Bad to the Bone

by Linda O. Johnston

  “You didn’t mind my snooping around last time,” I said, looking into my brother’s blue eyes, which were so like my own. I figured I’d deal with Reed in a moment.

  “Well, last time Janelle was a suspect. This time—”

  “Okay, I really don’t want to get into it, but you took me to see your bosses about Wanda.”

  “Yeah, and I told you I didn’t have much choice.”

  “Hi, Carrie. Neal. Reed.” A familiar voice drew my gaze up and away from my brother’s face. Les Ethman stood behind Neal, smiling at us, but I couldn’t help wondering why he’d come out here. I’d said hello to him earlier, at the meeting in Elise’s office.

  Les was a nice-looking senior, dressed this evening in a gray shirt and dark trousers instead of one of the suits he wore to City Council meetings—not surprising, considering the hour. I didn’t know if the Council had met today anyway.

  “Would you like to join us?” That was Reed talking, and I suspected he didn’t know Les even as well as the rest of us. Of course, Les was owned by a sweet English bulldog named Sam who occasionally visited our veterinary clinic, so they’d most likely seen each other there.

  Les’s smile emphasized his Ethman turned-down eyes. “I’d love to, for a minute. I’ll just have a beer, not dinner.” He started toward the only empty chair at the table, which was no longer occupied by Biscuit.

  Like the rest of the Ethmans, Les had apparently lived in Knobcone Heights for a long time. Unlike them, he actually did have a good reason to act as if he ruled the place, since he had been elected to City Council repeatedly.

  He sat down, and immediately Gwen came over to ask for his order. The resort’s employees were primed to take good care of the Ethmans.

  My salad was good. The bite I’d taken of my hamburger was even better, but, as planned, I shared it with the dogs, giving Hugo the bigger piece.

  Gwen brought Les’s beer quickly, along with some taco chips and salsa, which we all sampled. Neal again brought up his proposed hikes around Halloween, to get Les’s opinion.

  The night air remained brisk but the lamps kept us warm. And Les kept looking from one to the other of us, as if waiting for us to start talking about the elephant on the patio—and probably everywhere in Knobcone Heights at the moment: Wanda’s murder.

  But what could we say to, and in front of, a City Councilman?

  Neal bent over to hand his friend Bug and the other pup some roast beef from his sandwich. I’d have to give both dogs some healthy treats from my Barkery. Of course, meat was generally good for dogs, but my stuff was better.

  That was when Les finally said, “Okay. Forget my family’s pushiness, Carrie. Or that I told them you’re fine with not getting involved this time. Who here has an idea what happened to Wanda Addler?”

  He looked at me first, then at Reed and Neal, then aimed his gaze back at me.

  I raised my eyebrows in a look I hoped appeared completely innocent. “Like you said, I’m fine with not getting involved this time. Isn’t solving murders what the police are supposed to do?”

  The lines beside Les’s mouth grew deeper as he aimed a sardonic smile at me. “Yes, but that didn’t stop you before, Carrie.”

  “Oh, but the other people at this table are stopping me.” I aimed my own perky smile at Neal, then at Reed.

  “You would look into it otherwise?”

  My smile faded, and not just because I saw Reed and Neal both stare hard at me, as if daring me to say yes. “I never intended to get involved the other times, Les. I thought you knew that. But when I was a major suspect I really had no choice. And then a friend, who also has become an assistant at my shops, became a suspect.”

  “So, this time you don’t consider Jack Loroco or any other potential suspect to be your friend?”

  I really didn’t want to get into this now, and with Les. Especially with the two men I was closest to listening. Besides, Les knew I was friends with his fellow City Councilperson Billi.

  So I just aimed a puzzled look at Les. “I don’t understand why you’re pushing this now, Les, especially since you stood up for me making my own decisions in front of your family.” I paused, but he said nothing, so I continued. “Jack and I are friends, sure, but not that close. And I gather your family may have ideas about other potential suspects, although they didn’t mention who. Do you know who they are?”

  Les glared at me this time, but only for an instant before taking a swig of his beer and ending the drink with a sigh. “I’ve got some ideas, but mostly I’m really unhappy that nice, quiet Knobcone Heights has become a murder location lately. You’re right. You should stay out of it this time, Carrie. But I’m always happy to ask citizens for ideas, so if you can tell me how we can calm down our wonderful town again and make sure people are safe from any kind of issue, most especially murder, please let me know.”

  “Absolutely,” I assured him—while wondering how to protect a whole town from that kind of thing, especially when the murders had happened weeks or months apart and were totally unrelated.

  My dear brother took over the conversation once more at the table, so the rest of our meal was spent talking about how wonderful Knobcone Heights was for sightseeing, especially on hikes.

  Les stayed even after he finished his beer. I wondered what was really on his mind. He, of all the Ethmans, had always been a very nice and rational person before. I supposed he was now, too.

  But I wondered if all this was because he actually did want me to try to solve this murder, which was absurd.

  Wasn’t it?

  Or was it the opposite?

  This was becoming rather confusing …

  Eventually we all finished eating and drinking, and I soon learned that, on top of all the tension and speculation, the evening wasn’t ending as I’d hoped.

  Les left before the rest of us. First, though, he took me aside briefly to look over the balcony down toward the lake. Its surface shimmered with lights reflected from the resort and other nearby buildings.

  I was glad to accompany Les there to stare at the lovely view and speak privately with him. I expected some kind of explanation about what he really was thinking. Maybe even an apology for bringing the latest murder up more than once.

  Instead, though, he said, “I want to chat with you about all this soon, Carrie. Now’s not the time or place, but you probably figured that I have some concerns—about you, and about other related things. I’ll give you a call tomorrow, if that’s all right with you.”

  Of course it was. I was intrigued, for one thing. What was really on this City Councilman’s mind? Just ways to protect Knobcone Heights from future murders?

  If so, I wasn’t the best citizen to talk to. A store owner and veterinary technician wasn’t anything like a city administrator or cop—the kinds of people he had easy access too—even though this vet tech and entrepreneur had done some things beyond the scope of what was expected of her.

  I’d have to wait to find out, though. “Sure, Les,” I told him. “I’ll look forward to talking with you tomorrow.”

  He preceded me back to our table, where he quickly patted both dogs in farewell and said goodbye to Neal, Reed, and me. Then he left.

  “Is everything okay with Les?” Neal asked, as he and Reed stood.

  “I’m not sure,” I responded honestly.

  Then came my big disappointment of the evening. Not that I dislike my brother, or the home where we live—not at all, I love them both—but instead of Biscuit and me getting invited to Reed and Hugo’s for a nightcap, Neal drove me to my car, which was parked at the shops. That meant no fun activities with Reed before bedtime.

  And Reed seemed fine with this idea. Maybe he was tired. Maybe he was upset about the possibility that, no matter what I said or did, I seemed to be getting sucked into this murder investigation despite his encouraging me strongly to sta
y away.

  Which irritated me. Even if he was right and I should stay out of it, that was my decision to make. I didn’t take orders well, except on the job when he or one of the other veterinarians instructed me about what to do to help one of our patients.

  But this had nothing to do with saving an animal’s life—although it could ultimately boil down to saving the future of a falsely accused suspect, as it had the previous times.

  Well, I wasn’t going to learn any more about it tonight.

  Nor was I going to get anything more from Reed than a goodbye and quick good night kiss.

  “You okay, Carrie?” Neal asked as Biscuit and I got into his car.

  “I may need another drink,” I told him, though just a nightcap was far from what I’d hoped for with Reed. “Care to join me with some beer at home while we watch tonight’s news?”

  He liked the idea, and so did I.

  Biscuit stayed in Neal’s car when he dropped me off behind the stores to grab my own, and I followed my brother through downtown and into the residential area where we lived.

  It turned out to be a good thing that I did have a beer bottle in hand as we sat on the fluffy old beige couch in the living room and watched the local channel’s news broadcast on the TV mounted on the wall. Unsurprisingly, Wanda Addler’s death was mentioned, as Police Chief Loretta Jonas was interviewed on camera on the sidewalk in front of the police station.

  As usual when confronted by a reporter and microphone, Chief Loretta was dressed in a formal police uniform, complete with dark jacket decorated with medals. She looked serious and concerned, although the frown on her dark-complected face was there nearly every time I saw her—except when she was with her dog Jellybean, a schnauzer mix adopted a while ago from Mountaintop Rescue. I’d guessed when I’d first met her that she was in her fifties and dyed her medium-brown hair, since it was all one shade.

  Yes, she said into the microphone held by solemn Silas Perring, anchor of the local station’s evening news, there had been an apparent homicide in Knobcone Heights. The victim was not a local resident, and an investigation was being conducted. Nothing outstanding or particularly informational there.

  But who were her detectives, Bridget Morana and Wayne Crunoll, interrogating this time … anyone I thought of as a suspect?

  Possibly, although the people they were most likely to zero in on might not be the ones I considered the most probable killers.

  When the interview was over, I swigged the rest of my beer, then started to rise. “Bedtime,” I told Neal—and Biscuit, too, since I’d be taking her out for her last walk of the night.

  “What did you think?” My brother stood, too. “About that interview, I mean.”

  “Our illustrious police chief didn’t really say anything, at least nothing new.” I sighed. “And I wish I didn’t care.”

  “I wish you didn’t, too,” Neal said, his voice firm and his light brows knitted in worry. “I don’t suppose I could bribe you to stay out of it this time, could I, sis?”

  “What would you bribe me with?”

  “Oh, how about if all the hikes you take with me in the future are free?”

  “They already are,” I said dryly.

  “Then I’ll up the amount of rent I pay you.”

  “What, from nearly nothing to a few dollars more than nearly nothing?”

  “I’ll walk Biscuit for you more.”

  “You take her for lots of walks already. Hey, with all this I’m beginning to think you actually like it when I figure out who murderers are.”

  Neal smiled, his eyes drooping as if he were as tired as I felt. “I did appreciate it the last couple of times. This time, not so much, maybe. But I’ve got to admit that it’s been fun telling my friends and people I work with that yes, I’m that Carrie Kennersly’s brother.”

  I drew near to him, gently swatted him with the end of Biscuit’s leash, and gave him a hug.

  “Good night, bro,” I said. “And if you happen to see the murder in your dreams, be sure to let me know whodunit.”

  “Count on it. And you do the same.”

  “Sure,” I said, lying. If I dreamed about the killer, I’d still want to do some digging to make sure my mind wasn’t just telling me who I wanted to have done it.

  And assuming I ignored Reed and Neal and possibly Les, and stayed involved in solving this murder—due to knowing and liking both Billi and Jack—then I wanted to make sure that I did it the right way, once more.

  Twelve

  My bedtime walk with Biscuit along the sidewalk of our quiet residential street under the sparse streetlights was short and to the point. She apparently was tired, too.

  Just as we returned to the house, my phone rang. I opened the door quickly, then pulled the phone from my pocket.

  It was Reed. “I hope I didn’t wake you,” he said.

  “No, I’m about to go to bed.” I knew my voice sounded cool, but I felt a little irritated toward him. Not that I minded spending time with Neal, but still …

  I bent down, phone to my ear, to let Biscuit off her leash and give her a big hug.

  “I want to apologize, Carrie.” Reed’s words and tone made all that iciness inside me start melting.

  Hey, I told myself. He might want to apologize for something totally illogical.

  But no. He continued by saying, “I miss you tonight, and I kind of pulled away because you’re clearly getting involved with this latest murder situation. But it’s not up to me to tell you what you can and can’t do. Except at the clinic.” Okay, he was trying to lighten this up a bit.

  “True,” I told him, but without removing the bite from my tone. He could grovel some more.

  Meanwhile, I checked that the doors were locked, then followed Biscuit down the hall to our bedroom. I heard the shower as we passed Neal’s room so I figured he hadn’t gone to bed yet.

  “Although I can at least make suggestions if I’m worried about you, like now,” Reed said. “And I want you to promise me something.”

  “What’s that?” I walked into my bedroom, Biscuit in front of me, and closed the door behind us.

  I anticipated Reed saying something like he wanted me to drop all interest in murders, or only to snoop into them from some faraway location, or let him do it all for me. And I was sure his form of investigating would be, if anything, to check long-distance into what was going on, maybe just researching online.

  I was therefore surprised when, as I sat down on the edge of my bed on top of the lavender coverlet, he said, “Several things. Promise to be careful—I’ve told you this before, but I’m repeating it, especially since things got pretty nasty those other times. And I know you’re smart, much smarter than you should be about things like murder investigations, but I’m asking you not to talk one-on-one with anyone you think could be the real killer, not unless you’re in public and safe—although I know you can’t always choose time and place and who you’re with. Just take good care of yourself.”

  “And bad care of the person I think is guilty, if I figure that out.” I watched Biscuit turn in circles on top of her fluffy bed on the floor beside mine.

  “Exactly. Like, put ’em in the hands of the cops fast.”

  I laughed. “I got it, Reed. And I appreciate your concern.”

  “Oh, yeah, I’m concerned about you, Carrie Kennersly. And I’d like for us to have dinner here at my place tomorrow night, just ourselves. Is that okay?”

  “That’s very okay.” We soon hung up—and I knew at last that I’d be able to sleep that night.

  Well, I slept some that night, although I did have dreams wake me. In one, I saw Billi killing Wanda, hitting her with a poop scooper till she bled. In another, it was Jack. In another, interestingly, it was Harris Ethman. And, yes, in yet another, I couldn’t see who it was, but it was none of the above.

  T
oo many dreams. Too little time. Four o’clock in the morning came much too quickly.

  But I rose on schedule and also arrived at my stores on schedule a while later, Biscuit accompanying me. I gave her a big hug as I left her in the Barkery, making sure, since she was loose for now, that the shop door couldn’t be opened by anyone else. Then I returned to the kitchen to scrub my hands and don my apron.

  First thing, I started on some of the Icing baked goods, including the excellent red velvet cupcakes whose recipe I’d bought from Brenda. As I stood by the Icing part of the counter, I kept seeing those dreams again in my mind. Maybe everyone was right. I had to stop getting involved with murders. They took up too much of my consciousness and unconsciousness.

  Enough, I told myself. Listen to Reed. Listen to Neal. And even listen to Les.

  But would I listen even to myself? That remained to be seen.

  Soon Janelle came in via the back door. “Good morning, Carrie.”

  “Good morning.” I saw her glance toward where I stood.

  “Looks like I’m baking dog treats this morning,” she said. “Love it!”

  She quickly got started on the gingerbread dog treats that had been created by Chef Manfred Indor for me. Manfred was a really great chef for human food who’d been fired from the Knobcone Heights Resort a while ago. I liked the guy, especially since he’d promised to come up with some new dog treat recipes for me and then delivered on his promise—the gingerbread recipe was from him. He’d fortunately found a couple of other jobs in the San Bernardino Mountains, so I still saw him now and then.

  The recipe was quick, easy, and tasty not only for dogs but also for the people who tried them. I always tried to have some of those treats around.

  “I really like this recipe,” Janelle said. “But I like everything you bake here. We need something new, though, since I want to take some more photographs to post on our website and social media.”

  Janelle was, first and foremost, a photographer. Which also turned her into the absolute best person to provide promotion for both of my shops. She could arrange baked goods into all kinds of formations to attract potential customers’ attention and had been doing so for several months now. And the only compensation she ever let me give her was to employ her at my shops.