Bite the Biscuit (A Barkery & Biscuits Mystery)

by Linda O. Johnston

When I’d first met Dinah, I’d thought her awfully young for the job of full-time bakery assistant. She looked as though she must still be in high school, with her huge blue eyes, slightly acned skin, and a body that appeared to bear some baby fat. Turned out I was wrong. She had even finished college, gotten her degree in English, and considered herself a writer in her spare time. For now, she said, she was not only studying baking while working with Brenda, but was using Knobcone Heights as a research venue while she studied people.

  I liked her. I also liked Judy.

  What I didn’t like was their incessant sniping at one another. When Brenda had started talking about having to leave to care for her mom, both assistants thought their boss would turn the bakery over to one of them. And each felt certain that she’d be the chosen one.

  Instead, Brenda had chosen me, as well as my modifications to the store—partly because she couldn’t keep the business, and also so she wouldn’t have to choose between Judy and Dinah.

  So far, neither had quit. Both were acting as if their former allegiance to Brenda had transferred to me—even though Judy had started dropping hints about wanting to open her own bakery one of these days.

  Would their truce last? I wasn’t sure, but one thing I did know was that I appreciated the knowledge and dedication of both of them. Despite how much I loved to bake for dogs, my training and experience were all as a veterinary assistant. Though I’d fantasized for a long time about becoming an entrepreneur and being in charge, what I knew about running a store was only as a patron, not as an owner/manager. Till now.

  So far, both Dinah and Judy had been great about showing me how things were done. They knew the pastry recipes Brenda used and had each demonstrated how to bake cupcakes and muffins and more. Even though Brenda had tutored me on how to use the identical cash registers on the counters beside the display cases in each store, as well as how to do the bookkeeping on the computer kept in the office at the rear of the kitchen, the two assistants vowed to make sure I didn’t flub processing credit cards or cash when I rang up sales.

  The office was new, and very small. I’d added it during remodeling just so I’d have a door to lock my computer, credit cards, and accounting information behind. It held only a small desk, with a laptop computer that was usually closed, plus a chair and a two-drawer file cabinet.

  And my assistants? I suspected that having only two of them to help run two shops wouldn’t work well, especially when we’d be open every day and I worked part-time elsewhere. But both Judy and Dinah had seemed eager to give it a try, so I hadn’t spent the time or money to hire anyone else—yet. I’d just have to see how things worked out now that both stores were open.

  I’d been observing long enough. Smiling, I strode into the shop and approached Brenda. She was clasping hands with an older lady I didn’t know. When the lady looked at me, Brenda followed her gaze. Tears shone in her eyes.

  “Carrie, I want to introduce you to Cecilia Young. Cece is a teacher here in Knobcone—sixth grade—and she’s been a fan of Icing on the Cake from the moment I opened the doors.”

  “Great to meet you, Cece,” I said, holding out my hand. She grasped it in her own light and cool grip. She was a slight woman, clad in a shapeless gray party dress with a frilly hemline.

  “Likewise.” She looked up at me from brown eyes peering out among myriad wrinkles. “Are you going to do as good a job of baking as my friend Brenda?”

  I couldn’t help an uncomfortable laugh. “No one’s as good as Brenda, but I’m going to do my best. And fortunately she’s left her wonderful assistants to whip me into shape.”

  The woman nodded, and only then did she smile at me, baring teeth so white I wondered if they were implants. “Well, my favorites are the blueberry scones. If they’re not as good, I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks,” I told her, actually feeling sincere. I’d rather someone tell me to shape up than to lose customers without knowing why. “Do you happen to have a dog?” If so, I’d make sure she got some of my canine treats from next door.

  “No, but I just adopted a kitten from Mountaintop Rescue.”

  That was the shelter run by Councilwoman Billi Matlock. Billi had already gotten a small selection of my treats as samples to take to her canine wards when she’d brought some of them into the veterinary clinic. Now that my Barkery was open, she would get even more.

  “Then maybe I’ll see you at the veterinary clinic,” I told Cece. “I still work there part-time as a vet tech.”

  “Just make sure you don’t bite off more than you can chew, Carrie,” she said. Her gaze now was hard and assessing, and even a little unnerving from such a small and wizened woman. I suspected that she had no trouble at all keeping her students in line. Even I nearly swallowed hard and promised to be good.

  But all I said was “Never!” punctuated with a friendly grin. “I’d better mingle a bit, so please excuse me, Cece.”

  She nodded and I moved away, glancing encouragingly at Brenda. Her smile this time appeared genuine, but I knew how hard this must be for her.

  I followed Dinah for a couple of minutes, seeing which members of the crowd chose which items to taste. I didn’t recognize quite as many people here as I had in the Barkery—not surprising, though. I’d lived in Knobcone Heights for about five years and met most people through their pets. Those who chose to visit Icing didn’t necessarily have animals at home.

  I stayed for maybe twenty minutes, saying hi and introducing myself and welcoming everyone—and inviting them to come back and buy more. The bell at the top of the front door to this shop rang often, making it clear that a lot of people were coming and going. I’d had the bells installed so that if we were in the kitchen or just one of the shops, we’d be aware of customers’ entries into the shop that we weren’t watching.

  Since I was much more used to chatting with dogs and cats these days than with people, I was growing exhausted. I ducked back into the kitchen to check on our supplies of samples and saw, unsurprisingly, that they were disappearing fast. But fortunately I’d told everyone, when I’d invited them, what the hours scheduled for our party would be: we would close at five, which was only half an hour away.

  I planned to reopen at seven o’clock in the morning for the breakfast pastry crowd, not to mention provide treats for their pets. Which meant I’d have to rise hours earlier to start baking—fortunately, with one of my assistants joining me soon. On weekends, when both Judy and Dinah would work full-time, they would alternate which one came in first. At other times they would alternate which one had the day off.

  I felt fairly certain that I’d be able to work things out so I’d be able to keep my part-time vet tech job. Worst case scenario, I would hire more helpers, also part-time. I’d have to make sure I could afford them, though.

  Sleep? I’d fit it in somewhere. Most important was that I’d be able to have Biscuit with me when I was working here, even though I’d have to make sure she stayed in the Barkery.

  Speaking of which, I decided I’d been in Icing long enough. Before we kicked everyone out—er, ended the party—I wanted to make sure things were still going well in the other half of my new venture.

  I hadn’t seen Neal in Icing, but even so, the crowd was flowing the way he’d initiated in the Barkery: in the door, circling the shop, then leaving. I squeezed my way into the line and began flowing toward the exit with everyone else. As I got outside, I saw with relief that there were only a few people now in line waiting to get into each of the stores. We should be able to end the party without hurting anyone’s feelings.

  The sidewalk on both sides of the stores looked busy, which was a good thing, as did the town square across the street, where people enjoyed the park with its grass and knobcone pine trees or just passed through to get from one area of shops to another. This upscale shopping district in this upscale town attracted a lot of customers. They and their dogs needed refreshment. Treats. And drinks. We had coffee and soft drinks available in Icing, and wate
r bowls on the floor along one wall inside the Barkery as well as outside of it.

  My smile was pasted onto my face with overuse today, but that was okay. I still had to greet the remaining party attendees. I got into the line that was entering the Barkery, knowing I’d have to cut in without waiting but still wanting to greet people.

  A man edged up as though he, too, wanted to ignore protocol and courtesy and follow me in. I raised my brows in what I hoped looked like a chiding-but-friendly glance.

  “Carrie?” he asked. “Are you Carrie Kennersly?”

  I nodded. “Yes. Can I help you?”

  “I really hope so. My name is Jack Loroco. I’ve already been inside looking the place over, bought some samples, and got someone to point you out. I’d like to talk with you—just for a minute now, although I hope we can speak again later.”

  My curiosity was piqued, if only a little. “All right,” I said.

  “How about if we sit down over there?” He nodded toward the patio at the far side of the building, where I’d squeezed in all our small wrought-iron tables and chairs for now. There wasn’t room inside or on the front sidewalk for them at the moment, with the people circulating through the stores.

  “Fine.” I preceded him toward that area. A few people sat at the tables chatting, most with dogs lying on the cement beside them. I quickly checked to make sure our outdoor water bowls near the entry into the Barkery didn’t need replenishing. They weren’t completely full, but any thirsty pup could at least take a few slurps.

  There was an empty table at the far corner of the patio and I headed there. “I can really only chat briefly because I have to say my farewells in”—I pulled my phone from my pocket and checked the time—“ten minutes.” I sat down at the side of the table where I could continue to watch the dwindling crowd, and Jack Loroco took a seat across from me.

  He leaned toward me. “I can tell you what I want in less time than that, although I can’t give details. Right now I just want to seduce you.”

  “What?” I felt my eyes widen. The guy wasn’t bad to look at—maybe six feet tall, wearing khaki shorts and a white knit shirt that suggested a muscular physique beneath. His arms and legs were tanned and sported sparse hair a few shades lighter than the ample crop on his head. He had a prominent, straight nose, wide mouth, and slightly concave cheeks, which all looked good together.

  Nice looking, sure. But I didn’t like his too-forthright attitude. Although it had been a while since I’d seduced, or been seduced by, anyone …

  He laughed and leaned back in his chair. “I just wanted to get your attention,” he said. “I’m actually here to seduce your business.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I’m an executive with VimPets. Have you ever heard of it?”

  Anyone who worked with pets for a living, or owned pets, or breathed, had probably heard of VimPets. It was one of the largest and best regarded pet food manufacturers.

  “Yes,” I acknowledged. “I even feed my dog Biscuit VimHealth kibble along with her canned food. But I’m only selling my homemade dog treats in Barkery and Biscuits.” I figured he intended to turn this into a sales call. I wasn’t sure if Harris Ethman was still around—maybe I should aim this Jack Loroco toward him. As far as I recalled, Harris did not carry VimPets products at the Emporium.

  “Great,” he said. “I won’t keep you much longer, but here’s what I want you to think about. In addition to checking out your shop, I’ve been watching your customers visit for the past couple of hours and feed samples to their dogs, who all seemed to like them. A lot. I’ve even tasted some myself.”

  I blinked at him. “Really? You ate the pet treats rather than the bakery treats?”

  “I admit to trying those too. I like what you’re doing here, Carrie.” He gestured toward the store. “And what I want you to consider is whether you’d like to make a lot of money by selling your recipes to VimPets. We’d also hire you to help promote your healthy, homemade products. They’d be mass produced, of course, but with the greatest of care, right in our L.A. factory. With your supervision, of course.”

  I shook my head, my mind boggled. “And you’re willing to offer all that to me on the basis of how this opening-day party is going?”

  “There’d be a lot of details to work out,” he said. “And this isn’t a full-fledged offer. I’d still have to get my employer’s okay. And then we’d need to check out your recipes and the kinds of ingredients and all that. But this would be unique in the industry, the way I visualize it. There’s a lot for both of us to learn and negotiate, but … well, think about it. We can talk more later, okay?”

  “Well … ” I had no intention of committing to anything except running my own little store—stores—here and now. Preferably forever. Depending on how things went, though, I might be willing to consider a portion of what Jack was saying. Some kind of expansion on my own terms. Someday. In the future.

  “We can talk,” I told him slowly, “but I’m not sure it’ll lead to anything.”

  “I get it. And I can’t promise it’ll lead to anything from the VimPets perspective either. But I’m impressed enough to think it will. I’ll be in town for another couple of days. I live in L.A. and visit Knobcone Heights often to engage in some of my favorite pastimes—water skiing and snow skiing. Here’s my card. I’ll be in touch.”

  I accepted his card, then reached toward my pocket for one of mine—but I didn’t have any with me.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I picked up one of the Barkery brochures inside. As well as some samples for my own dog Rigsley. He’s a rescue, a midsize gray whatever who’s my great pal. My family member. I bring him to Knobcone Heights some of the time, but not this trip. I’ll take him some of your treats as a payoff for staying home.”

  “He sounds cute,” I said, meaning it. I wasn’t too sure what the guy was—or wasn’t—offering with respect to my Barkery products, but I liked his attitude about his dog.

  “Anyway, I’d better run. Got dinner plans.”

  A date? Why did that make my heart sink? I’d just met him. He had a business proposal to discuss, nothing social.

  “Okay.” I rose. “Thanks for the suggestion. I’ll think about it.”

  “And I’ll definitely be in touch.”

  I started toward the door into the Barkery, seeing him leave out of the corner of my eye. By then, the crowd had thinned considerably. Good. I wouldn’t have to throw anyone out.

  Neal was still there with Biscuit, of course. My little dog was on her leash, and there was room for her to walk without being stepped on.

  Neal approached right away. “Those fool Ethmans are still here,” he said quietly. “This is one of those times I’d like to ream my boss. Myra’s been making all kinds of noises about how awful this store and its products are—loud enough for everyone to hear. I know she wants Harris’s store to continue to do well, but she’s being a jerk about it.”

  Sure enough, notwithstanding my invitation for Myra and Harris to leave, the conclave still stood in the corner talking: the three Ethmans. Billi Matlock had left, though.

  Judy remained behind the counter. She looked exhausted, but she was smiling bravely as she discussed our treats with people who were looking at the few rows of products remaining in the display case and asking questions.

  I’d definitely acknowledge her help later.

  I started to circulate through the room again. It was a lot easier than before. I said hi to the people who were there—avoiding the Ethmans for now.

  But Myra apparently had no intention of avoiding me. She drew away from the others and approached. “So do you really think that people will come back for your shoddy products when you’re not giving them away for free?”

  I knew that the attention of those who were still in the store had been captured by the volume of her voice. I couldn’t help it. I was tired. And, I admit it, I was worried that people might think there was some validity to what she said ju
st because of who she was and the fact that she’d said it. And I still couldn’t help wondering why she was being so miserable about everything. Was her—Harris’s—store in trouble? Or did she just enjoy being a regal Ethman and resent someone choosing not to pay attention to her royal commands?

  Rather than just telling her again to leave, I snapped, “Shoddy? Oh, you mean the customer service at your resort?” Except for my brother’s, of course, but I didn’t want to mention Neal and have her come down hard on him. “Or, more likely, the horrible mass-produced products your husband sells in his pet store?” I paused. “Look, I don’t mean any of that. Why don’t we just call a truce here? You don’t like my store. I don’t like your attitude. Why don’t we both just live with it?”

  “Live with it? Oh no, my dear. You can’t just compete with the Knob Hill Pet Emporium and expect to survive. Right, Harris?”

  Her husband took a step forward. “Right.” But he didn’t sound quite as convinced as his wife.

  “I mean, you’re going to do all you can to make sure this little venture is seen for what it is, aren’t you?” Myra had turned and seemed to be confronting Harris now. “That’s what we discussed. It’s why we’re still here. You’re the number one, superior pet-product supplier in this town and that’s that. You need to show her, show everyone, that you’re tops.”

  Neal had already told me he’d heard that Harris had been living off his family trust until Myra stepped in and bought the store to keep him busy and give him a way to make a living of his own. But she apparently wasn’t pleased with how he was doing it.

  I also gathered, from the steely glint in Harris’s expression, that he didn’t like her criticism. “Of course I’m tops,” he said through gritted teeth.

  It was time for Les to step in—a good thing, since my remaining customers were staring at the Ethmans. And me. As if they expected my retort. Which I swallowed as Les said, “Knobcone Heights is a wonderful town. It’s my town. And I say there’s room for more than one pet supplier here. I mean, what’s right here in town is definitely the best. The chain store on the highway is a nice one, but the stuff that’s carried here, and at the Emporium, really rocks.” He grinned a political smile at everyone who might be his constituents, including his family members and me.