Among those who spoke were Harris, of course, and both of his parents. Apparently Myra had fit their version of an elite Ethman. The two children of Harris and Myra both said something brief and tearful. The daughter must have come back from college to mourn her mother, but the high school age boy appeared to grieve even more.
My odd, caring, sad mood seemed to carry me away, and at one point I had an urge to go and stand in front of everyone and take that microphone, relate the story of my non-relationship with Myra, explain how I regretted her death for many reasons—and tell everyone here that I’d had nothing to do with it despite our argument.
But that wasn’t exactly in keeping with the spirit of the day. And my doing so was unlikely to convince anyone of my veracity anyway. They’d probably consider it self-serving and entirely inappropriate for today’s memorial.
So I just sat there.
After about an hour, at least a dozen people, maybe more, had expressed their sorrow, and Elise again took the microphone.
I could see even from here that her eyes were damp. “Thank you all for coming. And our particular thanks to all of you who got up here to talk about our Myra. We don’t have her back yet to bury her, and that ceremony will be a private family affair.”
And then it was over.
Which was a good thing. I hadn’t intended to stay away from my shops this long, but there’d been no graceful way to depart.
Everyone started leaving the House of Celebration. I heard laughter, as if some people needed to change the subject fast to keep from crying. I heard others talking about Myra.
“You all right?” Reed took my arm as we waited for a break in the crowd so we could leave our row.
“More or less. I think this was a lovely thing to do, and it was handled well. But—”
“You did come. We thought maybe you wouldn’t,” Dinah said. She and Judy stood near the end of our row, holding the crowd back so we could leave. Arvie was first, followed by Reed, then me.
“Thanks,” I told my assistants. “Are you going back to the stores now?” Fortunately, they were.
When all of us finally made it outside, I saw that the crowd was mostly dispersing. But as I started to thank Reed and head toward my car, I saw Billi Matlock looking in my direction. She gestured for me to join her on a tree-shaded path along the vast lawn on the inland side of the building.
I didn’t like the idea since she was with some fellow council members, including Les Ethman. But my friendship with Billi seemed to be growing, and I figured it would be in my best interests to learn what she wanted.
As I got nearer I had an urge to ignore Billi and dash in the opposite direction, since others had joined the group. Some I believed were Billi’s relatives. And some I knew were Les’s. Many had spoken about Myra at the service.
But even if it could be a bad idea to join them, I had nothing to be ashamed of and I wanted everyone to know it.
“I need to talk to Billi,” I told Reed, who was still at my side.
“Okay, then I will too,” he said, earning him another brownie point or two in my estimation.
I was especially glad he was still with me since, as I approached the group, so did the two detectives. Harris Ethman was there now, and even Elise and Walt.
Walt saw me and broke away from the others. He stopped me before I reached them—by design? Was he protecting me too, as Reed was attempting to do?
“Thanks for coming, Carrie.” His voice was hoarse, his eyes moist. “This was a very moving memorial, wasn’t it?”
Interesting. Had he been that close to his sister-in-law, or was he just an emotional person?
I didn’t get a chance to ask, since the two cops suddenly joined us.
“Hey,” Detective Wayne Crunoll said. “Ms. Kennersly and Mr. Hainner, two of my favorite people. What did you think of the memorial?”
“Yeah,” said Detective Bridget Morana. “Did it give either of you any urge to talk too … to us?”
Was she implying that we were so upset we might confess?
We? No, most likely just one of us.
But she said “either of you.” That wasn’t only me.
Did Walt have enough of a motive to kill Myra that the authorities were pestering him about it, too?
FOURTEEN
INTERESTING, I THOUGHT. BUT now wasn’t the time to ask those kinds of questions.
Maybe the detectives, who’d not exactly discouraged me before from trying to figure out who actually killed Myra, would be amused if I started asking questions now.
But I didn’t trust them. They’d probably been teasing me, assuming I’d only dig a deeper hole for myself by attempting to find someone else to toss into it—a better suspect—when they seemed to believe that no one could be a better suspect than me.
So, although this wasn’t a good time, I’d have to figure out when I could learn more about Walt and his possible motive.
Was that why he’d acted nice to me when so many people in his family were giving me a hard time? But if he actually was guilty, wouldn’t he have encouraged them to think I was the killer?
“Is something wrong here, detectives?” Elise joined her husband and stuck her arm through his.
If I hadn’t already known Elise was an Ethman, I’d have guessed it from the two detectives’ behavior, since they immediately smiled and denied they were there for anything but being nice fellow citizens of Knobcone Heights who had come to mourn Myra and were now simply chatting like everyone else.
The gleam in Bridget’s narrowed brown eyes as she glared at me suggested otherwise, though—it seemed she knew I was the guilty one but was willing to consider someone else, like Walt, until she had enough evidence to haul me in.
Okay, I was reading an awful lot into that snide look. It could have meant nothing at all. But it was time for me to go.
Like Elise, I had someone whose arm I could grab: Reed’s. “Sorry,” I said to the others as I stood close to him. “I need to get back to my stores. But I found the celebration very moving. I know you don’t trust me or believe me, but I’m sorry that Myra is gone—and that’s not because I had anything to do with her death. Honest.”
I turned and was glad I didn’t have to pull Reed to get him to stay with me. He walked at my side toward the large parking lot that was now nearly vacant of cars.
I heard mutters behind me but didn’t know who said what. I assumed some might be calling me not only a killer but a liar, too.
I could possibly say the same about one of them and have it actually be true. But if so, which one?
If I had a choice it wouldn’t be Walt, although I’d already figured that his niceness could be an act to turn my suspicion away from him.
Well, damn. I really needed to do some digging to figure out if he had a viable motive. Didn’t I?
Oh, how I wished I didn’t. That none of this affected me.
“Are you okay, Carrie?” Reed had slowed despite my efforts to nearly run away from the group behind us.
“Sure,” I fibbed. It wasn’t an out-and-out lie. I was sort of okay.
And sort of upset.
Reed stopped altogether, which made me halt too, since I held his arm tightly. I gasped and looked up at him.
“No, you’re not. You shouldn’t have gone to Myra’s memorial, but—”
“And you shouldn’t tell me what I should or shouldn’t do.”
That came out much harsher than I’d intended, and I felt my free hand go up to my mouth as if I wanted to shove what I’d said back inside me. “Sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean—”
He put one sturdy, warm finger over my mouth to stop me, a finger on a hand that had caressed and cared for more pets than I could possibly count. That perhaps someday might caress me. We had already kissed briefly. But that had been all … so far.
We were standing in the parking lot now and I realized we were beside his nice black luxury car. Of course he had stopped. My own old white Toyota was only a row awa
y.
I looked up at him. I hadn’t paid a lot of attention before to what he was wearing that afternoon, but he’d put on a dark suit that looked great with his wavy black hair. He had a touch of the five-o’clock shadow that he tended to have at this time of day.
And he was looking back down at me with his caring dark eyes.
“I know you need to get back to your stores, Carrie. I need to get back to the clinic. But let’s get together for dinner tonight, okay? And not at the resort. Someplace nice and neutral and unemotional.”
“Sounds good to me.” My tone was fervent. I considered inviting him to my house and cooking something, but decided that might sound like an invitation for more. “Let’s talk in about an hour to figure out what to do.”
“Okay.” He kissed me on my forehead, then walked me to my car.
It was late when I returned to my shops. Fortunately, my assistants had gotten back faster than me and had both sides open. Only the Barkery had some business at the moment. And we’d only be open for another hour.
Dinah was staffing the Barkery side. I observed her waiting on our current customers, a young married couple who said they were both teachers at local schools. I wondered if they knew Cece, who’d also been at the memorial, but didn’t interrupt to mention her.
Dinah asked the right questions about the dogs they had at home who deserved these wonderful treats: what their likes were, whether they had any health or allergy issues that would help in the decision. Then she encouraged them to buy a whole box of different kinds of treats for their two Chihuahua mixes.
I stayed out of her way as she finished by charging their credit card, then joined her as we both watched the apparently pleased customers leave the store.
“Good job,” I told her. “I’ll bet they’ll be back.”
“Me too,” Dinah said with a smile. “As long as their pampered babies like at least some of those wonderful treats.”
It was my turn to smile. But then I watched Dinah’s pleasant expression morph into something I couldn’t interpret.
“That was quite a memorial this afternoon,” she said quietly. Her glistening blue eyes scanned my face, as if she was trying to determine whether I’d felt comfortable there or hated every minute.
And maybe as if she was trying to determine whether I was actually the one who’d killed Myra. Or was I just expecting everyone I knew to wonder that?
“Yes,” I said. “It was. I’m sorry that Myra’s dead, and that we had a disagreement before she died. A lot of people seemed to care for her and be genuinely grieving. Maybe if I’d gotten to know her better we would have made peace with one another, even gotten into a position where we’d both encourage customers to try stuff from each other’s shops.”
From Myra’s initial reaction, and from the impression I’d gotten even from the people who’d eulogized her, compromise might not have been in her vocabulary, so I doubted it could have happened that way. But it sounded good. It even felt good, in a way.
What if it actually had occurred? I’d have liked to have had an ally in the pet retail business here in Knobcone Heights.
Maybe I still could—in Harris. But that could only happen if someone other than me was proven to have killed his wife … and if that person wasn’t him.
“Heard you talking about Myra and her celebration.” Judy had just walked through the door from Icing. “I … I was really moved by it. And I hardly knew her.”
“She used to come in here—I mean, Icing—to order a lot of cakes for her big parties and other special occasions,” Dinah said, coming out from behind the cash counter to look at Judy.
“Well, sure.” Judy’s long face was flushed and scowling, as if Dinah had accused her of killing Myra. “But that’s all I knew her from—just taking her orders and helping to bake her cakes, and even sometimes delivering them.”
The belligerence in Judy’s tone made me step out too, to place myself between them. Even though most of the time my inherited assistants had been getting along just fine, I couldn’t predict when they’d start confronting each other—like now.
“I get it,” I said. “You’d met her—both of you—but you weren’t her closest friends.” I gave a wry smile. “I suspect those who were her closest friends had money, or something she wanted, or—Okay, I won’t speak ill of the dead. I certainly didn’t know her well either, but the fact that we didn’t hit it off as buddies doesn’t mean I couldn’t eventually have gotten along with her.”
“It doesn’t mean you would have, either,” Dinah pointed out.
I nodded, then intentionally moved my gaze from my assistants to the watch on my left wrist. “Know what? It’s time to close up.”
“Good. I’ll get things in Icing ready.” Judy quickly turned her back and went through the door once more.
“I didn’t mean—” Dinah began.
“Me neither. Anyway, go home and relax and come back refreshed tomorrow,” I said.
She helped me get the Barkery ready to close, then we both went into the kitchen. Judy was there giving a final scrub to the ovens, which I appreciated. Dinah did the same with the counters and I helped out, neither of my assistants looking at the other.
“Thanks to both of you,” I said when we were done. “See you tomorrow.” I watched as they both left together—fortunately talking civilly to each other. The crisis, such as it was, was over.
I got ready to leave too. Time to go get Biscuit from doggy daycare, then follow up on joining Reed for dinner. I went out through the front of Icing, leaving my car parked behind the building, and walked toward the veterinary hospital.
The more I thought about it, the better inviting Reed to my home for dinner sounded. Not that I had any intention of seducing him, or being seduced. But it could be a nice, pleasant, casual evening of just getting to know one another better.
It wouldn’t involve figuring out which restaurant to try next. And I’d definitely get to treat, since I’d be the one to stop at the grocery store and to cook. Because of the growing lateness and my need to get some sleep that night, the meal would have to be something relatively quick and simple, but I already had a few ideas.
On impulse, I tried calling Neal to see if he was at home yet and whether he’d join us if Reed agreed to my proposed plan. When he didn’t answer I assumed he was still working, and I didn’t know when he’d get off. I didn’t leave a message. No need.
I entered the clinic and waited till Reed was finished with a patient, then issued the invitation for him to come to my home for dinner. He seemed delighted by the idea. I then went into the daycare facility and hugged an excited Biscuit, but confirmed with Faye that it was all right for me to pick her up in about half an hour.
I hurried back to my car, drove to the nearest supermarket on the fringes of town, picked up the ingredients for the dinner I intended to cook, and then went back for my dog.
I was soon at home. After walking Biscuit briefly, then letting her out in the dog run for a few more minutes, I got busy creating my own version of a rich and creamy chicken Alfredo. When the doorbell rang, the meal was nearly ready.
I opened the front door to let Reed in. He stood there with a bottle of Chianti that looked of special vintage, although my expertise was limited. “Does this work for dinner?” he asked, holding it out to me as Biscuit, now in the house, jumped up on his legs. He was clad once again as he’d been at Myra’s memorial, much dressier than at the clinic.
“Delightful,” I said. I smiled as he bent down and gave me a brief kiss, then knelt to pat Biscuit’s head.
“Mmm, delightful,” he parroted, and I turned my back and hurried into the kitchen so he couldn’t see my own happy grin.
Dinner went well. Neal joined us when we were about halfway done. I saw his gaze go from Reed to me and back as he said hi, as if assessing why I’d invited this man here and if he’d be a third wheel who should roll out of here for the night.
“Glad you made it for dinner,” I told him, to
assure him that he could stay.
At least this time …
The three of us talked mostly about the delights of our small town that provided something captivating for everyone’s interests, and Neal invited Reed to come on any of the boat rides or ski outings he hosted, whenever. He said he did have a couple scheduled now and hoped for more. The two of them seemed to get along well, which was a good thing—in case my enjoyment of Reed’s company actually did turn into some kind of real romantic relationship.
When we were done, my well-trained brother helped to clean up and so did Reed—another thing to add to the plus column about this good-looking, kind guy who saved animals’ lives.
Then Neal excused himself and went to his room, probably to watch TV.
Reed and I sat down on the living room couch, although he said he couldn’t stay long. As we talked, we finished the bottle of wine he’d brought.
When he prepared to leave, a little later, he kissed me good night at my front door and I savored the flavor of his warm, sexy lips.
“See you tomorrow afternoon, Carrie.” He held me for a moment longer against his hard body.
“Yeah,” I said. “Thanks, and good night.”
I grinned the whole time as I walked Biscuit, then got ready for bed. I’d left my cell phone in my purse and got it out to charge overnight.
Only then did I see that I’d missed a couple of calls. One was from Jack Loroco. The thought of him and his business ideas—and his apparent interest in me—chilled my very warm thoughts of Reed just a little. I was glad it was so late, though. I wouldn’t call Jack back until tomorrow.
The other call was from an unknown number, but when I checked voicemail I saw that I’d received a message from Walt Hainner, again thanking me for coming to Myra’s memorial.
That really sent icy fingers up my spine. Why was he thanking me so much? Because my being a suspect in Myra’s murder kept the authorities from looking too closely at him? Or was it something more innocent than that—he was just a nice guy who’d married into the Ethmans and knew that apologizing for their usual arrogance and condescension and accusations was a nice thing to do?
Bite the Biscuit (A Barkery & Biscuits Mystery) Page 13