog,” I lied. Well, it wasn't entirely a lie. But I wanted to know more about why he wanted one. Had he told the truth about losing his recently?

“Thanks,” he said. “I'm definitely looking for another one. But not necessarily for the reasons I mentioned to you before.”

I nearly blurted out my questions about why he was really looking. Did he love bulldogs? Or, if he was actually a PI, did he have some other reason for being here? Like, was he hunting for dogs like Go who'd been stolen—and might have wound up in this area, thanks to Ada or her buddy Tim?

Garvy placed himself in front of me on the path so I had to stop walking. I looked up into his face. There was enough of a light breeze blowing that the hair he had combed over his forehead blew a little sideways. His hairline wasn't too far back, so I assumed it was just a point of male pride on his part. Even if I'd been interested in him, the height of his forehead was irrelevant.

I didn't say a word, just looked up and waited for him to say something.

“I've heard some interesting things about you, Carrie.” His smile curved up almost sensuously, which nearly made me wince. Was a continuation of his unwanted flirtation why he'd really suggested we take a walk?

“Really?” I attempted not to throw irony into my tone. “Like what?”

Biscuit gave a little tug on her leash as she strained toward another area of nearby groundcover. Rather than wait for Garvy's answer, I turned toward her and took enough steps to add some slack to her lead.

“Like you happened to solve a murder a few months ago.”

I wasn't really surprised he'd heard that. This wasn't a huge town, and gossip got around—especially since the murder victim that time had been a member of one of Knobcone Heights' most illustrious families.

“It's true that I was involved,” I agreed.

“And now you're trying to figure out what happened to Ada Arnist, aren't you? I gather that last time you were one of the suspects, but not now.”

I sighed. “You already know that Janelle Blaystone works for me part-time. She argued with Ada, so now she's a suspect. Since she's a friend and employee, I'd like to help her if I can. That's all.”

“So what do you know about me?” That was definitely a shift in subject.

“Not much. You're a visitor here, you work in real estate, and you'd like to find yourself a bulldog to become part of your family.” I turned to look at him to see if his expression changed with anything I asserted.

He only looked amused. “You're right,” he said. “Or that's at least what I intend for people to believe.”

He turned away and started walking in the opposite direction from where Biscuit's leash was stretching. He'd clearly wanted to intrigue me, then sneak away so I'd have to follow him to learn any more.

I half wanted to immediately lead Biscuit back to my shops. Instead I stood there until Garvy stopped and turned, apparently not happy I hadn't followed his lead. He walked back toward us, sidestepping through what appeared to be a class of middle-grade students and their teachers who had just caught up with us.

He was soon back with me. “Look, I've heard you like to grab coffee at Cuppa-Joe's. Why don't we go there?”

Now I was feeling even more uncomfortable. Why had he gotten all this information on me? How had he gotten all this info?

He must have known what I was thinking, since his grin appeared smug. “Here's some of what I want to talk about. I think you may suspect it. I'm not actually in real estate. I'm a private investigator.”

We were at the patio at Cuppa-Joe's, sitting at a table in a far corner next to the fence with my sweet, patient little golden Biscuit lying at our feet.

It was probably a good thing that Cuppa's didn't serve liquor, since I might have indulged. I was feeling a bit discombobulated about being here with Garvy. Not because of his admission—I'd already wondered if he was the PI with the upside-down name. But I didn't know what he wanted, now that he'd made the admission.

Both of the Joes, my dear friends Irma and Joe Nash, had immediately come over to say hello to Biscuit and me. They'd glanced toward Garvy, then gone back into their coffee shop to help other customers. We were being waited on out here by Kit.

I had asked Kit for a mocha; Garvy stuck with black coffee. She had just set our drinks in front of us, aiming her usual toothy smile at each of us in turn, but also sent a quizzical glance at me before walking away.

I was here often enough, sometimes with Reed, to know that the people here thought we were in a relationship. The Joes probably recognized it wasn't a done deal, though—or, dear pseudo-parents that they were to me, they'd have taken me off by myself and questioned me by now.

Although the patio was crowded, Garvy and I were off by ourselves enough to feel comfortable that what we discussed would be private. Taking a sip of my warm, chocolaty mocha, I said, “Okay. Spill it. You're a private eye. What are you doing here?”

“I suspect you can guess. I was hired by some people in Los Angeles to find their stolen dogs—the way your friend Janelle's Go was, before.”

“And one's an English bulldog.” I didn't make it a question.

“Yes, a white one named Youkay—as in U.K.”

I laughed, then grew serious. “So you, like Janelle, thought that Youkay and maybe other stolen pets could have been brought up here because Ada Arnist's family has property here?”

He nodded. “But things weren't as simple as I'd hoped. There weren't any dogs at the Arnist property. Then Ada showed up in town, and all that happened with Go and Janelle … and then Ada's death.”

“Are you implying that Janelle was the killer?” I half stood and glared at him.

“I know you want—intend—to clear her. Me? I just want the truth. More important to me, I want to recover my clients' missing dogs. I don't suppose you know anything about them, do you?”

Then he didn't know about Ada's friend Tim having some dogs with him? Or did he want to find out what I actually knew?

I wondered whether to hedge a bit, then decided simply not to tell all I knew—which wasn't much anyway. “I don't really have any information, although one of the guys who showed up at the resort bar that night, Tim something, brought a couple of dogs to my veterinary clinic after they were in a fight. I think he was a friend of Ada's.”
And my main murder suspect
, but I didn't mention that. “In case you're wondering if he's a dognapper, I have no idea. One of those dogs happened to be a bulldog, by the way.”

“Interesting. The bulldog's owners are my primary clients. Have you seen him around since then?”

“No.” Which was pretty well true. I'd seen the place he'd given as his address in Blue Jay, and some dogs in the house not too far from there, but I hadn't run into him.

“That's too bad. I'd like to talk to him again but I've lost track of him … temporarily.”

What did that mean? He'd spoken with Tim before? Had he known he had at least a couple of dogs with him—and might have more? But to find that out, I'd have to tell him about the dogs at the house in Blue Jay, which I didn't want to do.

Instead, I decided to change the subject to something potentially useful to me. “So you really are a PI,” I said. “That sounds fun—and more. Tell me what I should know to conduct investigations. I really had to wing it when I needed to clear myself.”

I was still winging it, to help Janelle. I didn't need to mention that. He'd already figured it out. But maybe I genuinely could learn something from him.

Taking a sip of coffee first, Garvy started talking about the life of a PI, how he got clients, how he had learned over time to investigate the issues they needed him to figure out.

I found myself fascinated by some of what he had to say—the ins and outs of talking to people, what to do in person and what to look up on the Internet, and more.

I had no intention of becoming an official investigator, of course, but I'd definitely found myself in the difficult position of having to pretend to be one to save myself, and now Janelle, from untenable situations as murder suspects.

“So why did you tell people you're in real estate?” I asked as he slowed down a bit.

He gestured for Kit, several tables away waiting on other customers, and asked her for refills of our drinks.

That felt like a good idea to me. I asked her if she'd bring some water for Biscuit.

In response to my question, Garvy said he'd found it best to take on an undercover persona in as many situations as possible, because if you admit you're a private investigator, people will either tell you nothing or they'll tell you everything—but you won't know if it's true. If they think you're just a new friend, they're more willing to open up.

That made sense.

“And … well, do you use your real name?”

He smiled. “I suspect you did some Googling of me, Ms. Kennersly. And if you did, you might suspect the truth. You may even have found the small website I maintain for my cover as a real estate salesman. I do go by Garvy, especially when I'm on a case, but my real name is Grant Garvy, not Garvy Grant.”

To my surprise, I found myself liking this flirtatious, somewhat secretive guy.

Even as I distrusted him. After all, he had come to this area seeking stolen dogs. Ada had apparently been involved in their theft, and so, most likely, had the missing Tim.

Ada, one of his targets, had been murdered.

I added him to my list of potential killers, maybe second in line to Tim.

We talked for a little while longer, then I said, “I really need to get back to my shops, but this has been interesting. Not that I want to do what you do, but I'll do what I can to help Janelle if she needs it. Since she hasn't been arrested, maybe the cops are still looking into other people.”

“I heard they didn't arrest you,” Garvy said with a grin, raising his cup to his lips for possibly his final sip of coffee.

“Nope. I was lucky.” Fortunately, my timing had worked well, too.

“Could be, or maybe the cops around here are smarter than in some other places.”

To my chagrin, I found myself blurting, “Does that mean they'll arrest you?”