Thirteen

A crisp breeze was blowing as Biscuit and I left the shelter to head back to our stores. Good. The chill boosted my circulation, especially since I’d worn only a light jacket over my knit shirt.

Or maybe my inner warmth was due to thoughts of facing down those who cared about me but who’d tried, with the best of intentions, to tell me what to do. Reed and Neal, Les, and now even Billi had expressed concern about me. Reed had acknowledged that it was my decision, but he clearly wished he could order me to back off, sweet and caring guy that he was.

Of course, he couldn’t.

And now, after talking to Billi, I was very concerned that the adoption events we’d started might evaporate. Not to mention that her life was in danger of doing the same.

People who cared about me giving orders or not, I had reasons to get involved this time. Multiple reasons.

As we reached the sidewalk, I decided to take a brief detour, one I’d purposely avoided even thinking about on our walk here.

Exactly where had Wanda been killed?

I didn’t know which apartment Jack was living in, or which one Wanda had apparently moved into. I googled the news report on my phone, to see if the media had pinpointed the location of the murder scene. I found only general speculation, but it did appear to have occurred east of here, in the area I’d have guessed—not the most elite residential area, but a place where several apartment complexes blended with supermarkets, liquor stores, and general retail outlets where locals often bought supplies.

That area wasn’t on our way back to my shops, unfortunately, but I led Biscuit along Hill Street in that direction—passing the police station and City Hall across the street from us. My dog seemed fine about heading in a direction we rarely took on foot, sniffing lots of new spots and earning smiles from the few people who were walking around us. Traffic was fairly sparse this way, too.

The location wasn’t hard to spot. Police tape still blocked off the rear part of a parking lot near the closest apartment building. The rest of the parking lot held a lot of cars—and people seemed to get in and out of them slowly, observing that far side where someone had been killed.

I wondered what kinds of crime scene investigators were still around. And what they’d found—in addition to the poop scooper that the media claimed was the murder weapon.

The scoopers I’d seen being used at Mountaintop Rescue didn’t have points on them, so how was she stabbed? Had someone used the scooper like a bat, as in my dream? Had the killer modified the scooper to put a point on one or both of its crossed handles—the upper ends of them, farthest from the metal parts that actually did the scooping—specifically to use it as a murder weapon?

I hoped no one was watching me as I pulled gently on Biscuit’s leash, urging her to join me as I turned and walked away. I was smiling, but grimly—and not because I was happy to have observed a murder scene, even at this distance.

But I was happy that I was listening to my own mind and heart again—still—and considering how to satisfy my curiosity and hopefully help my friends in the process.

I stopped smiling when Biscuit and I passed Mountaintop Rescue again and reached the corner of Pacific Street. If we continued straight ahead, we would arrive at the veterinary clinic. My clinic, where Reed currently was at work—and he and I were to meet for dinner tonight.

I considered calling him right away as Biscuit and I turned down Pacific. If he was going to return to giving me a hard time about the choices I was making, even in a nice and caring way, I could call off our dinner date.

But that wasn’t the kind of conversation that should interrupt any veterinary exams, and I certainly didn’t want to leave a message.

No, I’d tell him first thing about my decision to investigate, and dare him to kick me out of his house.

I gave a quick nod, as if in commitment to that thought, as I waited for the traffic to pass, at the edge of the town square across the street from my shops. I was ready.

I was very busy for the rest of the day, since the shops were crowded. Locals seemed to love both stores. Plus, although Knobcone Heights wasn’t a huge tourist spot, it did attract a lot of visitors. Today, a tour bus had stopped on its way to nearby Big Bear, and the occupants had gotten out to stretch their legs—and visit the town’s upscale retail area.

Apparently a lot of the tourists had dogs at home, and apparently they felt guilty about leaving their canine kids behind, since they bought a lot of treats at the Barkery. They also must have thought they deserved some treats of their own, since they swept into Icing and left with nearly everything there. I sent Dinah and Frida scrambling into the kitchen to bake a few more things so we’d be able to end the day with enough if any other customers dropped in.

By our closing time of six o’clock, I was exhausted. And I was smiling.

I loved being an entrepreneur, especially since I was successful.

Plus, it was Friday, and I’d have a shift at the clinic as a vet tech tomorrow.

Life was good—as long as I didn’t think too much about the latest murder and how, after all, it was going to affect me.

I said goodbye and gave heartfelt thanks to my assistants, who’d worked till the day’s bitter end. No, sweet end, thanks to the Icing half of the stores. Leaving Biscuit in the Barkery for a few minutes, I slipped into my office in the back part of the kitchen to do a final quick tally for the day and close down my computer.

My phone rang and I pulled it from my pocket. It was Neal.

“Hi, Carrie,” he said. “I need to ask you a favor.”

Uh-oh. And this was before I’d had a chance to tell him my decision about snooping around Wanda’s murder. “What’s that?”

“Can you come to the resort for dinner? Les Ethman wants to talk to you again—although he asked me not to tell you that, but to tell you I really wanted you to come visit tonight. He’ll even pay for our dinner.”

“But he doesn’t want you to tell me that? Why not?”

“You’ll have to chat with him to find out.”

Hmmm. My curiosity wasn’t just humming now; it was on overdrive. Les had already given me his two cents worth about my looking into Wanda’s murder—more than once. What did he want now?

“The thing is,” I said, still sitting at my desk, staring at the dog biscuit that was the wallpaper for my computer, “I’m supposed to have dinner with Reed tonight to talk about—well, you can guess.”

“Yes, I can guess, and I can also guess that you’re—never mind. Tell you what. I’ll let Les know and tell him you’re only coming if I can arrange dinner for Reed, too. You’re supposed to think I’m paying, so the deal, before you get here, will be that we’ll all have to order frugally.”

“But as soon as I ‘realize’ that it’s Les who’s treating, I can eat anything I want.” It wasn’t a question, and I felt the smile that erupted on my face.

“You got it.”

“Then so do you. I’ll let Reed know what’s going on, although we’ll both be discreet for you.”

“I knew there was a reason I love you, sis.” Neal said that a lot, especially when the topic of how much rent he was—or wasn’t—paying came up.

“See you soon,” I said. After I hung up with him, I pressed the button on my phone to call Reed.

He answered right away, so I figured his shift had ended for the evening—as it should, since we were supposed to get together in half an hour.

“Hi, Carrie. Are you still coming to my place for dinner tonight?” he asked. “If so, I’m stopping someplace special to bring home our meal.”

“No,” I told him. “I’ve got to go to Knobcone Resort. Neal needs me there because Les Ethman wants to talk to me. But you’re invited for dinner, too. I assume you’ll come pick Biscuit and me up? And—well, we have other things to discuss, too.”

Something in my voice at that last comment might have suggested what it was I wanted to talk to him about. I figured we would have some kind of potentially heated discussion, whether in the car or at the resort or afterward, about my decision to snoop more into the murder—and despite Reed’s acknowledgment that I could do what I wanted.

“I have a feeling I need to stop in the bar to get fortified before we eat,” he said.

“Me, too,” I agreed.

 

I’d visited the Knobcone Heights Resort a lot since moving to town, especially after Neal joined me and landed a job there.

I wondered, as Biscuit and I waited on the sidewalk in front of my shops for Reed to pick us up, if I should start staying far away from the place. The times I seemed to visit most were when murders were committed.

“Hi, Carrie,” said a familiar voice. I turned and saw one of our most loyal customers, Cecelia—Cece—Young approaching from down the street. She was an older lady, a sixth grade teacher at our local elementary school, and a great fan of Icing on the Cake. “Is Icing still open?”

“Sorry,” I said. “Both shops are closed. I’m just waiting here for a ride.”

She looked disappointed. “Oh, I was hoping to bring home some scones.”

“Tell you what,” I said. “Come in to buy some when we open at seven tomorrow and I’ll give you a half dozen extra.”

“Really? That’ll be great! I wanted to bring some in to school for an early teachers’ meeting. Everyone will be thrilled.”

Me, too, I thought—as long as she told the group where the scones had come from.

As soon as she said goodbye I spotted Reed’s car slowing down in front of the shops. “Here we go,” I told Biscuit, and we piled into the passenger seat of his black luxury sedan.

Reed had on a gray shirt that complemented both the color of the car and his dark, wavy hair. He looked over at us, his smile not really looking happy. What was he thinking? Was he disappointed I wasn’t coming to his place?

But dinner at the resort didn’t mean I wouldn’t end up at his home for a nightcap later—assuming we were still speaking to one another at that point.

“Hope you don’t mind that I didn’t open your door like a gentleman, Carrie,” he said, “but I didn’t want it to look like I was parking here at this hour. I saw a couple of cop cars prowling around, maybe staking out your shops. Do they know they have to compete with you in solving that murder?”

“No,” I said, startled. “And how do you know that?”

He started the car again, his smile looking more real. “I’ve come to know you, Carrie. I also figured, since you wanted to talk tonight even before we’d decided to go to the resort, that you’re going to lay the reality in front of me that you’re going to do whatever you damn well please, even though I’ve kind of already agreed. Right?”

My laugh was more of a snort. “You could phrase it differently. And maybe I won’t tell you anything. The Joes told me not to talk to anyone unless I want to. Maybe I’ll just clam up altogether rather than talk to you about the murder, or whether I give a damn about it, or whether I intend to try to figure it out.”

“Which you are, aren’t you?” His tone was neutral, but I knew that this man—who in some situations was my boss, in other situations my friend, and more—still had his own opinion about what I should or shouldn’t do, and believed his way was in my best interests.

“If I tell you no, you won’t believe me. And if I tell you yes, you’ll be unhappy that I’m not obeying your orders.”

“Phrasing it that way tells me a lot, too. I never gave you orders, just requests. And expressions of concern.”

We had just pulled up to the gate to the resort’s parking lot. I hadn’t asked Neal if he was validating our parking ticket again—or if Les was paying for that, too. I vowed to try to ensure that we paid little, if anything.

First, though, as Reed pulled in and found an empty spot, I tried to finalize that conversation, for now, at least. “I’ve heard what you said, Reed, and I always appreciate your concern for me. A lot. And it’s not like I’m going out and seeking out murders because of the fun I have trying to solve the crimes. But as odd as it is—”

“Murders are seeking you out. And yes, it is odd. But just remember I’m here for you and have your back—as long as I know what you’re doing and where you’re doing it. Just be careful, Carrie.” With that, he turned off the engine and looked at me for a long moment before he leaned toward me.

Our kiss lasted a nice, hot, sexy while before I reluctantly backed away.

“I’ve got to find Neal and have him make sure Les ‘accidentally’ runs into us,” I said.