Bite the Biscuit (A Barkery & Biscuits Mystery) (12 page)

Wayne Crunoll and Bridget both came in as I stood aside. My heart was thumping erratically. Were they here to arrest me? If so, why?

What evidence had they found that they thought implicated me?

As it turned out, they were here more to harass me than anything—although I forbore accusing them of it. I already had a horrible relationship with them. Why make it worse? They disguised it, though, in a way they probably thought would make me feel like one of them—at least till they could put the cuffs on me.

“Sorry for coming here at such an early hour, Carrie,” Bridget said, “but we knew you’d be here and we have a couple of things to run by you.”

That sounded totally odd, so I rearranged three chairs on the Barkery’s floor to fit around one of the small round tables so we’d have somewhere to sit while we talked.

I couldn’t completely hate Wayne, since he knelt even in his dressy detective clothes to gently roughhouse with Biscuit while Bridget watched me. But I couldn’t exactly like him, either.

“You know,” Bridget said, her pale brown eyes tired but intent, “we don’t get many murders here in Knobcone Heights, which is a good thing. But that means Wayne and I, as two of the main detectives on our small police force, have to work twice as hard as if we did it all the time.”

“As a person now following two careers at the same time, I understand,” I lied. I offered them scones, which both said they’d love. Leaving Biscuit there, I went into the kitchen to fetch a couple of my baked goods, Wayne at my heels. When I returned to the Barkery, I handed them their treats. Then I settled into the chair I’d set up for myself.

I did understand their having to work hard, but I did not understand at all why they were here. Maybe I shouldn’t be so generous with the treats. It might encourage them to visit even more.

Bridget sat down too, crossing her legs in her dressy slacks. “Let me be honest with you,” she said. As if I believed that. “You still seem like the most obvious suspect, given your argument with Ms. Ethman that night. But to do our job right, we have to look at all angles, all possibilities.”

What was this about—especially at this hour? Was she trying to put me off guard so I’d say something that would lead to whatever evidence they thought they were looking for?

“I’m glad,” was my wary response.

“So … do you have any ideas who else we should look at? You’ve now had a day to try to work out your own defense. Not that we want you to try to figure out who committed the murder—assuming you didn’t do it. In fact, it’s best if you stay far out of it. But since you might want to aim our attention toward someone else—well, who would you try to aim it at now, after a day’s reflection?”

This was weird. I still thought they were trying to put me off guard, but what if they were serious? Was this some new way of detectives investigating a murder case? Based on some odd TV show with pseudo-psychics or whatever?

“All I really know is that it wasn’t me,” I said cautiously. “Or my brother Neal. But … ” Ah. It occurred to me that they might have received a call from Harris, or his parents or sister, or even Walt Hainner, letting them know I’d been taunting them by hanging out at their resort’s restaurant. “But as I think you might know, I did spend a little bit of time last night at the Knobcone Heights Resort having dinner with a friend.”

“Well, yes, we did hear that.” Wayne was now sitting in the third chair I’d put out for us, eating his scone. “Were you sounding any of the Ethmans out about whether they could have killed Myra?”

I stifled my ironic laugh. “No, although most of them made it clear I wasn’t welcome there for dinner, even as a paying customer.” I didn’t need to mention I’d only paid the tip. “Walt Hainner, Elise’s husband, was a lot kinder than the rest of them.”

“And would you like to point your finger at one or all of them, to get ours pointed away from you?” Bridget smiled as if she intended this to be a joke, but I knew better.

Would they then use my theoretically pointed finger to take my theoretical fingerprint and compare it against ones they found on Myra? But joking with myself didn’t make me feel any better. Besides, I was sure that if they actually wanted my prints they’d ask or get a warrant or whatever cops did.

“Honestly? I don’t trust any of them—not even Walt, not entirely. But I can’t tell you which of them might have murdered Myra. Maybe they all colluded. It wouldn’t hurt for you to check into that.”

“Of course,” Bridget said, but I suspected she wouldn’t really look too deeply into any of them. “Thanks for your suggestion. And for us to check things out—could you give us the name of the friend you were with last night?”

I hesitated. They’d probably find out anyway if they didn’t know already, but I didn’t want to sic them on Reed. “I don’t think so. He’s one of my bosses and I don’t want to get him involved in this.”

“Okay,” Bridget said, so I felt certain she already knew.

I considered mentioning Jack Loroco instead, since he’d hinted at some kind of motive to harm Myra, but I also didn’t want to send these detectives after him until I knew if he was joking or if there was actually a reason to question him.

“Well, if you hear anything about the Ethmans that we should know, I’m sure you’ll tell us.” Bridget paused. “Oh, and by the way, do you happen to have any of that kind of dog treat you made the first day—the kind that was found near Ms. Ethman’s body?”

Ah-hah. I wasn’t sure why, but this could be the real reason for their visit. I doubted they actually wanted me to point to an elite Ethman and make accusations—although I would, of course, if I had any evidence to support it.

But as to the biscuits? “Sorry, no,” I said. “The ones we didn’t give away were all sold yesterday. I’ll make some again soon. I know you have a cat, Bridget, and these are dog treats. Does Wayne want some for his wife’s dachshunds?” I tried to sound innocent, as if I didn’t believe this was some kind of trap they were setting up.

“Sure,” Wayne said. “Or any others of your treats. I’m sure my dogs would love ’em.”

“I’m sure they would,” I returned with a smile.

“But he especially said he wanted to give his dogs those particular treats,” Bridget said, sending what looked like a warning glance to her partner.

“Absolutely,” Wayne said. It only underscored the fact that they wanted more of these particular biscuits for some reason, although how they’d be able to use a new batch to prove I supposedly killed Myra, I had no idea.

“When I make more, I’ll save some for you,” I said. Which meant I probably shouldn’t make any more of that particular kind of treat until Myra’s killer had been found and arrested. Too bad. I really liked that recipe.

“Well, thanks,” Bridget said. “We’d better be going now. I’d imagine you have other treats to bake—both for dogs and people. Maybe even that special kind of biscuit.”

She was pushing it too hard, but I wasn’t about to tell her so. On the other hand, if I could get them sniffing in a different direction …

“There is one thing I did want to mention, although it might mean nothing,” I said. “Did you know that Myra recently fired one of the resort’s best chefs? From what I heard, he was really resentful. Whether he’d have killed her, I don’t know, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask him.”

“We’re still looking for him,” Wayne admitted as they reached the door, earning him another evil look from his partner.

“Well, if I happen to run into Chef Manfred Indor, I’ll be sure to let you know,” I said. Not that I’d recognize him. But if I could set these two on another, much more likely suspect, I’d be delighted.

TEN

I
BREATHED A DEEP
sigh of relief when the cops finally left. But that relief didn’t last long. I had lots of treats to finish baking before the day at the shops could begin, although Judy would arrive soon. I’d asked both my assistants to help out today. Staggered days would begin later this week.

Fortunately, I hadn’t left anything in the oven, so I wouldn’t face a burned batch of baked goods. I checked that Biscuit’s leash was still attached to her crate, gave my fuzzy golden girl a big hug to comfort myself more than her, and hurried back into the kitchen. I washed my hands for a long time, as I always did as a vet tech and now as a baker. Only then did I start grabbing the ingredients for the next batch of dog biscuits and begin to mix them.

I lost myself in the process for a while, trying to concentrate on mixing and baking and my stores. How business might be today. How I’d shift from working at the Barkery to Icing and back again.

But not unexpectedly, my thoughts eventually started heading toward my cop visit. Their insinuations and questions. My vul-
nerability.

My fear, that I couldn’t suppress all the time. Like now.

What was I really going to do? Not just wait and see what happened. I had to take control of something, at least.

I was beginning to feel like I was trapped in one of the mysteries I loved reading. I enjoyed a lot of books, in fact, and even had an e-reader. I particularly liked to read about animals since I’d devoted my life to them, and I especially enjoyed mysteries with amateur sleuths. I’d always thought it was fun to see what mischief might befall an oblivious protagonist who suddenly finds herself in a position to help solve a murder. Silly, yes. Fiction, yes. Or so I’d always believed.

So how had
I
gotten into that position?

But here I was. And—

The back door opened behind me and I jumped, nearly skidding on the clean tile floor. When I turned, I wasn’t surprised to see that Judy had just entered the Barkery side of the kitchen.

“Good morning, Carrie.” She had a skeptical grin on her face as she scanned the almost empty counters. “So, are you ready for us to come in earlier to help you start baking?”

“Soon,” I said.

“I’m not sure you can wait. I think you need help. Did you sleep in this morning? There aren’t a lot of trays with product to put into the cases outside here. And they all seem to be Icing goods.”

“You’re right. But at least there are several trays of scones and croissants and things that you can fill the Icing display case with. And as to your question—” I hesitated. Should I tell her what had happened earlier—about the return of my unwelcome visitors?

Well, why not? Judy knew I was a suspect. And I might have to rely on her and Dinah’s help even more till this situation was resolved—assuming it ever was.

“I was here on time, but I had an early visit from the detectives looking into Myra Ethman’s murder,” I finished. But I really didn’t want to burden Judy with the fear I had about possibly getting arrested. Nor did I want to concentrate on it myself. “They wanted my opinion about who might be viable suspects in the case.”

“Really? They wanted your opinion?” She’d started putting on her apron but now stopped, turning back toward me. Doubt shadowed her light blue eyes, and no wonder. But I’d told her the truth.

“That’s what they said, although I didn’t really believe them. The thing is, I’m not sure exactly what they were looking for.” I paused. “I did manage to suggest other people they might want to check out, like Myra’s relatives. And there was also a chef Myra fired recently, who I heard about while I was at the resort for dinner last night.”

Judy laughed, her broad smile bisecting her long face. Shaking her head as she reached behind her to tie the plain white apron’s strings, she said, “Maybe they really did want your opinion. You seem to have a lot of them.”

“Yeah,” I said, “and the most important is that whoever killed Myra, it wasn’t me.”

To my surprise, Judy approached and gave me a hug. I hugged her back. She’d been reasonably friendly to me since my taking over the bakery, but a bit reserved, too—at least more so than Dinah.

I thought frequently about how she’d said, from the first day I’d taken over Icing, that she hoped to open her own bakery someday, perhaps become a rival. But at the moment, she could probably still teach me more about human baked goods than I could teach her—and she seemed inclined to do so.

She was thin, especially for someone who’d worked in a bakery for a while. Her hug was strong, but she released me fairly quickly, as I did her.

“I believe you, Carrie.” She stepped back to look me in the eye. “I know you didn’t kill Myra. Maybe the cops will figure that out too.”

“Amen,” I said. Then, feeling as if we’d gotten too serious, I turned back to the batter I’d been preparing. “Now, let’s get busy before customers start coming in.”

Dinah arrived a short while later. We only had a few customers at first, but business started picking up as the day progressed. About mid-morning, I was behind the display case at the Barkery checking our inventory when the door opened and Billi Matlock walked in.

She wasn’t the only customer present, and I wasn’t the only person serving customers at the time. But Dinah was helping a young woman who’d carried her Yorkie in, trying to determine the best treats for such a small, energetic pup. We had a great selection available by then, so it was just a matter of the customer making up her mind. Dinah was definitely busy.

So I was especially pleased to be able to wait not only on a member of Knobcone Heights’s other most-esteemed family, but on a member of City Council. Not to mention her role at Mountaintop Rescue. I’d always appreciated how she and her staff often brought rescued animals to my vet clinic for their checkups, treatment, and shots. Fortunately, the Mountaintop shelter was fairly well endowed both by the Matlock family and by other local residents. There was no doubt around here that animals were welcome members of the community.

“Hi, Carrie.” Billi walked up to me. Not surprisingly, she was in workout clothes—expensive-looking ones. In addition to her work with the shelter and on City Council, she owned and ran a very posh day spa and fitness club, the Robust Retreat. It was on Summit Avenue but a few blocks in the more elite direction, toward the lake. Again not surprisingly, she was slender and looked good in her outfit. Her hair was long and loose now, dark with golden highlights. Her eyes were deep brown, and her face was … well, lovely. I was surprised she wasn’t always followed by a herd of men trying to get her attention. But as attractive as she was, she wasn’t married, and I’d never heard about anyone she was dating. That could be because she was discreet. Or maybe men were afraid of her, thanks to her powerful position on the council.