Bite the Biscuit (A Barkery & Biscuits Mystery) (6 page)

I didn’t think I had a choice. And by now, poor, ignored Biscuit was barking herself into a frenzy. “If you don’t mind, let’s go next door.”

Apparently they didn’t mind. After they stepped inside, I locked Icing’s outside door behind them and motioned for them to follow me through the shop and into the Barkery. Biscuit hurled herself toward me when I opened the inside door, and after removing my apron I knelt and hugged my furry friend.

I needed that probably even more than she did.

“Can we sit down?” That was Wayne Crunoll. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties, his hair dark and short, with a hint of shadow on his pudgy face. Like his companion, he wore a white shirt, but his trousers were gray, not black like her skirt.

“Sure,” I said and rearranged the chairs around one of the small tables set on top of the bone decoration on the floor of the Barkery. We all sat down, including Biscuit by my feet. I looked at each of cops before they began, attempting to appear both friendly and oblivious. “What’s going on?” I asked.

“You had a party here yesterday?” Bridget began. Since she was older, I assumed she was the senior detective. Or maybe she was just starting the conversation off because we had a relationship of sorts—as tenuous as it was.

“I’m sorry if it got too loud.” I again attempted to seem naive. “Did some of my neighbors complain? I invited anyone interested to come, but—”

“Carrie, one of your guests from yesterday appears to be the victim of a homicide that occurred last night.” Bridget looked straight at me, her light brown eyes serious beneath straight, somewhat bushy eyebrows. Her hair was short and the same nondescript shade of brown as her brows.

I drew in my breath sharply, as if this was the first inkling I had of such a terrible occurrence. “Oh, no. Who? What happened?”

“We’re hoping you can help us figure it out,” she said, apparently responding only to my second question.

“Me? How?” Okay, maybe I was trying too hard to sound unaware. Or maybe I was reading skepticism in Wayne Crunoll’s too-blank stare.

“Did you have a … disagreement with someone at your party?” he asked.

“I assume, since you’re asking, that the … deceased person is Myra Ethman.” I swallowed, trying to interpret their expressions, but nothing changed on either of their faces; there was no acknowledgment of my brilliant deduction or anything. And I’d “guessed” Myra and not Harris, with whom I’d also argued, so they probably knew I’d heard something. I decided to continue, weighing my words. “She and I did snipe at each other a bit, yes. She wasn’t happy about my opening the Barkery.” I waved my hand toward the display case.

The gesture got Biscuit’s attention. She’d been lying at my feet, and now she stood and looked at me closely, wagging her tail as if she knew something was wrong and wanted to make it better for me.

If only she could.

“So you argued about it.” That was Bridget.

“I wouldn’t call it an argument,” I contradicted. “I tried to make her see reason, that my new business wouldn’t directly compete with the Emporium. They sell different kinds of food from what I make here.”

“Can you describe the whole discussion for us?” Bridget asked.

I hesitated, then shook my head. “I’m a veterinary technician, as you know, and a new business owner. I have a feeling you’re asking me these questions because you want me to be a suspect in your investigation. I didn’t do anything to Myra. But I think I’d better stop answering your questions now.”

“Are you going to hire a lawyer?” Detective Crunoll sounded disgusted, but his expression remained blank.

“Do you advise me to exercise my legal rights?” I asked, then made myself smile. “In case you can’t guess, I sometimes watch cop shows on TV. But this is all new to me. I assume you’re just starting your investigation, and since you haven’t read me my Fifth Amendment rights, I’ll just wait and see for now. But let me repeat this. I didn’t harm Myra, not in any way. And I hope that if it was in fact a murder you figure out who did it really fast. And—”

The front door to the shop burst open. Biscuit stood up and leaped toward it, barking.

Neal barged in. “Don’t say anything, Carrie. I’ve met some lawyers at the resort and we’ll hire one for you. No way can they arrest you for just fighting back when that bitch insulted you.”

I closed my eyes for a second, and when I opened them I just looked at the ceiling. I knew my brother was trying to help—but had he given these cops motivation to arrest me right now?

Never mind how Neal’s attitude had appeared when he stormed in and made an apparent attempt to protect me. He’d even disturbed poor Biscuit, who’d stood up and looked from my brother to me and back again as if trying to figure out whether there was something really wrong with her pack.

There was, but I didn’t want her worried about it. She was generally a sweet, calm little girl. Even though I’d had an urge to either yell back at my brother or run away, I didn’t want her to sense it and do something to incur the authorities’ wrath.

Now, it was ten minutes later. Neal had quieted down almost immediately and was currently smiling at the two cops who’d stood up and glared when he’d barged in. Biscuit was fine now too, lying at Neal’s feet.

The detectives had started asking Neal questions, as if they also considered him a person of interest—or did now, after his outburst. But at least they’d all sat down after Neal brought another chair over. I remained off to one side while the cops and Neal talked.

An interrogation? Of sorts, but it was reciprocal. The two of them answered as many of Neal’s questions as he responded to theirs. For the moment, I was out of it. I felt relieved yet antsy. I needed to open the shops soon.

While listening, I looked around the Barkery, seeing it from the cops’ perspective. It would be all new to them since neither had attended the party yesterday. Along with the muted aroma wafting in from the kitchen, there was now a good supply of today’s doggy treats in the glass display case. But I suspected that Bridget and Wayne didn’t notice them. Since Bridget’s pet was a cat, she probably wasn’t even interested in perusing the display.

No blood was on anything, of course. This place contained no clues to the murder they were investigating.

Blood? That was just an assumption, since Myra had apparently been murdered. But perhaps there wasn’t blood.

How had Myra been killed?

Maybe I’d find a way to ask. Maybe I’d find a way for
Neal
to ask. I wanted to hug him. After his initial onslaught, he’d been the most engaging and personable guy imaginable, just smiling and saying he didn’t know anything and neither did his sister. He hinted that we were each other’s alibis, since we’d slept in the same house, as usual, last night. But fortunately he wasn’t asked to vouch for me specifically, and neither was I asked to vouch for him.

But I knew what made Neal one heck of a good tourist guide. He was popular, and people loved the hikes he led along the local trails beneath the knobcone pines, his boating expeditions on Knobcone Lake, and the skiing outings he organized on the slopes in winter. He was sweet. He was personable. And somehow, he seemed to be winning over Bridget and Wayne. Yes, he was on a first-name basis with both of them.

“So you used to work for the Los Angeles Police Department?” he asked. “Both of you?” He leaned forward, grasping his hands between his knees as he looked from one to the other and back with his intense blue eyes, appearing the picture of earnestness. “It’s really great that you came to Knobcone Heights. I’d have thought that working for the San Bernardino County Sheriff’s Department would be the big thing around here.”

“In a way, yes,” said Bridget. The frown I’d noticed on her before had been replaced by a look I couldn’t quite read, except that it appeared mildly amused as well as somewhat predatory, as if she was just humoring this overly enthusiastic young man, waiting for the right time to leap in for the kill. “I got some good training in L.A. and could have stayed there, but I enjoy the San Bernardino Mountains. The Sheriff’s Department would have been a good choice, but I liked the people here, the location, and, honestly, the fact I could probably get promoted more quickly.”

I was a bit surprised she was being so forthright—or at least I was till she continued.

“So now I’m a detective with a lot of seniority. If I determine someone’s a prime suspect, a lot of people jump in to help me find all the evidence needed to arrest them.”

Why wasn’t I surprised when her gaze moved from my brother to me? My feeling that she was preparing herself for the kill was probably correct—but she’d aimed it at me, not Neal.

It was my turn to smile at the senior detective, although a lot more weakly than my brother had. “Gee, and I thought you came here because you wanted to try some of my baked goods, Bridget. In fact, I need to check on the scones my assistant put into the oven a little while ago. If they’re ready, I’ll bring some nice warm ones out to both of you.”

“I’ll go with you,” Wayne said in a hurry, after receiving a glance from Bridget. He stood at the same moment I did.

“You must really be hungry,” I said, trying to continue joking—because if I didn’t, I might cry.

“A bit,” he said. “But in case you were going to use the opportunity to run, don’t even think about it.”

He, too, had been trained by the LAPD. He hadn’t said why he’d chosen to work for the Knobcone Heights Police Department, but he probably had a similar response to Bridget’s—yet he was one of the people who jumped to do her bidding.

I looked into his face and clenched my fists, but only for a second. “I didn’t think about that till you mentioned it. And, no, I’m not about to leave my store just because you two are barking up the wrong tree.” I paused. “That’s a joke of sorts. You know that I sell doggy products here.”

He nodded. “I have a couple of dogs at home. They’re more my wife’s than mine—little guys, both dachshund mixes. She got them from a shelter.”

“That’s wonderful,” I said, entering the kitchen. “Mountaintop Rescue?”

“That’s right.”

Using thick oven mitts, I got the tray of scones out of the oven, then glanced at the clock on the wall. I needed to open the shops. I needed help.

As if they’d heard my thoughts, the kitchen was suddenly filled with both of my assistants. “What’s going on?” Dinah asked immediately, looking stricken. Her medium brown hair was already pulled back from her face, and she was clearly ready to begin work.

“I’ve brought the extra ingredients.” That was Judy, and she lifted the grocery bags she held in each hand, then put them on top of the long counter separating the two parts of the kitchen. “Aren’t we ready to open?” There was a frown on her long face and she appeared confused.

“I hope to, very soon,” I said. “But … Dinah, Judy, something terrible has happened and Detective Crunoll is here with Detective Morana, who’s in the Barkery with my brother right now. They had some questions for me.”

I half expected one or both of them to mention the murder, since it had already been in the news. But neither appeared to know what I was talking about. And of course I hadn’t mentioned it to Judy earlier.

“What’s happened?” Dinah asked.

“Myra Ethman—” I began, but Wayne interrupted.

“Ms. Ethman has passed away,” he said, looking at me warningly. “It was sudden, so we are looking into it.”

Both of my assistants looked shocked.

“Was she murdered?” Dinah asked.

“Why else would the cops be looking into it?” said Judy, her tone suggesting that she didn’t consider Dinah very bright. Dinah glared at her.

“That’s a premature assumption,” Wayne said. “And—”

I was afraid he was about to tell my staff why he was here investigating. They might figure it out anyway; they both knew I’d argued with Myra, for one thing. But it was my turn to interrupt him.

“I’m so glad you’re both here,” I said. “Please just check out the displays to make sure they look good for when customers arrive, okay? Start with Icing.”

“Sure, but—” Dinah began.

“Great. Now, Wayne, let’s go back to the others, okay?” I used napkins with Icing’s logo on them to pick out some scones, then headed toward the door back into the Barkery.

When we returned, Neal and Bridget were both standing. I handed the scones to our two unwelcome guests. I’d get one for my brother later.

“I’ve been asking Bridget about what we can do to help figure out what really happened,” my brother said. “To make it clear we’re both sorry but had nothing to do with it.”

Bridget’s face was unreadable, but she shot a glance toward Wayne, then nodded slightly, taking a small bite of scone without even thanking me for it.

Wayne kept his scone in the napkin and put it on a chair. Then he pulled a phone from his pocket. “We’re going to keep things as confidential as we can as long as we can,” he said. “But you know how the media is. They’re going to push till they learn how Ms. Ethman died.”

I gulped. Was he going to show us a picture of her body?

But no. Instead, the photo he pulled up turned out to be one of a dog leash.

“One that looked just like this was wrapped around her neck,” he said. “Do you happen to have one like it?”

It was beige, and made of woven mesh. I had a similar one for Biscuit—the one I kept at the Barkery, in fact—but it was black. And that kind of leash was very common anyway.

“I definitely don’t have a beige one like that,” I said firmly, “but I can’t swear that the black one I have for Biscuit isn’t similar, maybe even from the same manufacturer. And I think I’ve seen ones like it in the Ethmans’ pet store—the Knob Hill Pet Emporium.”

I glanced toward Neal, and he nodded. He’d been there too, to buy dog food for Biscuit. Biscuit currently sat on the floor at our feet, looking from one human to another.

“That’s quite possible,” Bridget said. “That leash is a fairly popular style, and we’re still checking out possible sources.”

“Is that what killed her?” I asked. Could she really have been strangled with a leash like that?

“It’s still under investigation, but the leash is believed to be a factor,” Bridget said. “And there’s something else.”