Bite the Biscuit (A Barkery & Biscuits Mystery) (21 page)

I nodded as I pondered what he’d said. The answer was yes. My brother had suspected that Myra and Walt had something going.

Had that in some way led to Myra’s demise?

Elise certainly had reason to get rid of her. Maybe Walt did too, if she threatened him with exposure. He seemed to be a successful-enough building contractor, but it surely didn’t hurt him to have the financial cushion of being married to a wealthy Ethman. If his relationship with Myra became public, Elise would have felt humiliated and might have divorced him.

So it was better for Walt, too, if Myra was out of their lives, assuming he didn’t really love her.

Did the cops know or suspect any of this? I had no proof of anything, so running to them and trying to point them toward these people as better suspects than me might make them hang on to me even harder.

But I’d check things out as best I could. Look for proof. Give the detectives the benefit of my inquiries if the appropriate occasion arose.

And in the meantime …

“Thanks for your insight,” I told Neal. “It might not mean anything. I realize that. But it doesn’t hurt—”

“To know about other people who might have had a whole lot more reason than you—or me—to kill Myra,” he said.

I smiled. “Which brings me to my next idea.”

“Which is?” By now, Neal’s grin was huge.

I told him about my other thought, that the fired chef Manfred Indor might have resented the manager who’d canned him.

“I figured that might be one way your thoughts were headed,” Neal said. “I never knew Manfred well, but I know someone who did. Let’s see if Gwen can tell us more about him. Wait here a second.”

As Neal hurried into the lobby, I saw him take a sharp right turn—toward the restaurant. When he returned with Gwen a few minutes later, she looked a little frazzled but stayed at his side, talking to him as they approached me.

I’d noticed last week how attractive she was, with her dark hair and friendly demeanor. She wore a chocolate-colored skirt today with a white blouse and coppery pinecone necklace, clearly helping to promote Knobcone Heights and the resort. Her glossed lips glowed in the late afternoon sunlight, and she smiled as she continued to converse with Neal.

When they reached the edge of the patio where I was leaning on the railing, both stopped. Neal appeared happy too, with a large smile on his face.

I thought once more that there must be something between him and the pretty server, but I wouldn’t mention it again now since she was standing right there. Later, though …

“Gwen said she’ll give us more info about what happened with Manfred, Carrie.” Neal grinned down at her, then toward me.

“I’m all ears,” I said.

“Our Manfred was quite a character.” Gwen rolled her deep brown eyes.

“
Our
Manfred?” I had to ask.

“He was the main chef when I started working here a year ago.” She turned to look dreamily out over the lake. “I heard from him, and from the other servers, that he considered this place his, and that he also considered all of us a team. We were one many-tentacled unit, in his estimation. Or that’s what I gathered.”

“Interesting,” I said. “Then it must have been hard on him when his unit dumped him—or at least its leader did, if I understand correctly.”

“I’ll say. And the way, and reason, it was done … ” Gwen’s voice trailed off.

“Tell me.” If she was looking for encouragement before continuing, I’d definitely give it. Or was it something else?

She turned to look at Neal, as if his encouragement was what was lacking. Or maybe she was worried about whether gossiping more with his sister, whom she didn’t really know, was such a good idea.

Especially since she knew why I was asking: I was trying to potentially pin a murder on her former unit-member.

Neal nodded at her, possibly conveying that I was an okay person. Or at least giving Gwen support in going further.

Rather than looking at me, she leaned on the railing beside me and again looked out over the lake. It was less sunny now, and there was a kayak rowing team nearby. As Neal followed her gaze, I saw a wistfulness in his expression, as if he’d like to be out there with the rowers—maybe leading them on one of his beloved expeditions.

Maybe I was wrong about his feelings for Gwen.

Or maybe he wanted to be out there with her.

“Okay, here’s what actually happened,” Gwen finally said. “Cohesive unit or not, Manfred was the one in charge of food, or at least the special recipes he used for the restaurant’s most gourmet dishes. One afternoon a couple of weeks ago, Myra came into the kitchen and told him and the rest of us that there would be a very special party here that night. She wanted a very special menu, too, since the guests were people with a lot of influence down the hill, mostly from L.A. and San Diego. If they liked their experience here, in the restaurant as well as at the resort, they’d not only return but would also tell their affluent friends about it.”

“Sounds reasonable,” I said.

“Yes, on the surface. And maybe below it.” Gwen again looked toward Neal.

“You were all briefed,” Neal suggested, “in a way that you recognized meant your jobs were on the line.” When Gwen nodded, he looked toward me. “That was one of Myra’s favorite ploys. If she wanted something done ‘right’—meaning her way—she would make sure everyone knew that, if anything went ‘wrong,’ heads would roll down the San Bernardino Mountains. Fast and hard.”

I’d suspected something like this was the case when Neal occasionally seemed irritated when he returned home after a day’s work, but he’d always slough off my questions. He would just say there’d been some stuff going on that day involving the management but that it all had worked out fine.

Meaning, I now figured, that Myra had been satisfied with whatever the result had been.

“That’s it,” Gwen agreed. “Then Myra was nasty enough to tell Manfred that she not only wanted his proposed entrée of beef Wellington changed, but she had chosen chicken Parmesan, which was much more mundane to him. Then she told him his recipe for chicken Parmesan was okay, but she wanted him to change it to meet her specifications, which she handed him. Those of us who were near them in the kitchen could almost feel the earth shaking beneath our feet as Manfred’s temper got ready to explode.”

“And did it?” I figured I knew the answer but asked anyway.

“Did it ever!”

“I even thought I felt the explosion out by the registration desk,” Neal said, his eyebrows raised in irony.

Gwen looked at him in what appeared to be fond amusement. “Maybe so,” she said. “I’m sure you at least heard the argument.”

He nodded. “It shook up everything. I even wondered whether the people I was checking in would turn around and flee. We didn’t know what it was about at the time, and it was quick. Later, when Myra came back our way, she gave her usual instructions. We were not to discuss, even among ourselves, what we may have heard. It no longer existed. Not being the greatest direction-follower, I did initially attempt to get some info about it, but everyone else had been intimidated enough to follow what she said.” He looked down at Gwen. “I still heard rumors. And I think I’ve only convinced Gwen to give you details now because Myra’s not around to follow through on her threats.”

Gwen’s smile toward him looked fond. “I agree that there won’t be consequences now that Myra can’t instigate them.” Then her expression morphed to something more troubled. “But—oh my, Carrie. What I’ve told you—you’re running with it, aren’t you? Are you jumping on the possibility that Chef Manfred was the killer—or trying to protect yourself by trying to make him look like the top suspect?”

I liked Gwen. She seemed like an intelligent, intuitive woman who could aspire to doing a lot more with her life if she decided to move on from being a restaurant server. If she had a relationship with Neal, that could be a very good thing for my smart but sometimes mentally lazy brother.

I shrugged one shoulder. “I’m still looking into all possibilities. And I’m not making any accusations. Not yet, at least. Even so—” Did I dare ask her opinion about whether Manfred could have been angry enough to do something drastic to Myra?

She seemed to hear my unspoken question. “You know, Carrie,” she said thoughtfully, pursing her shining lips as she looked at me, “I like Manfred, despite his egotism. If I had to hazard a guess, sure, he could have wanted to get back at Myra. But in my opinion, he’d do something more subtle—like sabotage one of her parties. He wouldn’t have had a chance to gloat if he’d simply murdered her.” She put her hand up to her mouth, and I noticed that her short but well-shaped nails were as glossed as her lips. “Sorry. That sounds horrible.”

“But helpful.” I leaned toward her and gestured for Neal to come closer too. “I appreciate your information and advice, Gwen. And if you happen to have any other ideas about people who might have disliked Myra and had no need for subtlety if they decided to deal with her, I’d appreciate your letting me know. I’m already looking into other family members, by the way.”

“That would be my first thought,” Gwen said. “Did you tell your sister about Myra and Walt Hainner?” She looked at Neal.

“You knew about that?” I asked.

At the same time my brother said, “Then my suspicions were true?”

I laughed softly. Gwen could be a real asset in my investigation into who could have killed Myra.

Briefly, a thought came into my mind. Could she herself have had something against the resort’s big boss—something stronger than her concern about getting fired? She might have been smart enough and subtle enough to resolve it and direct attention to others—like me.

Then I erased that thought. No way. I was just so eager to plant the blame on someone else that I was jumping to absurd conclusions.

Even so … well, I would have a talk with Chef Manfred Indor to get my own ideas about his possible guilt.

And I might just continue to run ideas by Gwen—not only to get her thoughts about them, but also to see her reaction.

NINETEEN

T
IME TO HEAD BACK
to my shops. I said bye to Gwen and saw her hurry into the restaurant as I walked through the lobby with Neal.

“I like her,” I said. “She’s nice, and she seems smart. And pretty.” I didn’t look at him but waited for his response.

“Yeah, all of those.” My brother was moseying beside me in the crowd, either wanting to talk more or not eager to return to work. Or both. “But there’s a guy in her life and I don’t get it. He lives in Riverside and they don’t seem to get together much.” He stopped, and when I looked at him he shrugged. “Could be he’s just an excuse. It might be obvious to her that I’m interested, but it’s not obvious to me that she’s not. Interested in me, I mean. She seems to like me, but—Hell.”

He turned and started walking again, edging through the
people in the lobby toward his post.

Interesting
, I thought. Despite having told me before that there was nothing between them other than having fun, my fancy-free, sometimes irresponsible brother seemed to have a genuine romantic interest in this woman—one that might not be reciprocated.

Still, he could be trying to win her attention. That would explain his working here so diligently lately. Although he mostly worked at the reception desk, along with leading some of the official resort tours, Neal also ran some unofficial tours on his own. If he didn’t have enough vacation time available for this, he’d call in sick. But I knew there hadn’t been many outings at the resort recently, nor had Neal had any of his own. And since he was clearly not happy about it, I couldn’t believe he’d arranged it just to see more of Gwen.

As I watched, Neil returned to his post behind the reception desk and started talking to another of the employees. He lifted his hand to wave at me, but he clearly was finished with our conversation. Which was fine with me—for now.

But later …

I hurried into the parking lot, gulped when I paid to release my car, and headed for the vet clinic to pick up Biscuit.

Even that didn’t turn out as to be easy as I’d hoped. Oh, my adorable dog was fine and clearly happy to see me. But before I could leave Faye said, “Dr. Storme wanted to talk to you. He said I should have him paged once you got here.”

“I’ll go into the clinic and find him,” I said. “Thanks.” I swallowed my smile. I’d be glad to see him too.

But my pleasure turned out to be premature.

Reed exited a care room as Biscuit and I walked down the hall. His pace was quick and determined, and he stopped as soon as he saw me.

“Glad you’re here, Carrie. I was going to call you if I didn’t see you. We have several unanticipated surgeries scheduled for tomorrow and not enough assistants. I know you’re supposed to be off, but could you come in for a few hours?”

I swallowed hard, especially since his stare looked demanding and not particularly friendly. This wasn’t the Reed I thought I was getting to know. But it was apparently his stress talking.

And my stress? A few hours? A short while, yes, but so long? “I … I don’t think so,” I said sadly. Biscuit, who’d started to lie down at my feet, was suddenly standing at attention beside me. She was a sweet, intuitive dog, and she clearly sensed the tension here. “I’ll see what I can work out, but—”

“Okay. Fine. But don’t be surprised if we—”

Arvie was suddenly with us. “Now, don’t make threats we’ve no intention of keeping, Dr. Storme.” But my sudden relief and urge to hug Arvie were dispelled by his next words. “We’re already looking for another tech or two to hire, but we’re not going to make any changes in Carrie’s situation here.”

That was especially sweet of him, since he had an interest in having my shops do well and my being there instead of here might help that. Still … another tech or two? My part-time services could become even more part-time then. It had been my own choice to open my new retail venture, but the idea of less pay, and even less time working at a job I really loved …

Well, I’d asked for it. But I really wanted it all—and a treasured part of my life might be taken away from me.