To Catch a Treat (18 page)

twenty-seven

Delma remained at the
Barkery for the rest of Janelle's work day. I couldn't help smiling at her each time I caught her eye.

She was definitely one wonderful friend to Janelle, although I wished she wouldn't keep bringing up the whole murder situation each time the shop was empty of customers. Or at least she did when I happened to be in there with them.

But her take on it was that things would work out and the killer, Tim, would be found, and so would the dogs. Janelle would be fine. It had to be that way. Period.

I could only hope she was right.

I spent a lot of time in Icing, too, working with Vicky and with Dinah, who'd taken charge again after she'd returned from lunch. My human bakery had a lot more customers that afternoon than my dog one. I could never seem to gauge which shop would be busier. I just had to ensure that they all had enough product.

Having fewer customers in the Barkery also reminded me that I'd talked briefly to Billi before about maybe scheduling a pet adoption day at my dog treat store. It would potentially bring in more customers on the day of the event, get the word out about my shop even more, and, most importantly, hopefully result in more adoptions of pets from Mountaintop Rescue.

Maybe even find Sweetie, my favorite dog there, a home at last. Yes, I'd asked Billi again about the little golden dog that so resembled Biscuit, and she was still there.

Tempting … but I wouldn't do anything that would take my attention away from my own beloved dog.

It was finally nearing closing time. Things started to slow down in Icing, so I made my way back into the Barkery to see how many customers we had.

Still not many. But one of the people there I knew didn't currently have a pet, even though he was allegedly looking for one. Or many, as was the case—in his undercover PI role.

Garvy Grant.

I was puzzled by his presence, since I thought we'd planned to get together next week, and I approached him, knowing my gaze must look quizzical. I hoped he was here to tell me he'd found the missing dogs at last.

Even though I hadn't given him the tiny clue that I'd learned about Tim's whereabouts.

“Hi,” I said, putting more of a question than enthusiasm into my tone. “Can I help you find something here?”

“I just thought I'd pick up some treats to take to Mountaintop Rescue tomorrow.”

I didn't tell him I was about to have dinner with its manager and could—and would—ask her about any purebred dogs who happened to be there now, including English bulldogs.

“That would be very nice,” I said instead. “I make sure that a lot of our leftovers are brought there while still fairly fresh, to be given out to the residents.”

“Very nice,” he echoed, and smiled, his green eyes looking straight at me in a way that made me feel uncomfortable, as if he could see inside my mind and realized I knew something I wasn't telling him.

Janelle was behind the counter at that point, getting our cash register total for the day. Delma had been with the two dogs but I saw, around Garvy's shoulder, that she was approaching us.

“Hi,” she said. “Do you have a dog?” Before he could answer, she said, “I've met you before—oh, yes, at the Knobcone Resort, I think.”

Garvy had turned to look at her. His expression had morphed from incisive to blank, as if he didn't recognize Delma at all. I wondered if they'd seen each other on that fateful night at the bar.

Not that it mattered.

“Maybe so,” Garvy said. “And no, I don't have a dog, but I'm looking for one.” Something about his tone suggested irony that Delma wouldn't understand, but I did.

I had no intention of smiling at him about it or otherwise acknowledging it.

“Well, I'm sure we all hope you find the right one,” Delma said.

Or ones, as the case may be
, I thought.

Although I considered hinting to Garvy that the cops might be aiding him in his quest, I didn't get the opportunity, which was probably a good thing. He left almost immediately after that conversation, and I gave Janelle the go-ahead to leave soon thereafter. She unhooked Go from the enclosure and they and Delma exited through the shop's front door.

I locked it after them, then finished the day's initial accounting, checked the refrigerated case in the Barkery for items to put aside for the vet clinic or Mountaintop Resort, and then got ready to leave as well.

To go to dinner.

Dinner that night at Billi's house was delightful. As a member of the Matlock family, she lived in the neighborhood where Neal had taken us on the hikes I'd participated in. Her place was a gorgeous stone mansion near the top of Pine Lane.

Before letting her know we were arriving, I drove onto Vistaview Place past the Arnist house. I saw no activity there beyond the closed gates, no indication as to whether Ada's parents were still in town or not. I heard no dogs. Still, could this be the forwarding address for Tim's dog food?

I had no idea.

I turned and headed back to the hillside street and stopped at the curb in front of Billi's. I called her on my phone and said hi, and the huge wrought iron gate opened immediately.

I pulled onto the blacktop driveway and parked.

The house looked like a European castle, both inside and out. All it needed was a moat. The front door was large, ornately carved wood, with round towers of worn stone on either side. The door opened almost eerily as Biscuit and I approached, but I nearly started laughing when Billi's dogs—Fanny, a beagle mix, and Flip, a black Lab—raced through it right toward us.

What followed was a love session of woofs and sniffs and wagging tails. They'd both met Biscuit before. They occasionally all got together at Mountaintop Rescue since Billi brought her dogs there sometimes, although she most often left them at her day spa. All were buddies.

Billi stood in the doorway. I was used to seeing her in her workout clothes or shelter apparel, but sometimes got an occasional glimpse of her all dressed up for a City Council session. Today, though, she was dressed not like a wealthy local citizen at home but like anyone else, in jeans, athletic shoes, and a loose-fitting gray T-shirt.

I looked even dressier than she did in my black slacks, snug black knit shirt, and dressy black loafers.

“Come on in.” She motioned for me to enter. Biscuit scooted ahead of me and so did her canine companions.

Billi was the only Matlock in Knobcone Heights these days, so she lived here alone. She had been married once, or so she'd told me when we'd first bonded over our love of dogs. That had ended in what sounded like a nasty divorce, and she'd been alone since.

Although recently she had hinted that she might be seeing someone … I still wondered who, and how serious it was, but figured she'd tell me when she was ready, at least if it continued.

She showed me past the entry to the living room and down a high-ceilinged hallway into the dining room. There, the long table of thick wood was already set for two people at the end closest to the kitchen door.

“It may be too late,” I said, “but is there anything I can do to help?”

There wasn't. She was just happy to have me be her guinea pig of sorts for her new veggie spaghetti sauce. She'd cooked penne pasta to serve it on. She also brought out some cabernet from a California vineyard around Napa.

Even so, I accompanied her into her kitchen, where I made sure the dogs had water in the metal bowl near the refrigerator. Plus, she'd put out some high quality kibble in another bowl, and I assured her it was okay if Biscuit partook of it.

In addition, I handed her a large paper bag. It contained some of the doggy treats we'd baked that day at the Barkery, as well as a small box of red velvet cupcakes and a bag of chocolate chip cookies for her from Icing.

And then, after she placed pasta on two plates and ladled out generous helpings of a delicious-smelling tomato sauce—obviously containing onions, green peppers, mushrooms, and more—I carried them in and set them at the table.

As soon as we sat down, I took a forkful of her creation and grinned. “Mmmm,” I said. “Delicious.”

“Glad you like it.” She took a bite of her own. “Yeah, not bad if I do say so myself.”

“Which you did,” I reminded her with a smile that she returned.

We continued eating for a few minutes while talking only about our respective careers and how they were going and how much we enjoyed them. That was one thing we had in common. We both liked who we were and how we'd gotten here.

After a while, though, I decided it was time to address what I really wanted to talk to her about.

“Care to put on your City Councilwoman hat for a while?” I asked.

“I wondered when you were going to get serious,” was her reply. She donned an equally serious expression and used well-manicured fingers to push her dark, highlighted hair away from her face. “So tell me what's going on.”

I gave her a quick rundown on everything, including my discovery that real estate agent Garvy Grant was actually PI Grant Garvy. “I know that you can keep things like that confidential,” I warned her, and she promised to do so.

Then I got into his ruse of trying to find a replacement for his supposedly deceased bulldog, and how he had actually been hired by some of the people in LA whose dogs, like Janelle's, had been stolen—
including a bulldog, the kind he ostensibly was seeking. His investigation had led him to Knobcone Heights, similar to Janelle's quest. He had sought Ada as part of his attempt to find the missing pets, and now he was after the guy known as Tim Smith, aka Tim Thorine.

“Could he have killed Ada after finding her?” Billi issued the question that had run through my mind.

“He claims he didn't—said he wouldn't have done that, certainly not without finding the missing dogs first. And his continued failure to find them, or Tim, gives some credence to that.”

“Maybe,” Billi said.

“Maybe,” I echoed.

I then hurried through the rest of the scenario: meeting Tim at the vet clinic; tracking down the address he had given and not finding him or the dogs; discovering a house on the same street, where dogs in fact were located; discovering they weren't there the next time, but talking to a neighbor who provided a lead about a possible forwarding address given to a dog food delivery company.

“I told Chief Jonas about the delivery company today. But I don't know if she'll follow up on it.”

“She will,” Billi said grimly. “I'll make sure just the right amount of information leaks to the media to ensure that it'll look really bad for the local police department if they don't follow up.”

“My hero!” I said to her.

“Of course,” she responded.

twenty-eight

Billi didn't seem as
much like a hero to me as our meal progressed, though. She seemed human—and, under the circumstances, that worked okay for me.

We had just finished our pasta. “Would you like any more?” she asked. “There's plenty.”

“It's tempting, but no, I'm really full.”

“Coffee, then?”

“That sounds good.”

I went into the kitchen with her while she made us each a cup with her expensive brewing machine, the dogs following close behind us. She handed me mine first. “Milk? Sugar?”

“Milk, please,” I said, and instead of getting it for me, she gestured toward her fridge. She had a quart of regular milk inside, among fruit juice bottles and yogurt cups. I extracted the milk and poured a lot into my cup, filling it nearly to the top. I took a sip so it wouldn't spill.

When Billi reached out her hand I gave her the milk carton, and she added a lot less to her cup than I had.

We soon returned to her dining room and sat back down at the table. That was when she looked straight into my face with her intense brown eyes. “So how are things going between Reed and you?”

I laughed. “What, no subtlety about asking? Never mind. My answer is that things are going fine, whatever they are. We are developing some kind of relationship. We eat meals together a lot. We … well, we sometimes get closer than a dinner table. But what does that mean for the future? Heck if I know.”

“You want to know why I asked?”

I sent her a puzzled look. “Other than curiosity about a friend?”

“Yeah.”

“Then, yeah.”

“I've been communicating with your buddy Jack Loroco a lot lately, even when he's not visiting here. I like the guy, but I haven't encouraged him—although I'd like to.”

“You? And Jack Loroco? What, do you want him to contribute VimPets products to Mountaintop Rescue?” I didn't recall introducing them, but it didn't surprise me that they'd met, especially if Jack had visited the town's wonderful pet shelter.

“That, and maybe more. But I know he expressed interest in you before, and I'll tell him to get lost if you want me to.”

I sat still for a moment, looking at the pale milk swirls in my coffee. I liked Jack. I'd considered getting to know him better. But I liked Reed a lot more, and, honestly, I thought we might be heading toward a real relationship.

Besides, I considered Billi a really good friend. I didn't want to stand in her way if the two of them had bonded more than Jack and I had.

“Go for it!” I told her.

She grinned, stood, and drew me up to hug me. “I was hoping you'd say that.”

I wondered whether Jack Loroco would be considered good enough for someone of Billi's family background and stature in the community. But he seemed nice. He had a good job and was dedicated to it. And all that was her concern, not mine.

“I just hope, whatever happens, that you're happy,” I said.

“Yep. You, too.”

I then asked if she happened to have any purebred or designer dogs at Mountaintop Rescue whom I hadn't yet met.

“You know I'd tell you if I did. Or if I heard of any at another shelter, especially if they happened to magically appear right on the doorstep.”

“I figured,” I said, and then we both changed the subject, talking about the fun things our own pups had been doing recently. I also told Billi about Chef Manfred Indor's contribution a few days back to our saleable dog products. “He's also emailed me a few new recipes and said he'll send more soon if I want them.”

“I thought you liked to come up with your own.”

“I like to have new ones available, too. And I don't have as much time now to experiment. Fortunately, my new assistant Frida is helping with that, too.”

We also talked more about holding an adoption event at my Barkery to help find pets at Mountaintop Rescue new homes. It would require a lot of planning and help, but we were both committed to the idea. Soon.

When we were done eating, Billi suggested that we take the dogs for a quick walk around her neighborhood. “It's getting dark out but the area's pretty well lighted.”

We walked out her door, across the driveway, and through the gate after she punched a few buttons to open it. Then we walked along the sidewalk and down the hill a few houses, since her house was near the top. After we returned to her place, it was time for Biscuit and me to head home.

“Thanks for dinner,” I told her.

“You're welcome. And I'll keep you posted about my efforts to get the media on our cops.”

When Biscuit and I returned home that night, Neal was just pulling up in his car.

“Hot date with Janelle?” I asked him with a smile.

“I wish,” he said, but his reddened complexion told me I was right on.

It turned out that Billi didn't need to keep me posted after all—when I turned on the local TV news the next morning, a commentator was talking about how “sources” had informed them that the Knobcone Heights Police Department was hot on the trail of some dogs that had been stolen from Los Angeles. I wondered if Billi had called or emailed them last night or early in the morning.

Even more important, I wondered whether having a reporter or two at their doorstep would finally nudge the cops to follow up on my little clue.

And if they did, whether it would lead to anything helpful—like the location of Tim. Or, more important, the dogs.

The situation was a hot topic at my shops that day. Even on the Icing side, people wanted to know what was really going on. There had been reports now and then from down the mountain about the theft of some dogs, but were they really in Knobcone Heights now? If so, where? Who had brought them here, and how?

All excellent questions, and whenever I heard anyone talking about the situation in either of my shops, I made a point of saying something, too. I didn't reveal I had any knowledge at all, not even the scant amount I knew. But I did say how upset I was to hear that there had apparently been so many thefts.

Janelle was in the Barkery that day, and I encouraged her to talk about how it was a major reason she had traveled up here, having heard rumors—ones she shouldn't elaborate on—that the dogs might be here.

And her own happy conclusion of finding her Go.

Both stores were pleasantly busy that Sunday. Even so, when I had a minute between customers, I checked the news via my cell phone to see if there had been any breaks in the case.

Apparently not, but the ongoing investigation was mentioned often.

Later, when it was nearing closing time, I called Reed. There was a place in town where gossip was often rampant, and of course he and I had a dinner date. “I'm not very hungry,” I told him. “I can survive on a drink at the bar and some appetizers there, if that's okay with you.”

“Fine by me. And since a lot of people have been talking about the news of lost dogs, I suspect you'll want to see if any of them turn up there—or if folks chat about them.”

“Exactly.” I smiled at my phone. “Oh, and by the way, I'm hoping that Janelle and Neal can join us for a while. Is that okay with you?”

“It's fine,” he said, earning him an even broader smile from me, despite the fact that he couldn't see it.

And though it's hard to believe, I had even more reason to smile as the day drew to a close. Billi called as I was removing older items from Icing's glass display case and putting them in bags and boxes for the charities.

“Guess what,” she said.

My heart started racing as I pondered the most likely reason for her call. “Are you at Mountaintop Rescue?” I ventured, since the likelihood was different if she was at her spa or City Hall.

“I sure am. And so are the cutest little Yorkipoo and, yes, a white English bulldog, both apparently dropped off in our alley. Too bad they're possible dognapping victims and I can't let that guy Garvy adopt the bulldog.”

Should I tell Garvy about him? Maybe. I'd have to ponder that.

“Did you check them for microchips?” I asked.

“Of course,” Billi said. “They're both chipped, but just like with Go, even though our scanner works fine on other dogs, neither chip is readable this time.”

Not surprising. “Have you called your friend the chief?”

By then, Frida, who was in Icing with me cleaning up for the day, had joined me behind the counter in one of the special aprons I kept in the kitchen. Her expression was both quizzical and hopeful, and her brown ponytail swayed as she moved her head from side to side.

“Are there some new dogs at the shelter?” she inquired softly.

My turn to move my head—in an emphatic nod.

She engaged in a happy fist pump.

“Yes, I've called her,” Billi said, responding to my question. “She said she'd check her contacts in the LA area tonight to learn if my descriptions match any of the missing dogs, and if so, she'll send some of her officers over tomorrow to interview me. She wants me to hold them for now just in case.”

“Will they notify the people whose dogs with those descriptions were stolen?”

“Sounds like it won't be right away, but eventually.”

I leaned against the display case, wanting a whole lot more information—some that Billi might not have. “Did Chief Jonas mention anything about looking for the rest of the dogs, or the thief?”

“I asked her. She just gave the usual non-answer of not being able to talk about an ongoing investigation, which implied that they're looking, but it might just be a hedge so as not to admit they aren't.”

“I figured.”

We soon said our goodbyes. I didn't bother telling her to keep me posted, since I knew she would. She knew the same about me.

I dared to hope that the authorities were in fact trying to find Tim and the stolen dogs. Maybe knowing he was being sought was the reason he—apparently he, at least—had dropped off a couple more dogs at the shelter. But I believed there were still a lot of missing pups.

Like with the two dogs Tim had brought in for veterinary care after their fight, the microchips in the dogs who'd appeared today were useless—and Billi had mentioned that one was an English bulldog. Could it be the same dog we'd treated at the clinic, who was called Butch?

I wanted so badly for all the stolen dogs to be found and returned to their owners.

And for Tim to be found as well. He remained my primary suspect in the killing of his accomplice, Ada.

Maybe, if they located him, the police would discover that, too.

Reed and Hugo picked Biscuit and me up at our house that evening. I'd talked to Neal and let him know we were coming to the resort. He'd said that Janelle and Go would be there, too, and he hoped to at least have a drink with us.

And yes, apparently the news reports on how Knobcone Heights was indirectly involved with the dog heists was a major topic of conversation at the resort. In fact, when we got to the bar, Neal's boss Elise was there, too, talking with a bunch of people about dogs.

Reed and I managed to push some tables together inside, and no one chased us out to the patio with our dogs. That was a good thing, since I wanted to eavesdrop on as many people as possible.

I ordered a beer, and so did Reed. I also asked for a water bowl for the dogs, and that was no problem either.

We had purposely walked past the reception desk on our way in, and I'd waved at Neal. He'd joined us soon after and also ordered a beer.

“What's the story about the dogs?” he asked me. “I mean, beyond what the news has been crowing about—that our town is a haven for dognappers but the police don't have answers yet. Is that right?”

“Possibly,” I said, even though “probably” was more correct. I hadn't kept my brother fully informed about what I'd learned, nor Reed, either. But before I could get into it, we were joined by Janelle and Go, and Delma and Shobie were with her, too.

Janelle, wearing an attractive black dress for the occasion, appeared exhausted. Neal stood, shared a brief kiss with her, and pulled a chair out for her. My brother, the gentleman.

“What's wrong?” I asked as she sat down.

Her expression, as she looked at me, didn't seem at all surprised at my question. “I've got yet another session with the cops scheduled for tomorrow.” She shook her head, and her wavy brown hair skimmed her shoulders. “And before you ask, yes, your lawyer friend Ted will be with me, as usual.”

“I don't think you told me what happened the last time you were there,” I said.

“Nothing different.”

“Just harassment,” Neal grumbled. My brother was wearing his standard uniform for working at the resort: a nice button-down shirt, in a blue shade tonight that went well with his eyes, and black trousers. He also wore an irritated expression.

“That's for sure,” Delma chimed in. She was all decked out in a flowing red blouse with a poufy scarf around her shoulders that just touched the ends of her black cap of hair, and a long black skirt. “I think you hit the nail on the head when you started suspecting the guy who's probably got the dogs, and who helped that Ada steal them, as the person who killed her.” She looked at me. “I heard the news mention the dogs, but not the connection to the murder.”

I wondered if I should suggest that Billi add that to what she'd told her media contacts but decided it wasn't necessary and might just complicate things more. People around here were mostly interested in the dog story, or at least some people were. If they happened to see a whole pack of dogs somewhere, they'd undoubtedly report it. But they might be a lot more reluctant if they thought they were endangering themselves by outing the location of an alleged murderer.

“Well, the police know of it,” I said, then asked the group to keep what I was about to say to themselves. They all agreed, and I told them my latest small twist: the supposed forwarding address given to the dog food delivery company after Tim and the dogs had moved away from their last probable location.