Bite the Biscuit (A Barkery & Biscuits Mystery) (30 page)

Was that easier to deal with than the other two? Maybe—
especially if I could figure out who, if anyone, was guilty and make sure it never happened again. And assuming it had been one of my employees—who else could it be?—I wanted to confront both of them for answers. But I needed to handle the situation with some finesse or I’d have no assistants left.

Which, if it turned out I was right, might actually be a good thing …

Damn it! I needed those answers. But I also needed to ask the questions in a way that wouldn’t seem overly accusatory. Maybe.

Should I talk to Judy and Dinah together? Probably not. Although if I confronted them individually, they would most likely each say that if there was a problem the other had been the one to instigate it.

They’d probably do the same thing if I met with them together—and we’d be back at square one, as we’d been when Brenda left, when the two of them didn’t appear to like one another. They seemed to be getting along better now—most of the time.

Of course, their apparent camaraderie wouldn’t matter if I had to fire one for insubordination or worse.

It was getting late. Maybe I should consider this overnight, I thought—and talk to them tomorrow, either alone or together.

Only one thing was certain. I needed to think this through, to decide on an approach designed to get me answers.

I wasn’t surprised when Jack invited me to join him and his employees for dinner when my shops finally closed. Since they were eating at the resort’s restaurant, I had to accept.

I said goodbye to my assistants for that night, wondering which, if either, was a traitor. My mind whirled about other possibilities, but I didn’t want to focus on them either. Not now.

I took Biscuit home, fed her, and left her there. Jack picked me up.

Then I had a session of flirtation with Jack and discussion of dog products with all three of the VimPets people, as well as another chance to look around the resort and hope that one of the Ethman relations came up to me and confessed and apologized for allowing me to become a murder suspect.

Neal was out with some friends and not working that night, so he didn’t know I was there.

No confessions. Much later, when Jack brought me home, Neal had already gone to bed, so I didn’t have a chance to talk with him—which I thought was probably a good thing. I needed to think.

Did I sleep that night? Not a lot. But I did come up with an approach to take with my assistants. Since the next day was Sunday, they would both be around.

But would my sanity?

I was resolute the next day as I started baking early in the morning, using some of my proprietary Barkery recipes. I would talk to Dinah immediately upon her arrival, since she was scheduled to come in first. Then, when Judy arrived, I’d take her off by herself somewhere and talk to her too.

Of course my mind had also come up with other possible scenarios. Number one was that Harris had been lying, that no one had offered him my recipes. He had his own agenda, and that included riling me.

But his attitude as he’d told me seemed almost triumphant—hard to disbelieve.

I stepped up the pace of whipping the batter in the deep bowl I was working on, half wishing that it was Harris I was beating so determinedly instead.

Number two alternative scenario was that Brenda had been unhappy enough about the current situation that she’d offered my recipes to Harris. She’d seen me work on them for our opening party and would have had enough proximity to them to copy them. And sell them?

But her leaving town wasn’t my doing. In fact, I’d actually helped her by buying her out so she could go take care of her mother without any commitments up here on the mountain. It wouldn’t necessarily erase her resentment of my changes, though—even if she’d mostly seemed okay with them.

Then there was number three possibility: Neal. He’d seen me working on a lot of recipes at home so I could bring in nutritious items to the clinic. He’d known where I had them written down. Might he have offered them to Harris—perhaps so an Ethman would owe him and help to preserve his job at the resort?

It seemed a stretch. And I just didn’t see my brother doing that. If his job was in jeopardy—and I didn’t think it was—he knew his sis would continue to let him live with her while he figured out what was next, like more outdoor expeditions or whatever.

I heard a familiar bark out front. That was unlike my well-behaved Biscuit. Was someone trying to break in?

My imagination was working overtime these days, but that was undoubtedly a result of all that was not imaginary in my beleaguered life. Even so, I put a nice, sharp knife out on the counter at a place where I could grab its hilt if necessary, then went into the Barkery—just in time to see Dinah entering.

“Good morning,” I said. “Why are you coming in this way?”

She jumped a little, as though I had startled her instead of the other way around. Maybe I had. “Oh. Sorry. A … friend dropped me off so I didn’t park in back. It was easier to come in through the front.” She edged forward enough to give Biscuit, who was straining on her leash, a pat on the head—a gesture that earned her back some missing brownie points. Even so …

The way she’d referred to her friend made me think she had a boyfriend. I’d never really asked either of my assistants about their love lives, but maybe I should have. Was Dinah attempting to hide something … besides possibly trying to sell my recipes?

She supposedly was a writer. Was she studying people to see how she could use them in her stories? Steal from them? Kill them?

“Coming in this way is fine,” I told her, stifling my inner thoughts for now. “Anyway, maybe it’s easier to talk out here than in the kit-
chen.”

“Talk?” Her childlike face seemed to grow pale in the still artificial light of the shop. Why?

“Yes,” I said firmly. “When was the last time you talked with Harris Ethman?”

She blinked her blue eyes and grasped her large leather purse as if she wanted to use it as a shield. Because she was hiding something, or because my attitude scared her? “At … at Myra’s memorial. I told him I was sorry for his loss.”

“And what did you tell him about the Barkery’s recipes?” I’d taken a step toward her, still acting aggressive to see her reaction.

“Recipes? I never said anything to him about our recipes. Should I have?”

“No,” I said, deflating a bit. “No, that’s fine. Go ahead into the kitchen and get ready. We need to do some more baking.”

I watched her hurry off, wondering if she’d lied. I didn’t think so, but I’d started mistrusting my own abilities to read people and interpret body language around what they were saying.

Well, I still had one more assistant to quiz. Maybe Judy would come right out and admit it.

But she didn’t.

By the time she arrived, mid-morning, I hadn’t had Biscuit out for a walk for a couple of hours. I used Judy’s arrival as an excuse to do so, and insisted that she come along too since Dinah was working in the shops.

We walked slowly along the sidewalk surrounding the grass-
covered hills and trees of the parklike town square while Biscuit sniffed and greeted other dogs with nose sniffs and did what she was supposed to.

As we walked I asked Judy the same questions I’d used on Dinah earlier.

Judy also said that she’d last spoken with Harris at the memorial. She acted equally puzzled about my questions regarding the Barkery recipes, and mentioned again that perhaps the shops should have stayed singular—Icing only, since the Barkery seemed to keep garnering problems. She didn’t go pale in the sunlight, so my suspicions stayed more on Dinah, but I really hadn’t gotten enough from either of them to determine which one might have made a sale to Harris.

I needed more.

I needed my sanity, my routine, my normal life—whatever that might turn out to be after all this.

How was I going to fix things?

I wasn’t at this moment. Dinah went on break, and I mused about it all as I organized the remaining cookies and cupcakes in Icing’s display case.

I still had a few hours of work in my shops before closing time. And today was my last day without a shift at the veterinary clinic.

I wasn’t sure how I’d be during my shift there tomorrow. Defensive because of those cookies? I’d definitely not be bringing any dog treats with me for now. When could I again? I needed to somehow redeem myself with my friends at the vet clinic—Arvie in particular.

And Reed? Well, I’d had high hopes not long ago for us forming some kind of relationship. But the kind of relationship we seemed destined for now was solely professional—and I’d still need to redeem myself with him even for that.

A young family came in looking for a special treat. The five-year-old’s birthday was tomorrow and he wanted a cake from Icing.

I was delighted to oblige. I took their order for a vanilla cake with chocolate frosting and his name on it. “It’ll be ready for you by ten in the morning,” I promised.

The child clapped his hands—and I gave him and his older sister each a strawberry cupcake to tide them over. Their parents seemed delighted. So was I. I needed the distraction of something as cute as this.

And I’d make that cake particularly special.

As I walked them to the door, I was surprised, when I looked outside, to see Reed there—not in veterinary apparel but jeans and a Knobcone Heights T-shirt. He held the leash of his dog Hugo. I didn’t know his schedule this week, but if he’d worked at the clinic today his shift was apparently over. So what was he doing here?

The only way to find out was to ask him. I followed my customers outside.

“Hi, Reed,” I said tentatively. Had he come to chew me out further about my misdeed with the cookies?

“Hi, Carrie.” He approached me and I reached out my hand to pat Hugo, looking down at the dog instead of at Reed’s face. “Look, I—” He hesitated. “I know what happened was an accident. You wouldn’t do anything to hurt a dog, I’m sure of that. And I know you’re under a lot of pressure right now. So … ” His voice trailed off.

I did look up at his face then. His expression looked pained and maybe wistful, as if he regretted the attitude he’d had. Or was I just hopeful, wishing to see that there?

“So,” he continued, “Hugo and I are here to invite Biscuit and you out for dinner, whenever you’re free. I’d like to take you to the Arrowhead Diner so we’ll be away from here and can talk. They have an outdoor area where dogs are welcome. And—”

His voice had speeded up, as if he was trying to find as many ways as possible to convince me quickly to agree.

I smiled, if only a little, as I raised my hand to interrupt. He stopped talking and waited for my response.

So, for an instant, did I.

But I knew what I had to do—if I wanted to feel comfortable at the clinic again.

And if I hoped to see if there was any possibility of something ever materializing between Reed and me.

“Sure,” I said. “Biscuit was just telling me she’d like to try that diner. We’d be delighted to join Hugo and you there tonight.”

TWENTY
-
EIGHT

I
LIKED THE
A
RROWHEAD
Diner. It was a family-style restaurant that had apparently, in the past, been built to resemble a train’s dining car. At least photos to that effect were hung on the wall inside.

We were outside, thanks to Biscuit and Hugo. The air was brisk and suggested that rain was on the way, but it wasn’t predicted to start until late that night.

I’d talked to Jack earlier. He and his trainees had decided to return to L.A. tonight. But he’d be back soon, he promised. I wouldn’t have been required to join him that evening anyway, but his absence made my decision to go out with Reed all the easier.

“Arvie recommended this place but I’ve never been here before,” Reed said, looking around. The patio was nearly empty, although the restaurant inside was crowded. His movement was caught by the dogs, who both sat up and regarded him expectantly, as if hoping for treats. But when none were forthcoming they both settled back down.

“I have, although Biscuit hasn’t,” I said. “It’s pretty good.”

“Not as good as your cooking, I’m sure.” The smile on Reed’s face was wide and contagious, so I grinned back. But I still wasn’t sure how much to trust him and his now-flirtatious attitude. Not after how he’d acted when he accused me of carelessness about my dog treats.

Justifiably so, but still …

“Thanks,” I said, without inviting him back for a home-cooked meal at my place. Not yet, at least. We’d just have to see about whether that ever occurred again.

We both ordered margaritas to start, although my intent was to have a burger for dinner and not any of the Mexican dishes on the menu. When the server brought our drinks, she also took our orders.

After she left, and as I took my first sip, Reed regarded me with what appeared to be concern and asked, “Are you okay, Carrie? I know what happened with the cookies you brought was unintentional and I’m sorry I came down on you so hard. Is that still why you look so sad? Or is it because of the other things you’ve been going through?”

I knew he was referring to the Myra situation, and I did appreciate his apology. But I found myself needing to vent. “It’s everything,” I told him. “My being a murder suspect could have led to my carelessness, and I realize that. But now there’s something else.” I told him about my quandary about who might have offered my recipes to Harris Ethman.

“If Harris wasn’t lying about it, could it have been one of your employees?” Reed asked. I related to him that I’d already quizzed both of them and couldn’t be sure if it was either.

But as we spoke, something hit me so strongly it felt like a physical blow rather than mental. “One of my employees,” I whispered aloud.

Reed seemed to hear what I hadn’t said. “One of your employees could have been the one to swap the human cookies for the healthy dog treats at the clinic.” His tone was crisp yet full of questions. “I know they sometimes brought your leftover dog treats in the mornings, even when you also brought some in the afternoon.”