Bad to the Bone

by Linda O. Johnston

  I walked out the door into the hallway, where I headed for the locker room so I could change into my vet tech scrubs. When I exited, a couple other techs walked by, accompanying patients and their owners to some of the examination rooms, so I just stood against the wall, out of their way.

  When the hallway emptied and I started toward the reception area to check in, one of the exam room doors opened and Arvie came out. As soon as he saw me, he frowned.

  “Uh-oh,” I said, approaching him. “What has Reed been saying to you?”

  Like the Joes, Arvie always gave me advice in the most caring of ways. Only something bad would have made him look at me with that concerned expression. And where might he have heard something he didn’t like about me?

  “Reed didn’t say anything till I pressed him,” Arvie said in a low voice as Yolanda, the least friendly of my fellow vet techs, strode down the hall behind us carrying an armload of clean towels. “But it’s about Wanda’s murder. The more I hear about it, the more I realize you’re friends with some of the people the media says are being considered ‘persons of interest.’ And Reed confirmed you’re still looking into this one, even though I hoped you wouldn’t.”

  “Did he also tell you that he and I have discussed the situation ad nauseam and I’ve promised him I’ll be careful and all that?”

  “Yes, I told him.”

  I jumped a little as Reed’s voice, behind me, startled me. The fact that someone could sneak up on me that way, even as I was talking about being careful, was disconcerting. But I wouldn’t let these two know that. Besides, other people—vets, technicians, patients, and pet owners—also strode up and down this hallway, so it wasn’t surprising that I didn’t notice someone walking up to me.

  I laughed nervously. “Well, it’s good to know that people care enough to talk about me behind my back.” Literally, now, in the case of Reed.

  “Of course we care about you,” Arvie said. “And we admire your track record, too. You snooped into two murders before and figured them out better than the authorities did. What are the odds you’ll do that now, or that the killer won’t attack you like the other killers did?”

  I started to shrug as Reed walked around me to stand by Arvie. He looked good in his white veterinary scrubs, which contrasted so well with his dark hair.

  Of course, he looked good no matter what—although I wondered why the expression he aimed at me now looked more amused than irritated that I still dared to do my own investigation of who killed Wanda.

  “I have a patient waiting,” he said, “so I’ve got to go. One thing first, though. How many new suspects have you come up with since yesterday?”

  If I thought I was startled before, what I felt now was multiplied.

  Only one, I thought, recalling my discussion with Dinah that morning, but I certainly wasn’t going to tell Reed that. And I also knew how I was going to use part of the rest of the afternoon to hopefully determine the viability of another potential suspect.

  “What, do you have some ideas you haven’t shared with me?” I asked. “Or how about you, Arvie?”

  “Keep me out of this,” our boss said. “But like Reed said, Carrie, be careful. Be very careful.” He took a step forward and gave me a quick hug. “Hey, I’m about to work with a couple of patients who need some flea treatments fast. Want to help?”

  Did I want to? No. But would I, for Arvie?

  “What a wonderful way to start off my time here today,” I said. “Lead me to them.”

  Sixteen

  My shift was over at four. Reed knew that. He made sure my last assignment of the day was with him, assisting with general exams of a family’s three dogs, then inoculating all of them with standard shots: rabies, distemper and parvo, and bordetella. The mother, father, and teenage son each took charge of one of the Great Dane mixes as they left. Fortunately, all three large dogs were well behaved even though they didn’t seem thrilled to get their shots.

  “Are you and Biscuit headed back to your shops now?” Reed asked when we were alone once more in the examination room.

  “Yes.” I half expected him to invite me to his place for dinner, and was considering inviting him to mine. But I had a stop planned on my way back to the shops, and I didn’t want that to come up in any conversations, so the less I talked to Reed the rest of the day, the better.

  But since Saturday is often considered date night, why didn’t he ask me to dinner? Even though I was considering saying no.

  My hurt feelings must have shown on my face. Either that, or Reed had already been planning on inviting me. “Care to join me at my place tonight?”

  I considered saying no, but, heck, I really wanted to say yes. “Sure,” I told him. “Should we aim for around seven o’clock?”

  “Yep. That’ll give me time to pick up our food, since we didn’t end up doing that last night. I look forward to it.”

  “Me, too.” I stepped forward and tilted my head upward, intending just a quick kiss. But it went on long enough that I wondered whether a vet tech or someone else would pull open the door to prepare the room for the next patient.

  Fortunately, that didn’t happen, and I soon changed into street clothes once more and went to get Biscuit. She was happy to see me, and the report I got on her from Faye was all good—good games with the other dogs, good behavior, and a good nap.

  I got her leash from where I’d stuck it on one of the shelves behind the counter and we went on our way.

  Would I end up telling Reed about the detour I had planned for Biscuit and me? That depended on how it went.

  My excuse was that I needed to pick up a small bag of healthy kibble for my dog. This explanation would have been more realistic if I’d driven, since now I’d have to carry the bag, but I hardly ever drove to the vet clinic and hadn’t wanted anyone to ask me questions today.

  Our stop, which was just a bit out of the way on our walk back to the shops, was the Knob Hill Pet Emporium.

  I hoped Harris would be there. Like me, he had a staff of employees who helped customers, but he hung around the place a lot, also like me—at least as far as I knew.

  If he wasn’t there, I could still pick up some food and, hopefully, ask some discreet questions.

  As earlier in the day, the fall air was crisp and dry. Instead of walking along Pacific Street at the eastern edge of the town square, we stayed on the other side of the road and turned left on Peak Road. Harris Ethman’s store wasn’t far from there.

  I’d adopted Biscuit after she was abandoned at the vet clinic, soon after I’d moved to Knobcone Heights and started working there. At first, I’d considered the Emporium too expensive and hadn’t shopped there, but then I learned it was not only the most convenient but often the best place to buy food and supplies for my dog. Of course, when I opened my shops and Myra Ethman railed against me for it, viewing the Barkery as competition, I stopped going to the Emporium and drove far out of town to pick up healthy food for Biscuit. After Myra died—and I’d become a suspect—I remained far away from the Emporium whenever possible, since even after the killer was caught, I hadn’t felt welcome. But I was pleased that over time—somewhat thanks to Jack, who’d convinced Harris to sell VimPets products—Harris and I had first become cordial, and by now somewhat friendly.

  And I’d begun shopping there again.

  I decided to rely on that friendliness for the upcoming conversation I planned—although I had no real sense of how to start it, or how to direct it. I’d have to improvise.

  But Harris had mentioned, at the resort, that he’d met Wanda before, and that she’d visited his store. Les had expressed concern that the police could view Harris as a murder suspect, and I’d gotten this sense of concern from Harris’s mother, too, when they’d summoned me to Elise’s office.

  Finally, there we were, right in front of the Emporium. Since it was still daytime, the neon si
gn with its elegant scripted font wasn’t turned on. I looked in the window of the shop, where some of its most high-end goods were displayed: things like dog bowls that appeared plated in gold; diamond-studded, or more likely rhinestone studded, collars and leashes; and even stylish dog clothing. I saw people inside. One of them was Harris.

  I had a feeling my visit was going to be quite interesting.

  Or not. As Biscuit and I entered the upscale and attractive shop, I noticed Harris glance in our direction, then turn back to the customers he’d been talking to, in the area filled with dog toys. I could understand that. He was busy.

  But I certainly hadn’t gotten the impression that he was glad to see me. Not that it mattered. I’d still wrest a few minutes of conversation from him as soon as I could.

  For now, I led Biscuit past groups of customers and employees toward the rear of the store, where the gleaming wooden shelves of food were. One area was filled with VimPets products—canned food and kibble in different flavors—for dogs of different sizes, ages, and dietary needs. Things had definitely changed from the time when Harris had refused to carry VimPets products.

  There were several different size bags of each kind of kibble, and I picked out a five-pound sack, easy enough to carry, of the dry food Biscuit now enjoyed along with her canned food—all high-protein and organic.

  When I turned back toward the front of the store, one of the employees, an attractive and thin young lady, approached me. “Can I help you with that?” She looked down at the bag I was carrying.

  “Oh, no thanks, I’m fine,” I said, and Biscuit and I kept walking.

  But when I reached the place where I’d seen Harris before, he wasn’t there. Nor did I see him anywhere else. Where had he gone?

  Was he avoiding me, or was I just being paranoid?

  Or was it a touch of both?

  No matter.

  I then did something that generally displeases owners or managers of retail stores: after glancing around to make sure the employee who’d offered to help me had her attention on another customer, I put the bag of food I was carrying on the nearest shelf—one not for food, but for dog collars. I’d return and get it soon; carrying Biscuit and five pounds of food, not to mention the purse over my shoulder, could get unwieldy. I stooped down and picked my dog up, holding her close as I began wandering again, this time toward the cash register counter.

  As I recalled, there was a door behind that counter, and since it was the only closed door I saw other than the entrance onto the street and the exit to the rear parking lot, I assumed this one led to the Emporium’s office.

  Though Harris and I had become more cordial and even visited each other’s shops now and then, we hadn’t become friendly enough to be invited into each other’s offices. As a result, all I could do was guess as to its location.

  Was Harris there? I’d need to check.

  I had to wait a couple of minutes, though, while the employee standing at the electronic register in front of the office door finished with a customer and bagged a huge order of food and toys and treats.

  Treats? Bagged and pre-packaged ones. That customer needed to go to my Barkery … but I wasn’t about to suggest that now.

  Instead, I waited until the employee finally moved away from the cash register—fortunately, he wasn’t simply working as a cashier. I then edged in that direction, only to see Harris exit through the door I’d been aiming for.

  I’d presumably been right about the office, but at the moment it didn’t matter. What did matter was that Harris was now visible. I continued edging toward him.

  He noticed me, which wasn’t surprising. I saw him freeze for a moment, then aim a very quick look behind him, as if he contemplated fleeing back into his office.

  I’d seen him looking gaunt and frail after losing Myra, and somewhat healthier recently. Right now, he appeared pale and edgy, or maybe he was simply not thrilled to see me here. Why? I was a customer, after all.

  I half expected him to stride off to find some customers to wait on. Instead, he actually approached Biscuit and me. As usual, he wore what I’d come to understand was the tradition in this shop: a black knit shirt with a golden Emporium crown logo sparkling on the pocket.

  “Hi, Carrie,” he said. “What brings you here?”

  “I need some food for Biscuit,” I replied. “And—well, I thought, with your background, that you’d be the right person to talk to about a concern I have.” I watched his face as I spoke. He seemed to wince slightly but didn’t tell me to get lost. “Could we go to your office or someplace quiet to talk?” I added.

  “Yeah. Sure. This way.” He turned his back on me and headed for the door he had just exited.

  For a moment, I hesitated about following him. Heck, I’d been noticed at least somewhat by this crowd. And I didn’t really think Harris was the killer—did I? Plus, even if he wanted to get rid of me somehow, he surely wouldn’t harm me right here, where it would be obvious.

  I realized I was overreacting as I reached the office door. But looking into a murder tended to stretch my emotions thin.

  I’d learned this before—including when I’d investigated the murder of this man’s wife.

  He opened the door and waved me in. Still holding Biscuit, I walked inside.

  The place looked every bit as posh as Elise’s office at the Knobcone Heights Resort, which wasn’t any big surprise since it had always been occupied by an Ethman, either by blood or by marriage. That had been Myra’s view before she was killed, and she’d been the one to start the Emporium for her husband, to give him something worthwhile to do even as an Ethman.

  The furniture looked more refined than standard retail office stuff. The desk and chairs were either actual mahogany antiques or excellent replicas. Artwork on the walls depicted cats and dogs, and although I couldn’t name the artists, these modern renditions of animals, mostly in multiple colors with big eyes and sweet expressions, drew me to them. I wondered if the paintings were on sale, like the merchandise in the store—but decided I wouldn’t ask. I doubted I could afford even the cheapest of them.

  “Have a seat, Carrie.” Harris sat down in the chair behind his desk. After kneeling to place Biscuit on the area rug that appeared Asian and, yes, expensive, I followed his instruction and planted myself in one of the two chairs that matched the desk. “So what’s up?” he finally asked.

  I’d been pondering how to start this conversation and hadn’t come up with a good way. I just decided to jump in. “Well, the last time we spoke, the rest of your family was there—and the topic was what had happened to Wanda Addler. It’s been on my mind a lot this week, as it probably is with everyone around here who met her.”

  “So you’re sticking your nose into that situation, like you did before.” His frown seemed to squeeze his entire face into a caricature that wasn’t nearly as attractive as the pet paintings around him.

  “It sounded, when we got together, like you and your family anticipated that, and you wanted to make sure to look at Jack Loroco as a possibility.”

  “That’s right. So have you found the evidence that’ll convict him?”

  “Still working on it, but maybe you can help.” Or, at least, help me learn more about your involvement. “I gather you met Wanda, from what you said. I also gather that she wasn’t the nicest person, especially not when someone like Jack stood in the way of her getting what she wanted.” I paused, fascinated by how Harris’s face had reddened, as if he was holding inside his head something that threatened to make it explode. But I wasn’t sure how to continue. I finally came up with, “What did she tell you about Jack?”

  Harris stood abruptly and turned his back on me. What was he thinking? I was dying to know …

  No, poor choice of words. But what had really happened between him and Wanda?

  I remained quiet, hoping that whatever was going on in Harris
’s head would come pouring out.

  And I wasn’t disappointed.

  At least not completely.

  He finally turned back to face me, but he didn’t sit down. “If anyone deserved to be murdered, it was that woman,” he said.

  Seventeen

  I waited for Harris to explain his outburst, but he just stood there, no longer looking at me but somewhere over my shoulder.

  Once again, I wished I could read what he was thinking.

  Finally, I had to interrupt the silence—with more than the muffled hum of conversations out in the store. “What did she do that was so disturbing?” I asked softly.

  He took a deep breath, then looked down at me. He smiled then, but it appeared more furious than happy. “She tried to get me involved in her war against Jack, and the weapon she used against me was my own store and its success.”

  He moved slightly, then crumpled back down into his chair. The movement apparently startled Biscuit, who’d been lying beside me. She was on her feet all of a sudden, appearing to guard me.

  I bent over and patted her head, hoping she would remain quiet. I didn’t want anything, even a beloved dog’s bark, to interrupt this moment.

  “How, Harris?” I finally prompted.

  For the few next minutes, I forced my eyes to remain compassionate and not widen with surprise. At first I thought he might actually wind up confessing to killing her.

  Not exactly.

  His story came flooding out, as if it had been on the tip of his tongue for a long time but had been swallowed, maybe thanks to orders from members of his family.

  The beginning was nothing new—how his wonderful Myra had wanted him to do something he loved, even if it wasn’t a standard Ethman activity. She’d bought this shop for him, made it first rate and excellent and started ramping up its reputation.

  “Even though I thought she worried too much when you opened your Barkery,” he said, “I can’t tell you how much I appreciated her drive to help me be successful. And I was, thanks to her. And then … And then … ”