To Catch a Treat (11 page)

“Well, I'll invite you both again soon,” Garvy said in a tone that suggested he felt sure we'd want him to. He then hurried ahead of us through the police station's busy, citizen-filled reception area.

“Thanks,” Billi said, her tone more ironic than genuine.

We followed him out the door, and I no longer saw him as the crowd swallowed him. Billi and I walked together for a short distance until we were on the opposite side of Hill Street from Mountaintop Rescue, joking a bit about our opinions on whether Chief Loretta or her minions would actually look into the dog situation.

“Oh, I think she will,” Billi said. “It'd be an interesting thing to bring up at a Council meeting if she didn't. Not that anyone's likely to do anything about it other than ask her.”

“Well, thanks at least for that,” I said. “And thanks for getting me the audience with Her Highness so quickly.” We both laughed. “Anyway, I'll bring some of our leftover treats for your charges to enjoy soon. And let's get together for coffee at Cuppa's again soon.”

“Of course. And then we can talk about your brother's love life—and yours, too. How's Reed doing?”

I felt a flush rise up my face. “He's fine. I think.” I paused. “I'd better find someone interesting to introduce you to. It's not enough to be a member of one of the town's most elite families. You need to expand your empire.”

“And who says I'm not?” she asked cryptically, then dashed across the street.

sixteen

I hadn't wanted that
invitation from Garvy Grant. But the next afternoon, he nevertheless appeared in Icing.

The morning had been fairly uneventful. Frida had been the earliest of my assistants to arrive, and she had happily settled into the kitchen preparing dog treats, even though she specialized in creating human dishes at home. When she was done baking some new pupcakes for us, she took over the people baked goods that I'd been working on.

Now the glass-fronted display case in Icing was filled with our usual delicious products with Frida's extra touch. She was an artist with icing—the actual sweet topping, not just the store—and so a lot of our cookies and cupcakes, including our special red velvet ones, were adorned with tiny sweet roses and other floral touches and even some really cute and unique smiley faces. I couldn't help smiling back at them.

Frida hadn't brought her dog Zorro in for a while, but she knew he was always welcome in the Barkery.

As usual, I'd been moving back and forth between my shops. That way I could also admire the dog treats in the Barkery. They looked the same as always today—scrumptious, for canines.

It was Saturday, so Dinah was here, too. At the moment she was staffing the Barkery. If all went as currently planned, she would have the next two days off. Janelle had been in for a while this morning but now Go and she were out for lunch.

So, for now, Frida and I were the ones helping human customers in Icing, and there were a lot of them, which was a good thing. I was ringing up a customer's large order of our cupcakes and sugar cookies for a kids' party that afternoon when the bell on Icing's door rang.

As always, I glanced up, prepared to smile at whoever was entering to assure them that they were noticed and would be waited on as soon as possible.

My smile this time was a bit forced, though, when the person who entered was Garvy. His grin didn't look at all false, though.

He still looked all professional-real-estate-guy in his dark trousers. Was he here to try to convince me to sell my shops and let him be the agent for the sale?

He might as well leave right away.

More likely, though, he was here to buy some of Icing's products. He'd told me before that he'd do so, before he'd so oddly disappeared.

Since I was the one currently helping a customer, Frida hurried toward our newcomer, her hands out slightly in welcome and a smile on her attractive face. Her medium brown hair was pulled back into its usual ponytail, which added to the appearance of roundness of her cheeks. “Would you like some of our special baked goods today, sir?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” I heard him reply, but then the customer I was waiting on asked for a dozen more of our chocolate chip cookies, so I had to concentrate once more on what I was doing.

That was the last of my customer's order, though, so after I'd packed up her treats and rung them up on the register on the counter, I glanced around as she walked out the door and set off its bell again.

I saw Frida right away, gesturing for a customer to join her in front of the glass case. The customer wasn't Garvy this time. He stood near the closed door that led into the Barkery. And his gaze was on me.

Since there weren't any other customers in Icing, I had to approach him.

“Hi, Carrie,” he said effusively, brows raised so high in greeting they nearly pointed at his forehead. “It's nice to get a good look at this place. Can you give me a tour of both shops?”

As I recalled, he'd said he'd lost his dog recently, but he might have friends with pets that he could buy Barkery treats for. Or maybe he could help ease his sorrow by eating human sweets himself.

“Sure.” I attempted to sound a lot more enthused than I felt. “This, of course, is Icing on the Cake.” I waved my hand around, gesturing toward the small tables at the front and then toward the display case.

“Lovely,” he
said. “I'll want to try some stuff from here. But I'd like to see your other shop first, before I pick anything out. Okay?”

“Sure,” I said again, wondering if I should ask about how he was doing after the loss of his dog. Instead, I decided to approach it differently. “You can go right through this door. My dog Biscuit stays in the Barkery pretty much all the time when I'm working. She's got her own area and an open-topped crate. And she's probably not the only dog there.” I paused as he reached for the door knob. “I hope it won't be too
hard on you to go in there. I mean, after … ” I let my voice trail off. I figured he'd interpret my silence the way I wanted him to.

“Thanks,” he said solemnly, and so softly I had to strain to hear him. Maybe that was also because he'd gotten the door open and some dogs in the Barkery were woofing at each other. I recognized Biscuit's voice, and Go's louder one, so I knew that Janelle had returned from lunch. There were also some yappier ones I didn't know offhand.

I followed Garvy inside and closed the door behind me. There were two Yorkie mixes near the area where Biscuit was confined and Go was leashed. A person I assumed was owned by the small yappers stood between them, scolding them fruitlessly. They continued to talk.

I glanced at Janelle, who stood behind the counter with Dinah, and nodded. She interpreted it correctly and reached into the back of the glass case to extract a couple of small biscuits.

She moved around to join us on the tile floor, handing the biscuits to the Yorkie-mom, who turned to look at her gratefully. Sure enough, the treats were enough of a distraction to silence the little dogs, at least for now.

“Thank you so much,” their owner said. She looked down at her babies and smiled. “Whatever those are, I want a bunch of them. They love them!”

“Absolutely,” Janelle said. “They've got apples and carrots in them. We've got some other great stuff, too. Come on over here and we'll figure out what you want.”

Dinah had just rung a purchase up at the cash register but didn't join us since there was a short line near the counter. That left me to continue to entertain my buddy Garvy on my own.

Well, not entirely on my own. He walked over to where Go and Biscuit remained by themselves, now that the Yorkie-mom had picked up her little ones. “They're beautiful,” he said. “Of course I met them before, but I just love dogs.”

Which made me feel even worse for him. I found it hard to dislike dog lovers. And this particular one had recently lost his best friend.

“Me too,” I said quietly. I considered asking him if he was thinking about getting another dog—not as a replacement, of course, but as a new friend. Instead, I just asked gently, “What kind of dog was the one you lost?”

Garvy had been kneeling to pet Go, who sat quietly on the tile floor. Now he rose. “A bulldog. They're such wonderful creatures. I—I'm considering getting another one.” His narrow lips curved into a sad grimace. “Maybe. I'd have to find one who bonds with me, of course. Just because they're the same breed doesn't always mean they're the right dog for you, you know.”

“Yes,” I said, “I do know. You can tell fairly quickly, though, if a dog can become your new family member. That's what happened with Biscuit and me.”

“And with Winston and me,” Garvy said. “That was my dog's name.”

“Appropriate for an English bulldog,” I said, smiling sadly.

Now that I no longer had the sense that Garvy was attempting to come on to me, I liked him better. Felt sorry for him. Even wanted to help him.

“I thought so,” he responded. He cocked his head slightly. “I haven't been to the shelter here, but do you happen to know if they have any bulldogs available?”

“They don't,” I said, “unless one has come in during the last day or two since I was there.”

“I don't suppose you've seen any other bulldogs around, have you?”

“There are a couple I see occasionally at the vet clinic or shop, but if you mean am I aware of any available for adoption, the answer, unfortunately, is no.” Of course, I still had no idea about why those dogs in the yard in Blue Jay were there—whether they'd been stolen, whether they'd be confiscated once the authorities checked into them, or whether, somewhere on that property, was the English bulldog that Tim had brought into the clinic. But there was no reason to mention my speculations.

“I'll be in town for a while,” Garvy said. “I like this area, and it's a good place to get away from home so I don't think as much about Winston.”

I thought about how Janelle had come here supposedly for a similar reason—because of losing her dog.

But Winston hadn't been stolen, or at least that wasn't what Garvy said. The poor thing had passed on.

“The thing is,” Garvy continued, “as much as I miss Winston, I'm thinking that the best way not only to get over his death but to honor him is to get another dog as soon as possible. And I loved him so much that I definitely want to get another bulldog.”

“Even though I know of some people around here who own bulldogs, I'm not aware of any breeders,” I told him. “You might want to check with Mountaintop Rescue to find out if they can tell you about other shelters that might have one. Or you could look online. There are some sites where available dogs are featured by type and location.”

“Yes, I'm aware of those. And I will be checking around. You can be certain of it. But you'll be sure to let me know if you see any bulldogs that are potentially strays, or up for adoption?”

I realized then that not only was I standing near Garvy, but he'd inched up toward me—and though we had a nice crowd of customers at the Barkery, that wasn't the reason for it. We weren't very near the others, but Garvy was too close to me.

Once again I felt uncomfortable with the guy.

Very obviously, I checked my watch. “Unfortunately”—not—“my shift at the vet clinic is going to start soon, so Biscuit and I will have to go. But I hope you'll go back to Icing and pick out some treats for yourself.” I didn't offer him any freebies, though. I didn't especially want him to come back.

“I definitely will. Thanks. And thanks for listening to me. It helps to talk to a fellow dog-lover while I'm trying to deal with my loss of Winston. Really. And I appreciate that you'll let me know if you see any bulldogs that might be available. Right?”

He was really harping on that. The way he was pushing bothered me.

“Thanks for stopping by,” I said anyway.

And as sorry as I feel for you about Winston, I hope you don't stop by here again
, I thought.

seventeen

My mind remained somewhat
on bulldogs, so when Biscuit and I reached the clinic, I glanced around the doggy daycare area just in case any visitors happened to be that breed or a mix that had some resemblance to bulldogs. None were there. Even if there had been one, its visit to this center would indicate to me a caring owner, not someone who wanted to give their dog up.

And with my mixed feelings about Garvy Grant, did I really want to help him find a new pup? I'd worry about that new family member of his and how Garvy might treat it.

Not that I'd any indication he would do anything but love a new dog. But the guy somehow rubbed me the wrong way with his pushiness on so many levels.

“What's going on, Carrie? Are you okay?”

Arvie's voice startled me. I had just begun walking down the clinic's well-lit main hall toward the locker room to change clothes, but I'd barely noticed where I was, my mind still hovering around bulldogs.

Our chief vet had just exited one of the examination rooms. He wore his white medical outfit with a stethoscope around his neck and black athletic shoes. I wanted to hug him for the concern written all over his face.

“I'm fine,” I told him. “But I'm thinking about a conversation I just had with a guy who recently lost his dog. He's considering adopting another, so my mind keeps circling the possibilities.” I looked into Arvie's eyes, which were narrowed in concern, and decided it wouldn't hurt to ask. “I don't suppose you know of anyone with an English bulldog available to a new home, do you?” In other words,
Is that guy Tim the person I'm concerned he is, and has he brought that injured bulldog back here for any reason?

“I'm not aware of any, but I'll let you know if I hear of one,” Arvie said. His expression now appeared more bemused than concerned, and I gave a brief laugh.

“Thanks.” I hugged him. “It's a long story, and I'll tell you about it when we get some time together.”

“It's about your brother and his new girlfriend and her dog, I'll bet. Or is it about that woman who was murdered near the resort?”

“You've always been one of the most perceptive people I've ever met,” I told him, stepping back. “It's about all of that.”

The expression he leveled on me now seemed both caring and dismayed. “You're going to try to solve
this
murder, too? Last time I understood why, since you were being ragged on as a suspect. But this time—”

“This time,” I broke in, “they're looking at Janelle, and you're right, Neal is interested in her. And I like her. She's a dog person and is working for me now. Can I swear she's innocent? No. Not yet, at least. But there are a few people I think the authorities should be looking at more closely than her.”

“And that has something to do with a bulldog?”

“In a way,” I said. “And—do you remember that guy who was here the other day with two injured dogs who'd been fighting with one another? One of them was a bulldog.”

Arvie nodded. “He's one of your suspects?”

“Could be. In any case, I'm concerned about how he treats those dogs and others.” Like,
Does he dognap them and hold them for ransom or resell them? And had Ada been his accomplice or enemy in it?

But that would be TMI—too much information—to bombard Arvie with here and now, especially since Yolanda had just poked her head into the hallway. “Oh, there you are, Arvie,” she said. “Are you ready to examine this cat?”

“Be right there,” he told her, his eyes not leaving me. He lowered his voice. “I don't have to tell you to be careful, do I?”

“Nope. I can figure that out on my own.”

“I hope so. I'd rather that you figure out to stay away from it, but I know better. So … keep me informed.”

He turned and strode down the hall toward Yolanda, who was watching me expressionlessly—which let me know she was peeved.

My first assignment of the day involved working with Reed to help him examine a pit bull with stomach issues who lay on one of the metal tables in another examination room. Yes, I'm strong enough to hold one, and this girl was one of the sweetest dogs, clearly not intending to bite anyone helping her, no matter how much it hurt.

When we were finished, the owner, a young woman in tank top and shorts who looked physically fit enough to handle any kind of dog, gushed, “Thank you so much,” and hugged her pitty. “She'll be okay now?”

“Keep her on the meds we'll send home with you and limit her diet for the next few days, as on our instruction sheet,” Reed said. “And we'll want to see her again next week. But, yes, she should be fine.”

The woman next hugged Reed—it was probably inappropriate, but I understood it, and not just because I was dating this good-looking, nice guy. He was one really excellent veterinarian, and the kind of attention and feedback he'd given her was worth a lot more than a hug. Of course, she would pay for services rendered on her way out.

When she and her dog were gone, I was alone with Reed till the next patient was sent in. We'd talked by phone since the night of the hike, and of course I was glad to see him now.

“You seem a little preoccupied,” he said. “What's new in the Janelle situation?” The guy was beginning to know me well.

“Not much, but on an unrelated topic—most likely—I did ask Arvie to let me know if he hears about any adoptable bulldogs.”

Just then, one of our other techs opened the outer door to the room and a guy with a small cat crate entered. I knew it was a cat crate because I heard an effusive meow.

“There's a lot to tell you,” I told Reed hurriedly. “Talk later.”

It seemed I never got even a few minutes of alone time with Reed when I was at the clinic, but we could always call each other later. I retrieved Biscuit from daycare and we set off to walk back to my shops.

A slight rain misted over us, so for part of the way I used an umbrella I'd had in my locker. Biscuit didn't seem to care and in fact appeared quite happy sniffing things along our walk. Maybe the rain enhanced the smells.

We passed the end of the town square and Summit Avenue. Soon we were at the door to the Barkery.

I didn't see any customers when I opened the door for Biscuit to enter. That wasn't a good thing. Dinah was on duty, and I saw Go attached to the crate at the side of the room. “Hi,” I said. “All okay?”

“All's fine. Janelle's over at Icing, in case you were wondering.”

I was, but not a lot. I'd jumped to that correct conclusion already.

“That's fine.” I went behind the counter and rested my closed umbrella against the wall near the door to the kitchen. Then I grabbed a couple of paper towels from a shelf behind the display case to go wipe Biscuit's damp feet. As I did so I looked again at Dinah, who was at the front of the case apparently counting what was left. When she paused for a moment, I asked her, “Were we busy while I was gone?”

“Yes. This is the first lull.”

It wasn't a long one, since by the time I'd secured Biscuit into her comfy enclosure and tossed away the paper towel, the bell on the door rang and a family with two kids and two spaniels walked in.

“I'll take care of them,” Dinah assured me quickly. “I think you'll enjoy seeing what's going on next door.”

She didn't tell me what that meant, and since she immediately started helping our newcomers, I didn't ask.

I approached Icing by way of the kitchen, though, since I wanted to give my hands a thorough washing after wiping off dirty doggy paws. First I put my purse and umbrella in my office. When my hands were clean, I entered Icing by way of its door into the kitchen.

Unsurprisingly, Janelle was there, and so was Frida. No one else was, which made me wonder whether this shop also was just having a momentary lull or a bad business day. But before I could ask Janelle, whose back was to me as she stood on the tile floor facing the store's front, she turned. Her official-looking professional camera was in her hand.

“She's so great!” Frida exclaimed, coming from the far side of the glass case. She clapped and moved her head so her ponytail waved from side to side. “Janelle has been taking pictures of the cookies and cupcakes and everything that I decorated this morning and posting them on the Internet, with lots and lots of plugs for Icing on the Cake. And in case you're worried, she took a few shots of Barkery treats before, too, and posted them. She's amazing!”

Janelle's smile looked almost shy. “It's what I do—besides helping out here, of course.”

“Of course. But it's obviously a good idea for bake shops to have assistants who decorate and photograph the products. Thank you both.”

A middle-aged couple entered Icing then, and Frida hurried to help them. I approached Janelle.

“So, everything else okay?” I asked her. I didn't want to be specific, but after my own experience I was wondering if my buddies the detectives had taken up hounding her in hopes she would blurt out a confession at last.

“Yes, thank heavens.” She sounded relieved. She apparently understood what I hadn't specifically said, since she added, “Maybe I said something helpful to make them look elsewhere.”

I certainly hoped so, for her sake. And mine, so I could continue to employ this helpful assistant and wouldn't have to try to make things better for Neal as he worried about her.

My phone rang then. I felt fairly certain I knew who it was.

I was right. “Hi, Reed.” I moved away from Janelle and the display case toward the far side of Icing, away from where everyone was now hanging out.

“Hi. Would Biscuit and you like to come to my place for dinner tonight? It's too wet outside to grill anything but I'll cook some spaghetti and meatballs.”

“Sounds great. What time?” It was almost six o'clock now. I'd be
closing the shops soon.

“Make it seven. And I hope Biscuit and you will hang around for a while.”

I got the message. His house, so we wouldn't have to worry about Neal coming home. We could stay there for a while with the dogs.

I had a feeling that tonight would be fun. And memorable.

It started out even more memorable than I'd anticipated, but for far different reasons.

After saying good night to all my assistants, I locked the doors and put everything financial away in my office, which I locked, too.

Then it was time for Biscuit and me to leave.

I walked my little girl first, across Summit Avenue and onto the paved paths of the town square. The cloudy sky and thick humidity threatened more rain, but at the moment no precipitation was falling. That was good, since Biscuit and I took our time as she did what she needed to. Then we crossed the street again and went around to the back of the stores where I'd parked my aging white Toyota sedan. Anticipating rain, I'd thrown a rag towel on the floor of the backseat that morning, and I used it now to wipe Biscuit's paws.

Then I harnessed her in and got behind the steering wheel to drive to Reed's.

There wasn't much traffic that evening. There seldom was in Knobcone Heights unless there was some event going on, like a holiday celebration. The threat of more rain had probably kept people off the roads, too.

Reed's house, like my house, was south of the main downtown area, not in the various mountainous areas where some of the town's elite lived. On the other hand, his place was in a different set of hills, in quite a nice area—more upscale than mine but not the highest caliber.

I'd found this out over the last few months, on other occasions when I'd gone to his home for dinner before returning to my place. And even though our relationship was heating up a bit, I still wasn't considering staying all night at his place—at least not yet, since even if Neal suspected that my relationship with Reed was becoming warmer, I wasn't ready to confirm it to him. Not yet, though maybe soon, depending on how things continued to develop.

It took me less than ten minutes to drive to Reed's usually, so I took my time.

But as I prepared to pull out onto Summit Avenue, a silver SUV drove by. At first I hardly paid attention to it—until I noticed the driver.

It was Tim Smith. And I thought I saw some movement in the backseat. A person? Or a dog or two? He'd gone past too fast for me to be sure.

Well, so what? Tim lived around here. For all I knew, perhaps he had a job unrelated to canines.

I didn't know if the house where I'd seen the dogs was actually his, or if he was those dogs' owner or caretaker or had any relationship to them at all.

I didn't know if he wasn't, either.

I figured Reed's spaghetti could be reheated if I didn't get to his place immediately. Instead of turning right, as I should have, I waited until another car passed by, then turned left.

I fortunately still saw the SUV in front of me, but by a couple of blocks now. I had to go a little faster to catch up.

It was interesting to me that the direction Tim was going would lead to the best route to Blue Jay. Was that where he was heading?

And why was I so obsessed with finding out? With finding him?

Because he'd known Ada? Because they might have been conspirators in dognapping?

Because he might have murdered her?

That was all complete speculation on my part. Even if Tim had more than the two dogs he'd brought to our clinic, that didn't mean he'd stolen them—or conspired with Ada to do so if she, in fact, had been the thief Janelle suspected.

Plus, even if he had, that didn't mean he'd killed her.

All this kept circulating through my mind, even as I continued to follow him.

He did turn onto the route that would take him to Blue Jay.

But I didn't get through the traffic light fast enough. I lost him. When the light changed, I didn't see him ahead of me, nor on any of the roads that led from the one I was on.