Bad to the Bone

by Linda O. Johnston

  It looked like fun—hard work, but with the possibility of good strength and fitness resulting. I’d have to give it a try one of these days. But not now.

  When we reached the reception desk I told the woman who sat there, who was middle-aged and definitely physically fit, that I was a friend of Billi’s and wanted to say hi once her class was over.

  “Fine.” She looked me over as if she thought she might be able to sell me on a membership along with exercise. I believed myself to be in fairly good condition and walked quite a bit, especially with Biscuit, but I didn’t belong to a gym or anything like Robust Retreat. I hadn’t really considered joining before.

  But my friendship with Billi had gotten deeper recently. Maybe I would think about joining … someday.

  “They have another five minutes,” the receptionist said. “Would you like a tour of the place?”

  “Oh, I’ve been here before, but thanks.” I’d met Billi here now and then and walked with her either to my shops or Mountaintop Rescue. She’d showed me the facility without pushing me to join or even suggesting it. She wasn’t the kind of person to ram something unwanted down a friend’s throat. When it came to an animal abuser or political foe, though? That would be a way different story.

  As I stood there, I started participating in the exercises just a little, standing on Biscuit’s leash so she wouldn’t wander. I punched the air, did curls from my waist, and touched my toes a few times.

  It wasn’t lost on Billi, whose gaze often met mine.

  Then she was done. She smiled at her students, who were similarly dressed in exercise clothing, and thanked them as they thanked her in return.

  Eventually, she was alone in the exercise area. I stooped to pick up Biscuit’s leash, and when I stood again Billi was right in front of me.

  “I know why you’re here,” she said. “Let’s go into my office.”

  She’d shown that to me before, too. It wasn’t a huge room, and although it had a not-so-elite metal desk, the walls were decorated with photographs of some of the world’s most famous places—places Billi had visited, like Paris, Venice, Sydney, and more. Bookshelves lined one wall, and on them, in addition to volumes on exercise and yoga and other aspects of physical fitness, were antique vases and dog statuettes.

  I knew Billi left her dogs, Fanny and Flip, at home some of the time, and on those days a dog walker visited morning and afternoon. She also brought them to Mountaintop Rescue, to stay in the reception area, if she knew she would be at the shelter all day.

  A door opened to another room in her office, which contained a conversation area. That was where she directed Biscuit and me now, and I sat down on one of the plush magenta armchairs, my pup settling on the hardwood floor beside me.

  Billi took another chair, facing me. And stared.

  “I take it you know about Wanda,” I began.

  “Yes,” she said stonily. “And yes, I know where Jack lives, and that Wanda was staying with him, but he told me she moved into a nearby short-term rental after their fight. I also know she professed to have a relationship with him, and I thought he and I had a relationship, and I was beginning to care.”

  Her voice started to rise, and I had a suspicion as to why she was declaring these things, most of which I already knew. She’d been asked questions by one or more of the Knobcone police detectives.

  “And I was angry with him. And her. And—”

  “I know you didn’t kill her, Billi,” I interrupted softly.

  “You and nobody else.” Her brown eyes teared up and she dropped her now-pale face into her hands, causing her highlighted dark hair to fall forward.

  She began to sob, this strong animal advocate, physical fitness guru, and avid City Councilwoman, and the idea that she was so upset brought tears to my eyes, too.

  I stood and hurried over to her. I stooped to put my arms around her narrow, solid shoulders, even as Biscuit joined us and, sweet little dog that she is, stood on her hind legs with her front paws on Billi’s legs, her head on her lap, as though also trying to comfort her.

  We just stayed there, all of us, for some time. I felt Billi’s shudders of emotion and put my own head against hers.

  I wanted to tell her it would all be okay. But would it?

  Could she have killed Wanda? That would explain all this emotionalism.

  So would her actually having fallen in love with Jack.

  Or both.

  Eventually—twenty minutes later? Or was it only two?—Billi began to settle down. Soon, she pulled her hands away from her now-puffy face.

  “You’ve gone through this, Carrie—being accused of a murder you didn’t commit.” Her voice was moist and throaty. “How did you live with that?”

  “I just assumed that the truth would win out.” I also jumped in to make sure it would, but I didn’t suggest this to Billi. She was so prominent in Knobcone Heights, given her family background and her many roles. If she started snooping around and asking questions, it would be obvious. And it might even make her look guilty, as if she were trying to figure out who would be the best person to pin it on. As merely a vet tech and the owner of a couple of shops, I’d had no problem asking those questions when I was accused, or when Janelle was accused.

  From my perspective, though, there appeared to be two major suspects in Wanda’s murder: Billi and Jack. I was friends with both. I didn’t want either to be guilty.

  Yet I continued to suspect both, individually or even together.

  Still …

  Well, I needed a lot more information. “This isn’t a good time,” I told Billi. “I’ve been away from my shops too long and have to get back, and I know you have things to do, too.” Like get herself back under control. “But let’s have coffee together tomorrow or sometime soon so we can talk about this.”

  “You’ll help to find the killer?” Billi’s head was up, her eyes bright as she looked into mine.

  Was that what this was all about—her way of recruiting me to help her?

  No, I couldn’t really think that of my strong, kind, smart friend. Yet I couldn’t help wondering.

  “I’m not making any promises,” I told her. “And if I do look into it, I’ll be seeking the truth, from you, from Jack, from everyone. But I’ve learned a lot about conducting an amateur investigation, so my answer is a definite maybe.”

  She smiled. I smiled back.

  “Then yes, let’s have coffee tomorrow morning,” she responded. “At my office at Mountaintop Rescue so we can be alone. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said.

  Nine

  When I returned to my shops, my mind was spinning and I needed to stabilize it.

  Time for me to bake. And for an ideal distraction, I could come up with another treat we could sell in the shop.

  And could I sell the recipe to VimPets? Would they be interested any longer? What if Jack was found guilty in Wanda’s murder? Or even if he wasn’t, what would the company executives think about Jack surviving and continuing his work, when Wanda didn’t?

  Especially that one exec she’d hinted was her lover?

  Darn. I had to stop thinking about all that—my remote connection to it, everything—and start baking.

  I walked into my shops via the Barkery door since I had Biscuit with me. Dinah was behind the counter waiting on some customers, so I just waved to her, closed Biscuit into her roomy crate, and headed straight for the kitchen. I immediately washed my hands and dug into some of the ingredients I had in mind.

  I’d bought some pure, unsweetened applesauce a day or so before that I wanted to try out in a recipe, along with pumpkin. My mind had been baking the treats before my hands put them together, and I figured they might even be healthy and low-fat enough to try out on some dogs at the clinic who had tummy issues like irritable bowel, as Arvie had suggested. I’d learned that both of these
main ingredients were beneficial to dogs with that kind of illness, so why not put them together—along with other ingredients that were considered healthful? I would double check with Reed or Arvie before promoting them as medically healthy treats, of course.

  But first, I had to actually bake some—which I did after adding wheat flour and water and a few other ingredients to the applesauce, then rolling the dough into small balls that I squashed before placing in the oven … and after I ate a little bit just to make sure things tasted okay. Which they did. Much more than okay. I could hardly wait till the treats were ready and I could give a couple to Biscuit to try out. She was nice and healthy, and I always liked giving her treats that should help keep her that way.

  “Hey, what are you making?” Vicky had just entered the kitchen from Icing. My expert scheduler had her nose in the air, as if sniffing the aroma of my new Barkery treats, and a large smile on her face beneath her glasses.

  “A surprise,” I told her.

  I couldn’t read the odd expression that suddenly covered her face. “Is that a good idea on a day like this?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She drew closer but stayed across from me, on the Icing side of the baking utility counter. “It sounds to me like this town has received all the surprises it can handle today.”

  “You mean something besides the murder?”

  Her dark eyebrows shot upward. “Isn’t that enough of a surprise?”

  Vicky had been a new employee of mine when the last murder occurred. She and I hadn’t discussed it much, so I didn’t really know what she was thinking. In fact, I’d tried not to discuss the murder much with any of my assistants—except for Janelle, who of course was deeply involved, and Dinah, who’d wanted some details since she liked to write. But scheduler Vicky and chef Frida? Not so much. Sure, they all lived in the town and undoubtedly had opinions—and feelings—about the situation, and I knew no one wanted murders to occur here, but why did Vicky sound so emotional?

  Easy enough to find out, I hoped. I asked.

  “What have you heard?”

  Her eyes teared up behind her glasses and her mouth molded into a frown. “That lady who came in here wanting some of our recipes for VimPets, right? She’s the one who was killed?”

  I nodded. I wasn’t about to tell Vicky my opinion of that lady, which didn’t really matter. I didn’t have to like or respect Wanda to still feel awful that she was dead. Murdered. Here in my town—where some friends of mine were likely murder suspects.

  “That’s right,” I said softly. “It’s another terrible situation.”

  “You don’t have to tell me,” said a voice from behind me. Janelle had entered the kitchen. “I just don’t get it. I like this town a lot, but I guess it can be dangerous to live here.”

  I turned and shot her a wry smile. “In more ways than one,” I said—to the former murder suspect.

  “I was waiting on a customer and couldn’t answer the phone when Neal called me back,” Janelle said. “I assume he’s heard about the situation by now anyway.”

  “Probably.” I knew for sure, then, where I would meet Reed for dinner that night—and not just because I wanted to make sure my brother knew about this latest sad incident in the town we’d both adopted not long ago. The resort would be an interesting place to learn how word had gotten out about Wanda’s death, and maybe I could figure out some other potential suspects, too.

  Which gave me another thought. “How did you hear what happened, Vicky?”

  “Some of our regular customers came in talking about Wanda being found apparently murdered,” she replied.

  A buzzer sounded from the dog biscuit oven, signaling that time was up and my new dog treats should be done.

  And a bell sounded from outside the kitchen, indicating that someone had entered one of the shops—most likely Icing, judging by the location of the sound.

  Vicky and Janelle looked at one another, as if challenging each other about who should take care of the customer.

  “Why don’t both of you go find out who’s come in and how much help they need?” I asked, grabbing oven mitts and turning toward the oven. “I’ll let these cool, then bring some into the Barkery to be given out as samples. See you in a few.”

  I was glad when both complied with my wishes, even though I hadn’t exactly phrased it as an order. Maybe they both wanted to go into the shops anyway to continue gossiping about the apparent murder.

  But I doubted Janelle would find that a fun pastime—not after having been a suspect herself in a similar situation. I knew I wasn’t thrilled about hearing of another murder, especially since I’d met the victim and seemed to know the most likely suspects, too.

  As soon as I removed the tray of baked treats from the oven and put it on the counter to cool, I pulled my cell phone from my pocket.

  Time to call Reed to firm up our evening plans.

  Accompanied by Hugo, Reed picked Biscuit and me up at my stores at six thirty, after we closed. Tonight, he wore dressy jeans—an oxymoron, yes, but they looked crisp and new. He also had on a plaid button-down shirt.

  I wore a cotton shirt, too, over my beige Barkery and Icing knit shirt, to look a little dressier. My slacks were deep green.

  “I suspect I know what our main topic of discussion will be tonight,” he said, getting into the driver’s seat once the dogs and I were situated in his car. “Same as everyone’s. Rumors are being shouted all over the place.”

  “About Wanda’s murder?” I surmised.

  “What else? And, Carrie, I’ve been thinking about it a lot. Too much.” He hadn’t started driving yet, and now, beneath the illumination of the streetlight above us, he looked at me, his deep brown eyes clearly worried but his expression firm. “I know I said before that you might not be able to solve this one—but my fear is that you will solve it—and get hurt, or worse. I’d really, really like for you to stay out of it this time.”

  I sighed. “I could promise you that, and I’d really like to stay out of it—but I’ve already got a good idea who the main suspects will be. They’re both friends, so that’s a promise I’d probably break. So—”

  “So no promises. I get it. But I thought I’d try. I’m just worried about you. You keep putting yourself in danger.”

  We subsequently drove to the resort in silence. He stopped his car just before turning into the resort’s parking lot and looked over at me, his expression so sad that I had an urge to kiss it away. Or even make that promise for him … but, yeah, even if I meant it right now, I couldn’t guarantee I’d feel the same as the investigation went forward.

  Especially if Billi became the police’s main suspect. If Jack was considered more of a suspect, I wouldn’t like it, but I might not fight for him. It was different with Billi, though. I considered her a really good friend. Yet … well, I couldn’t completely dump the idea that she could have actually done it. Not that I believed Billi would harm me. But to protect herself … ?

  Heck, she wasn’t the killer. And I’d be careful. I’d learned to be careful.

  For the moment, I chose to ignore the fact that I had indeed been in a bit of danger before.

  I exited Reed’s car the same time he did, and we both opened the back doors to extract our dogs. I held Biscuit’s leash in one hand and my purse in the other as I walked toward the front of the car. As Reed and I met up, he looked down at me, then up again to scan the car-filled parking lot, and then he bent to kiss me.

  What? If someone had been around to see us, would he have skipped the kiss? “Hey,” I said. “Are you—”

  He interrupted me by putting his arms around me, drawing me close, and giving me an even longer, sexier kiss—even as I heard people chattering behind us.

  As the kiss ended and we pulled away from each other, I couldn’t help laughing. “So much for hiding what you were doing.”
/>   We both started walking forward, our dogs sniffing the paving. “Who said I was hiding?” he asked. “Maybe I wanted an audience.”

  I laughed all the harder.

  We were soon at the resort’s entrance, and Reed held the door open for me. “Is a visit to the bar first okay with you?”

  “Make it second,” I said. “I want to see if Neal is on duty.”

  I quickly headed past all the offices along the nearest wall of the posh and crowded lobby, glancing at the people who stood in groups having conversations or seated in attractive chairs, either facing the multiple fireplaces or staring up at the television sets that hung at intervals from the slanted ceiling.

  At the reception area, I caught Neal leaving his post, having just finished straightening up the main desk. “Hey, Neal,” I said. “Are you—”

  “Good timing, sis,” he said, interrupting me. “I was just going to call to see if you could come here this evening. Hi, Reed,” he added belatedly.

  “Well, here I am,” I responded. “But—”

  “But come with me,” he again interrupted. “Just you.” He looked apologetically toward Reed, then back at me again. “We need to go into Elise’s office.”

  “But—” I began again.

  “I’ll validate your parking ticket—Reed’s?—if you do. I can’t always, you know, but I can tonight, if … ”

  If I complied. And since parking at the resort wasn’t cheap, whatever validation Neal could provide tonight was welcome.

  Besides, I was curious. Why did Elise want to talk to me?

  Elise Ethman Hainner, the resort manager and Neal’s boss, was a member of the elite Ethman family that owned the Knobcone Heights Resort. Her husband, Walt Hainner, was a well-respected contractor in the area.

  But why were we going into Elise’s office?

  “Okay.” I knew my tone sounded a little hesitant, and I aimed my gaze at Reed. “I’ll meet you in the bar in a little while.”