What if I joined them at the latter? Now that Myra was gone, Harris Ethman might be happy to have representatives of a well-respected pet supply company visit him and make suggestions for increasing his product line.
Was he relieved not to be dependent anymore on Myra ordering him around?
Would that have given him reason to kill her? In addition to it ending her affair with Walt Hainner?
Who knew? Of course, Harris was unlikely to blurt this out if Jack or I happened to pop in today. The best I could hope for was that he would be less likely to throw me out if he wanted something from the man I was with.
And just maybe I’d spot something in the shop while he was distracted with VimPets, something I could follow up on.
“You know,” I said to Jack, “I need to check on some items that the Pet Emporium may carry. Mind if I accompany you?”
“Of course not.” Jack’s smile suggested he wouldn’t mind stopping in a room at the resort with me on the way back.
My intent was to stay in the background, eavesdropping, while Jack performed his magic in front of his new company underlings. I wanted to see and hear Harris’s reactions to the sales call now that he was truly in charge.
I’d been to the Emporium before, of course, even just last week. Now I would simply let myself relax and observe. The neon sign in front, not lighted since it was daytime, was in a scripted font, and the items in the store window all appeared as elite and expensive as one would expect, from some stylish clothing for dogs that, despite it being spring, would be ideal for the icy San Bernardino Mountains winters, to bowls and leashes and toys that even human kids of wealthy parents would undoubtedly enjoy.
I hadn’t paid any attention to appearances the last time I was here, since I’d wanted to confront Harris. This time, appearances, especially Harris’s, were the entire reason I was here.
The walk to the Emporium hadn’t taken long. I’d considered bringing Biscuit but decided against it, leaving her in her Barkery crate for now. I’d remained at Jack’s side as we walked—the opposite one from where he held his briefcase. I’d felt a bit out of place in my casual clothes and athletic shoes, but so what? In a way I wished I wasn’t wearing a shirt that would identify my stores, but it didn’t really matter. Harris knew who I was.
Rico and Dwain had walked on either side of us, whenever there weren’t people attempting to pass us on the sidewalk. I wondered what they must think about me imposing on their sales call demo. Maybe they believed that Jack and I did have a relationship other than a potential business one. Did I care?
Not really; not with strangers. But just in case, I’d talked a bit about my recipes, not giving details but discussing the kinds of dog treats that seemed to be selling best at my Barkery.
Jack had seemed quite interested, asking me all sorts of questions about ingredients such as carob and carrots and peanut butter, plus the types of flour I preferred. I kept to generalities as I answered him, and he seemed to become even more enthused the more we talked.
I didn’t mention my slip-up of delivering of the wrong kind of treats to the veterinary clinic. No one else needed to know about that.
It hadn’t taken us long to reach the store and go inside. There were a couple of customers at the front counter, apparently paying for a container of pet food that peeked out of a plastic bag marked with the Knob Hill Pet Emporium logo: a rich, crownlike image in a sparkling gold that must have cost a lot to stamp on the bags.
I stood back near the door as Jack and his trainees approached Harris, who remained behind the counter. I pretended to study some of the toy balls of different sizes and materials in a display off to one side while watching what was really going on.
Harris’s gaze was on Jack, fortunately, and he apparently didn’t notice me—or if he did, he pretended not to, at least for now. Jack introduced himself, and Harris indicated that he did recall meeting him not long ago.
No, he still didn’t carry any VimPets products. He intimated that they weren’t high-enough quality, and Jack pounced on that immediately, pulling brochures from his briefcase that described how wonderful VimPets products were.
“And we’re always increasing what we carry; if we find the right kind of items, the higher the quality, the better. Like mass-producing formerly homemade treats with special ingredients in their recipes.” Jack glanced toward me and smiled, as if he was patting me on the back for the great stuff I baked at the Barkery and reminding me of the recipes I might—or might not—sell to VimPets someday.
I cringed a bit as Harris, too, looked in my direction. His smile wasn’t at all like Jack’s. Instead, it was nasty. “If you’re talking about manufacturing some of the homemade crap made in Ms. Kennersly’s dog bakery,” he said, “then you know I’m not going to buy it.”
So he had noticed me. And he clearly still didn’t like me any more than I liked him.
This discussion hadn’t been of any use to me so far. Nothing in it suggested that he had, or hadn’t, gotten along with his wife or agreed with her product choices.
Maybe I could change that. I put down the rubber squeak-ball I’d been pretending to study and approached them, aware that Jack’s minions were watching us with eyes wide and interested.
“That’s fine, Harris,” I told him. “Some of the foods you carry here are quite good, and adding VimPets products would make them even better, whether or not they ever include my recipes.” I hazarded a glance toward Jack, and enjoyed the broad grin on his angular face, as though he was cheering me on. I looked back at Harris. “Or do you miss Myra’s direction as to what you should or shouldn’t sell here?”
He didn’t respond for a few seconds, but the look on his narrow face grew furious and his turned-down eyes were almost frightening in the way they glared. “Don’t you talk about my wife, bitch. Are you just rubbing it in that you killed her?”
Interesting reaction. Was it real, or was it an attempt to remind me, and everyone else, that I was still a major suspect?
I resisted the urge to step back. “You, of all people, know I didn’t kill her.” I realized I was goading him even further, but I wanted to see his response to my obvious accusation.
“I know nothing of the kind,” he spat. “And maybe I should have bought those damned recipes of yours when they were offered to me so I could have people who know what they’re doing work with them and turn them into something good for dogs.”
I froze. “What are you talking about? What do you mean, my recipes were offered to you?”
His fury appeared to recede just a little, perhaps replaced by caginess. “Never mind.” He turned toward Jack. “I might have been interested in trying out some VimPets products if you hadn’t brought the bitch here with you. Maybe someday, but forget about it for now.”
As if called in by Harris as the cavalry, a family entered the shop with their pit bull.
“I’ve got customers to wait on,” Harris said. “You all can leave.” He walked toward the newcomers.
“That went well,” Jack muttered to Rico and Dwain, who both smiled dutifully. “But yeah, we’d better go.”
As we all walked back toward my shops, I half listened to Jack’s explanation to his employees about what had gone on there, interested somewhat in how he glossed over who Myra was and that her murder remained unsolved, and how well-regarded the Pet Emporium was here in Knobcone Heights.
But my mind remained on our angry conversation and Harris’s comments. Had he just been trying to stoke my anger—or had his anger gotten him out of control enough to mention something that was true?
Had someone offered to sell him my excellent and proprietary dog treat recipes?
And if so, who?
TWENTY-SEVEN
AS WE WALKED, I caught Jack’s glance down at me now and then. He might have been wondering the same thing I was.
Or maybe he thought I’d already tainted any possibility of a future sale of my recipes to VimPets by attempting to sell them to someone e
lse.
There weren’t many people around on the narrow sidewalks, yet we couldn’t talk much with Rico and Dwain along.
When we reached my stores, he sent them inside and we stood in front of one of the two picture windows. Glancing in, I saw Dinah waiting on customers in the Barkery, but Icing seemed empty. Hopefully that was just a momentary situation. I’d ask Judy how things had been there in my absence—soon.
I also had other things to ask Judy. And Dinah.
“What was that all about, at the Pet Emporium?” Jack asked, interrupting my thoughts. I supposed he was keeping the question general to see my reaction.
“Long story,” I said. “But—well, you’re aware that Harris is Myra Ethman’s widower.”
“Yes, and as we’ve discussed, the police consider you a suspect in her murder. I assume they’re also looking into her husband as a possibility. And I gather you’re still each thinking the other could have done it—or at least that’s what you each want the other to believe. Of course, one of you could know the truth if you happen to be the killer.” His words were harsh and so was his tone.
I’d thought this man had some romantic interest in me. If so, he wasn’t acting like it now. Was that because my presence might have negated his ability to sell his products to Harris? Because he’d been embarrassed in front of Rico and Dwain? He surely didn’t believe any more than he had before that I was the killer. He’d even said previously that he had as much of a motive as I did.
In any event, his current attitude reminded me of Reed’s about-
face.
No matter what their underlying rationales, I supposed that my being a murder suspect didn’t give me great potential to become a valued girlfriend. But all of this also made me question whether I wanted either of these men in my life, for any reason.
Jack shook his head then and reached out to hold me by my elbows. “Sorry, Carrie. That all came out wrong, but I felt a bit … let’s say, gob-smacked by the way things worked out there. I know you’re not a killer, although I can’t be sure about Harris. But what was that about someone already marketing your recipes?”
Ah. That was what he really cared about.
Well, me too—among other things.
“I don’t know,” I admitted slowly. “It could just have been Harris trying another avenue to upset me.” I didn’t believe much of what Harris said, but the way the statement had come up in our conversation convinced me that it could have been real. Someone might have offered my recipes to him, but he hadn’t bought them. Not then, at least. “But just in case he wasn’t lying … ”
“I’m sure you’ll be looking into it.” I was glad to see that Jack’s face now looked sympathetic, with a glimmer of something else in his hazel eyes that suggested the romantic interest I’d been wondering about still hovered there. It wasn’t all about the recipes … probably. “Anyway, we’re staying at the resort tonight. I’ll take the guys to the nearest chain pet stores tomorrow and hopefully give them a better demonstration of how to approach store managers and encourage them to carry and recommend our products.”
“And you brought them all the way up here to do that? Why?” I couldn’t help smiling as I asked. I anticipated his answer—and got what I’d been looking for.
“Of course.” His own smile danced in his eyes as he regarded me sexily. “I like this place, so why not take advantage? And a certain person here is a major draw, especially since she’s got something I want.”
“Recipes?” I teased.
“Among other things.” He winked at me, then headed into the Barkery.
While Jack and his trainees remained in the Barkery, and then more people came into both shops, I hugged Biscuit in the Barkery since we both needed it. Then I waited on some customers and had time to ponder the best way to approach my two assistants—who both had access to my recipes.
When I’d taken over the store from Brenda, I’d asked her what she did to make sure that anything she considered her very own recipe wasn’t going to be broadcast to the world by her assistants. She said they’d both signed an employment agreement when they started working there.
In fact, she gave me copies of those agreements, and I modeled a similar one for Judy and Dinah to sign. It included the recipes I’d bought from Brenda along with my own pet recipes that I’d developed while working as a vet tech. I’d always baked mine at home, all by myself, so there was never any prior question about their ownership.
But now maybe I needed to run the agreement by Ted, to make sure they would hold up as legal documents. If they wouldn’t, maybe I didn’t really want to know it, since I’d already have blown my proprietary interest.
Of course, it would also give me another excuse to see Ted … even though I knew I’d be better off right now dealing only with men I didn’t find attractive. I needed no further distractions.
I needed solutions.
Interesting, though, I mused as I did some cleanup work in the kitchen while my assistants remained in the shops. My concerns seemed to leap from one item of importance in my life to another—each would have been difficult in itself, and now I was confronted with multiple issues. I remained a murder suspect, and the stress of that may have caused me to make a potentially horrendous mistake: providing real chocolate treats that could be lethal if a dog had eaten them. And now someone might be trying to steal my recipes.
Was that easier to deal with than the other two? Maybe—
especially if I could figure out who, if anyone, was guilty and make sure it never happened again. And assuming it had been one of my employees—who else could it be?—I wanted to confront both of them for answers. But I needed to handle the situation with some finesse or I’d have no assistants left.
Which, if it turned out I was right, might actually be a good thing …
Damn it! I needed those answers. But I also needed to ask the questions in a way that wouldn’t seem overly accusatory. Maybe.
Should I talk to Judy and Dinah together? Probably not. Although if I confronted them individually, they would most likely each say that if there was a problem the other had been the one to instigate it.
They’d probably do the same thing if I met with them together—and we’d be back at square one, as we’d been when Brenda left, when the two of them didn’t appear to like one another. They seemed to be getting along better now—most of the time.
Of course, their apparent camaraderie wouldn’t matter if I had to fire one for insubordination or worse.
It was getting late. Maybe I should consider this overnight, I thought—and talk to them tomorrow, either alone or together.
Only one thing was certain. I needed to think this through, to decide on an approach designed to get me answers.
I wasn’t surprised when Jack invited me to join him and his employees for dinner when my shops finally closed. Since they were eating at the resort’s restaurant, I had to accept.
I said goodbye to my assistants for that night, wondering which, if either, was a traitor. My mind whirled about other possibilities, but I didn’t want to focus on them either. Not now.
I took Biscuit home, fed her, and left her there. Jack picked me up.
Then I had a session of flirtation with Jack and discussion of dog products with all three of the VimPets people, as well as another chance to look around the resort and hope that one of the Ethman relations came up to me and confessed and apologized for allowing me to become a murder suspect.
Neal was out with some friends and not working that night, so he didn’t know I was there.
No confessions. Much later, when Jack brought me home, Neal had already gone to bed, so I didn’t have a chance to talk with him—which I thought was probably a good thing. I needed to think.
Did I sleep that night? Not a lot. But I did come up with an approach to take with my assistants. Since the next day was Sunday, they would both be around.
But would my sanity?
I was resolute the next day as I start
ed baking early in the morning, using some of my proprietary Barkery recipes. I would talk to Dinah immediately upon her arrival, since she was scheduled to come in first. Then, when Judy arrived, I’d take her off by herself somewhere and talk to her too.
Of course my mind had also come up with other possible scenarios. Number one was that Harris had been lying, that no one had offered him my recipes. He had his own agenda, and that included riling me.
But his attitude as he’d told me seemed almost triumphant—hard to disbelieve.
I stepped up the pace of whipping the batter in the deep bowl I was working on, half wishing that it was Harris I was beating so determinedly instead.
Number two alternative scenario was that Brenda had been unhappy enough about the current situation that she’d offered my recipes to Harris. She’d seen me work on them for our opening party and would have had enough proximity to them to copy them. And sell them?
But her leaving town wasn’t my doing. In fact, I’d actually helped her by buying her out so she could go take care of her mother without any commitments up here on the mountain. It wouldn’t necessarily erase her resentment of my changes, though—even if she’d mostly seemed okay with them.
Then there was number three possibility: Neal. He’d seen me working on a lot of recipes at home so I could bring in nutritious items to the clinic. He’d known where I had them written down. Might he have offered them to Harris—perhaps so an Ethman would owe him and help to preserve his job at the resort?
It seemed a stretch. And I just didn’t see my brother doing that. If his job was in jeopardy—and I didn’t think it was—he knew his sis would continue to let him live with her while he figured out what was next, like more outdoor expeditions or whatever.
I heard a familiar bark out front. That was unlike my well-behaved Biscuit. Was someone trying to break in?
My imagination was working overtime these days, but that was undoubtedly a result of all that was not imaginary in my beleaguered life. Even so, I put a nice, sharp knife out on the counter at a place where I could grab its hilt if necessary, then went into the Barkery—just in time to see Dinah entering.
Bite the Biscuit (A Barkery & Biscuits Mystery) Page 23