Bite the Biscuit (A Barkery & Biscuits Mystery) (25 page)

And as far as seeing Jack again?

Well, one of the good things going on now was that Reed and I were getting along just fine whenever I saw him at the veterinary hospital. Sometimes I helped him out with a patient or two and sometimes I worked only with Arvie or another of the vets, but I’d always get to see Reed long enough to say hi. Usually a very warm hi.

And he asked me out for dinner again next weekend.

Then there was Neal. He’d been pleased with his brief, almost spontaneous outing the other night, but additional scheduled boating or hiking expeditions were sparse. When I asked him about it, he expressed both frustration and hope. But at least I got to see my brother most evenings when he got off work, and he filled me in on how things had gone that day—and what he’d overheard about the investigation into Myra’s death, since her relatives weren’t shy about discussing the enigma.

He knew that my suspicions mostly rested on Harris or Elise. He didn’t disagree—but neither did he come home with any clue or conversation that I could take to the detectives to get them on the right track, and away from me.

At least for now, they weren’t hounding me.

But I wasn’t surprised when that changed.

It started with a report on the local evening news.

Maybe it was because the media themselves were pressing for answers. Maybe the Ethmans were pushing for an arrest—possibly because it looked good to be a squeaky wheel, even if one of them was the guilty party. Or more than one of them.

Whatever it was, I sat up straight on my living room couch when I saw Myra’s picture pop up at the top of the eleven o’clock news that Monday night.

Had they solved her murder? Arrested a suspect?

Was it all over, at least from my perspective?

Unfortunately, no.

And whoever had instigated it, the message was clear.

The anchor for the late-night news stared solemnly into the camera and intoned, “More than two weeks have passed since the murder of Knobcone Heights resident Myra Ethman, and the authorities have not yet come forth with an arrest in the case.”

This obvious statement was followed by an interview with the town’s police chief, Loretta Jonas—whom I hadn’t yet met. I suspected that was a good thing, although perhaps she was more reasonable than the detectives reporting to her.

It must have been a slow news night for the station to focus on a case that was growing cold—or maybe, as I’d been suspecting, an Ethman had pushed for more answers. The Knobcone Heights Resort was advertised often on the station, so maybe the powers-that-be there felt they owed it to whoever held those purse strings to keep the story in front of the public until it was resolved.

But I was just guessing—as much as I was guessing about who was guilty.

And was this going to be enough of a thorn in the police chief’s side that she’d push her detectives to start getting even more in-your-face with their suspects again? Or maybe just their top suspects—and as far as I knew, I was still among them.

Maybe the topmost one.

I was, unfortunately, right about that.

The next day, Tuesday, started off like all the others: an early morning Biscuit walk, then baking for both shops, an assistant’s arrival—Dinah today—followed by her break late morning and waiting on customers who seemed to arrive in both shops at the same time. My own “break” that afternoon consisted of a shift at the vet clinic. All the same as ever. All just fine. Although I kept watch for a detective to pop in at the shops, neither of them did.

Until they both did, after Dinah had gone home for the day.

I was just about to close up. I’d finished waiting on my last customers in Icing, so I started there. But I moved too slowly. Just as I started toward the door, key in hand to lock it, it opened.

Detective Bridget Morana strode in, followed by Detective Wayne Crunoll.

Both wore dark suits with white shirts. Both had serious expressions on their faces—there was no indication that they’d come here to buy treats for Wayne’s dogs, or anything else that would give me reason for hope this was just another simple harassment call.

“Hello, Ms. Kennersly.” Bridget … er, Detective Morana, clearly did not intend for us to be on a first-name basis that day. That also boded badly for what was to come.

“Hello, Detectives.” I tried to keep my tone light. “I’m just closing up for the day. But I do have some leftovers here in Icing. Would either of you like a sugar cookie?”

“No, thank you,” said the lady detective in charge. I glanced toward her male counterpart and he just watched me, not even deigning to respond.

“I assume you’d like to talk,” I said. “Is it okay if we go next door so I can be with Biscuit?”

“Fine,” Detective Morana said, and as if he had been given a direct order, Detective Crunoll joined me as I locked Icing’s front door, then proceeded into the Barkery. Although Biscuit stood up in her crate, I just smiled at her—somewhat grimly, I knew—and went to lock that shop’s door too.

While I did that, Detective Crunoll, who was trying to remain near me, gathered three chairs.

They waited for me to let Biscuit loose so she could stay close to me. I sat down as they joined me. My knees were suddenly so weak that I might as well have melted into my seat. Instead, I let myself bend over just far enough to give Biscuit’s furry head a gentle rub, wishing I could throw myself onto the floor and hug her. Instead, I just straightened up.

I considered asking breezily what had brought them here—the TV news or something more significant—but decided to let them start the conversation however they chose to.

I didn’t have long to wait.

“We have some additional questions for you, Ms. Kennersly.” Bridget Morana had an expression on her face that, like others I’d seen on her, I couldn’t read. If I’d hazarded a guess, I would have said it looked smug. Why? Did she think she had some evidence that would allow her to arrest and possibly convict me? Her bushy eyebrows were raised a little. Her mouth curved up just a bit in a not-quite smile.

I wondered if it was now time to find myself a lawyer.

“All right,” I said slowly, not really meaning that it was at all okay with me.

“How often have you shopped at the Knob Hill Pet Emporium?”

That seemed an innocuous enough question. I hoped. “I used to go there every couple of weeks, but once I purchased Icing on the Cake and started turning half of the building into my Barkery, I stopped going there. The Ethmans weren’t especially welcoming to me once they believed they would have competition—even though I explained to them that what I was doing wouldn’t really compete with them.”

“Right. Well, what kinds of things did you buy there?” That was still the lady detective. Her expression hadn’t changed, so I assumed I hadn’t said anything she hadn’t expected.

Detective Crunoll appeared to be paying less attention. His gaze wandered around the shop.

What was he looking for?

“Sometimes food for Biscuit,” I said, responding to the pending question. At her name, my little golden dog looked up from where she lay by my feet and started wagging her tail. “Occasionally a toy for her. That kind of thing.”

“And how long ago did you last buy a leash there?” Bridget’s expression had finally changed. It now appeared like a
gotcha
look. And now I understood where she was going with this.

She wanted me to admit that I’d bought the kind of leash—the very leash—that had been used to strangle Myra as she was being killed.

Which I hadn’t, of course. But if I denied buying even a similar one, I felt sure she would believe that was a lie. Maybe she even thought she’d be able to prove it—which she couldn’t. Not actually.

I decided to try to respond, but again wondered if it was lawyer time. I’d be careful. I figured these two must be recording this conversation. If so, were they supposed to warn me? It didn’t really matter since I’d assume it anyway.

“I’m not sure whether I ever bought a leash there,” I began. “If so, I don’t recall it. And if what you’re asking is if I bought the one used to choke Myra Ethman, the answer to that is a definite no. I use this kind.” I pointed to the black one I used to anchor Biscuit to the wall in the Barkery. “I also have a shorter one at home that I sometimes use to take her on walks, a flat, woven nylon thing. A blue one. From what you showed me, it was a beige, ropelike mesh leash that was used on Myra. I don’t have one of those. And this one and the one at home I bought from a major retail chain some time ago, the store on the road to Lake Arrowhead.”

“Do you have the receipts?”

I shook my head. “I doubt it. As I said, it was quite a while ago.”

“Then what would you say if I told you that Harris Ethman has a duplicate receipt from when you bought the identical kind and color of leash that was used for ligature strangulation of his wife, rendering her unconscious?”

TWENTY
-
THREE

I
SWALLOWED.
H
ARD.
L
AWYER
time had finally arrived. Probably. But first I looked into Wayne’s eyes, which had turned hard and accusatory. Then I returned my gaze to Bridget. Her expression hadn’t changed, except perhaps to grow even more smug.

Why? Had Harris manufactured some kind of old receipt? If he had anything, it wasn’t real.

But maybe these detectives didn’t care about the truth, as long as they had a potential suspect in their sights.

“What I would say is that he’s lying,” I told them as coolly as I could muster. “And that his accusation should make you want to arrest him, since he’s trying hard to point fingers at someone else. He clearly had access to that kind of leash if it’s sold at his store. He had more motive and opportunity to kill his wife than I did, and since she was hit on the head while unconscious—right?—it had to be someone strong as well as angry. And of course he’d want to turn your attention elsewhere—like to me.”

“We considered all of that, Ms. Kennersly. It’s why we’re not placing you under arrest just yet. There are a few other things we’re looking into first. But we wanted your answer, and your reaction. Now we have both.” She rose, and so did Wayne, at the same time, as if her words had been his cue. “We’ll see you again soon.” Within seconds, they were waiting at the door for me to let them out.

I did so gladly. As I shut it behind them, I rested my forehead against it while slowing my breathing to something resembling normalcy.

What was I going to do now?

The first item on my agenda now was clear—but how would I find a lawyer? Neal knew of some, but would any be the right one? My mind searched frantically for any attorneys who’d brought their pets to the clinic. I knew of a couple, but one was a big shot with his own firm who I believed worked for the Ethmans. Definitely not him. And the other worked for the area’s largest real estate company, if I recalled correctly.

I needed someone who dealt with criminal stuff, even though I wasn’t a criminal. At least not yet.

I could do a search online, but I didn’t want to pick out just anyone.

Then it dawned on me. Billi Matlock might be able to help. Not that she’d ever needed a criminal lawyer. Or at least I didn’t think so. But since she was on City Council, and because she was a Matlock, she probably had some contacts she trusted who might be able to make a good suggestion or two.

I went through the kitchen and into the office, where I kept my purse. I pulled out my phone and called Billi.

Maybe Cuppa-Joe’s hadn’t been the wisest choice for where to meet this time, since I didn’t want anyone eavesdropping or knowing what I was asking. But it was convenient, I was able to bring Biscuit, and I felt comfortable there.

I had already told Billi a bit of what I needed to pick her brain about. I’d also requested that she be discreet, both now and later.

We sat on the central patio again today, a table away from where we’d been a week ago when we’d also briefly discussed my being a murder suspect and how I was bound to turn that around soon.

Now, I absolutely had to.

We’d already ordered our drinks—same as last time, both filled with caffeine. And now we waited.

I leaned over the table toward Billi. Since her work day was over, instead of workout clothes she wore a lovely knit shirt in a floral print over deep green slacks. She had again left her dogs at her spa.

“I had some visitors a little while ago,” I said to her.

“I figured that from what you said. Those detectives again?”

I nodded and briefly told her their claims about the leash. “I buy things for Biscuit a lot, and from different places, but I really don’t believe I bought a leash for her from the Ethmans’ shop. And even if I had bought one of the exact same type a few weeks ago—which I didn’t, particularly since I knew I was persona non grata there—I absolutely didn’t use it to strangle Myra. Shouldn’t they be looking for a man, anyway? I’m reasonably strong, but I don’t think I could strangle someone to unconsciousness with a leash. And killing them by striking them with a rock? Ugh.”

“If you took the person by surprise you probably could knock them out, and anger, or determination, can give people a lot of extra strength.” Billi regarded me assessingly. “But I believe you, Carrie. And I figured from what you said when you called—”

Kit arrived then with our drinks. It was a welcome break from our intense conversation, yet I needed to continue talking to Billi, so I thanked our server and smiled—waiting for her to leave. I think she sensed it, since she gave me a slightly hurt look instead of her usual toothy smile and moved away quickly.

I’d have to be particularly generous with my tip when we got ready to go. But that wouldn’t be for a while.

“Anyway,” Billi said, leaning over the table toward me, “I gather you’re looking for a lawyer.”

I nodded, then glanced around to see if anyone appeared to be eavesdropping. Fortunately not.

“I have contact info for a guy some members of my family have used. He does all kinds of courtroom work, including criminal.” She pulled a business card out of her large brown leather purse and handed it to me.