I wasn’t hungry, so I didn’t stop for lunch. I figured I could treat myself to one or two of my own people treats if I needed to eat something.
When I walked into the Barkery with Biscuit, Janelle was there, waiting on customers. There were quite a few of them, which was a good thing. But I wanted to let her know about my brief conversation with Neal.
I got an opportunity to do that about fifteen minutes later. I’d popped in at Icing, saw that Dinah and Frida had everything under control, and then went back into the Barkery to help Janelle. The crowd had thinned, and everyone there was still deciding what they wanted.
I motioned for Janelle to join me near Biscuit’s enclosure. But telling her that I wanted her to keep my brother company that evening somewhere other than at our house seemed pointless now, since I still hadn’t heard back from Reed.
I told her this, my voice low, as I described the misery of the day so far—and the horror of another murder causing it all.
“You poor thing,” Janelle said, giving me a hug. “And—well, I’ll want to talk more about it with you when you have time, but not tonight. Are you and Reed … well, should I assume that the cops are talking to both of you?”
“Yeah,” I acknowledged, figuring I could give her more details later. But if Reed wasn’t going to make himself available to talk that night, I certainly didn’t want to be alone. And so I started to tell Janelle that my plans could change and I might treat Neal and her to dinner.
She cocked her head, clearly confused. “I think we need to talk even sooner. Are you—”
My phone started ringing in my pocket. I pulled it out, apologizing quickly to Janelle and saying, “I need to take this.”
For it was, in fact, Reed.
“Hi,” I said, not sure what tone to take.
“I got your text.” Reed’s voice sounded raspy. “Good idea. I really need to talk to you tonight. Hugo and I will be at your place around six thirty. Is that too early?”
Since I closed the shops at six, we usually didn’t get together till closer to seven or even later.
The fact he wanted to see me earlier worried me.
At least he wasn’t in jail.
Not yet.
“Six thirty will be fine,” I said, wondering suddenly what I had in the house that I could cook for us quickly.
I would figure something out. I told Janelle the latest development, and she assured me that she and Neal would hang out somewhere else that night.
The most important thing was to learn what was going on with Reed.
Twelve
Biscuit and I stopped on the way home to pick up a people dinner. I decided on something that Reed and I had both enjoyed previously: food from a delightful Chinese restaurant.
And one of the main reasons for stopping at that restaurant was that there was a liquor store next door. After ensuring that Biscuit was still okay in her harness in the backseat of my car, I ran in for a bottle of a Napa Valley wine I particularly liked—and bought two bottles, just in case we really got into it that night. Instead of driving home semi-plastered, Reed could always sleep on the sofa if Neal came home later …
As I pulled into my driveway a short while later, Reed was just parking on the street. Good timing. Biscuit and I waited while he helped Hugo out of the backseat, and Reed took the two bags I’d brought from my car. We all entered my house through the garage, and Reed soon placed the bags onto the beige granite kitchen counter.
At first he seemed to stare at the bags as if waiting for them to say something or fall over or somehow keep his attention.
“Are you okay?” I asked softly.
“Not sure.” He paused. “Could we open one of those bottles of wine?”
My brief laugh was anything but happy. “Of course.” I opened one of the counter drawers and brought out my favorite corkscrew that always did a good job—fast. Rather than handing it to Reed, I opened the bottle and then got a couple of wine glasses from one of the upper wooden cabinets.
In a short while, Reed and I were in the living room sitting on my white sofa, both holding wine glasses filled with the shiraz I’d bought. I watched Reed. I again admired his light green shirt tucked neatly into his dark trousers. The planes of his face seemed deeper, making him appear gaunt, and his dark late-day shadow contrasted even more than usual with his pale skin.
All sorts of questions inundated my mind, but I waited for him to start talking first.
Which he did, by asking me a question. “What were those detectives like when they interviewed you?”
Reed’s gaze was quizzical, his dark eyes narrowed as if he were in pain, and he seemed almost to wince as he spoke, as if expecting a blow.
This wasn’t the Reed I knew … and possibly loved.
I didn’t necessarily want to answer his question till I’d heard how the detectives had acted while interrogating him. Somehow, he must have read this in my expression, since he added, “I’d imagine they weren’t particularly kind to you, but probably not as demanding as they were with me. They teased at first, then goaded and accused me, but they didn’t talk about arresting me … yet.”
“Tell me more specifically, Reed. Please.” I spoke softly, putting my glass on the coffee table and reaching for his hand.
Hugo must also have sensed the emotion in his alpha’s mind, since he got up from where he’d been lying near the table to come sit with his head on Reed’s leg. Biscuit just watched as she remained lying near me.
Reed clasped my hand even harder. “You know, Carrie,” he said, “We’ve been dating for months now, during three situations where you worked on solving murders—a weird state of affairs each time. Though I worried about you, I never completely understood what you must have felt like—first when the cops thought you were the killer, or even later when you were helping people you care about prove their innocence. I watched, but I didn’t, well, feel it.”
“I understand,” I told him. “It’s not something people generally get involved in unless it’s their job, and I never intended to, either. But to the extent I did get involved—yes, I felt it deeply.” I paused. “Please, Reed, tell me more about your session with the detectives.”
He’d already indicated that Wayne and Bridget might be focusing on him, not that I was surprised. But they were acting that way with nearly everyone. Even so, I didn’t want to potentially make Reed feel any worse by describing my back and forth with those two. Had I liked it? Not particularly. But I also felt that although they hadn’t removed me from their extensive and potentially growing suspect list, I wasn’t at the top.
But Reed could be. And once more, I couldn’t help thinking his position there might be justifiable.
He took a long sip of wine. Then, turning enough to be able to meet my eyes, he said, “They talked about you first thing. Said they were aware that you and I were friends, and that they’d appreciated your help in finding answers in the past in the odd series of murders that have gripped Knobcone Heights. They asked what I knew about those situations, and—well, you know that I wasn’t generally pleased about your involvement, since I was concerned about your safety. But I made it clear that I was proud you helped to find the right answers.”
I could only smile fondly at that—especially since with each case, Reed had seemed to try harder to get me not to become involved. And I actually would have preferred not to, but the circumstances seemed to force me into it each time.
The detectives had recognized the possibility of it happening again this time, when we’d talked. Maybe if they focused on a suspect I didn’t care about, I’d be able to back off.
But Reed’s next words indicated it would be impossible.
“That was when Detective Crunoll started laughing, though he didn’t sound like he was having fun. He asked me if this was why I’d killed Raela—because I figured you’d investigate the situation and you’d determine how to pin it on someone else.”
I drew in my breath in shock.
O
f course, I’d long doubted that Wayne appreciated how I’d uncovered the killers before, and I knew he didn’t want me involved this time, either. And here I was, involved again whether I liked it or not. I had to try to find the actual murderer because Reed was a suspect … though I recognized that it could in fact be Reed. I might not trumpet this thought to the cops, let alone the world, but never would I manufacture evidence or do anything to convict an innocent person of a crime, if that’s what Wayne was suggesting.
I sucked in my lips, trying to figure out how to say what I needed to next. “I’m at a bit of a loss here,” I finally said. “First of all, the idea that I’m somehow already involved, that I’m investigating … I hadn’t intended to before, and this time—well, there are several people involved that I care about and if one of them is the killer, I’d prefer not to know it, let alone prove it. Especially when it comes to you. But I’d never, ever, make things up. He had to have been joking.”
“Maybe. Very funny, isn’t it?” Reed spoke with no emotion. His expression was blank. The only indication that he felt anything at all was how he lifted his glass and all but chugged what was left of his wine.
“I’ll have to talk to them, make sure Wayne didn’t really mean it.”
“Sure.” Reed paused. “I know it doesn’t look good for me, Carrie. I was the one who argued most with Raela. I didn’t like her, and I didn’t even attempt to hide that fact.”
I nodded slowly. “True.”
“And I can understand why I’d be a major person of interest in investigating her murder.”
I allowed myself to keep nodding but didn’t respond.
“Now, here’s more detail about how my interrogation went.” I noticed that Reed was calling it by its correct name now, rather than “interview” or something else more benign. He proceeded to describe how the detectives had gone from almost teasing about his knowing me and how I might get involved to digging in and demanding he share all the details he could in the short time about how he knew Raela.
Reed had even asked at one point if he should have a lawyer, present, and they’d said it was up to him.
“Maybe it was foolish,” he told me, “but I just said I didn’t do anything to harm Raela and since they shouldn’t arrest me, I wouldn’t hire a lawyer. I know that doesn’t convince the authorities of anyone’s innocence. I’ve seen similar stuff on TV and in the movies. But it seemed appropriate at the time.”
“I understand,” I said. “What was their reaction?”
“They just kept at it. And when I began to think I’d been pretty dumb and should tell them I’d changed my mind and wanted a lawyer, they said the interview was over, that they had to get on to the next interview, and they let me go.”
“That’s good,” I said, with at least a small amount of relief. Had Reed convinced them of his innocence?
Or did they just want him to think so?
“I went back to my office for a little while just to calm down and start thinking like a vet again, and then I saw a few more patients.”
He lifted his glass again—his empty glass. “Here, let me refill these,” I said, since mine was nearly empty, too. I went to the kitchen to grab the wine bottle.
I figured Reed would follow me, but only Biscuit did. When I returned to the living room, Reed was bending over, hugging and stroking Hugo as if he really needed the contact.
I considered drawing close to him and hugging him to show how much I cared. But he straightened up and grabbed his wine glass from the table where he’d put it, and I filled it again, as well as mine.
“So where do you think things will go from here?” he asked after taking another swig.
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “Even if I asked Wayne and Bridget, they wouldn’t tell me who their prime suspects are—although their comments do suggest you’re one of them. But the situation is so new I doubt they have enough evidence to pin it on anyone yet, which might be good for you. I know they’ll keep investigating, though. Interviewing more people, maybe. Unless, of course, there’s something particularly telling about the evidence they already have.”
“Right. I gather they believe Raela was given a shot or two of pentobarbital, which was why they’re focusing on those of us at the clinic. We have a supply there and we all know how to use it.”
“That’s what I gathered, too,” I said.
We both paused. My mind kept going over the possibilities—and I was glad Reed didn’t ask what I was thinking.
Because I did still wonder whether, in fact, it could have been him.
Maybe my expression said so. Reed put his wine glass down and rose. He put out a hand toward me, and I put my glass down as well and grasped his hand.
He pulled me closer, and I was suddenly in his arms.
He was shaking. I pulled back and saw moisture in his eyes before he again drew me close.
“I know it looks bad, Carrie,” he rasped in my ear, “but I swear I didn’t do it.”
“I know,” I lied. I only hoped he was telling the truth, and that that was the reason for his emotion.
“And I’m sure you never thought you’d hear this from me,” he continued. He pulled back and looked me straight in the eye. “I remember full well how much I tried to keep you from getting involved with solving that last murder. I was worried about your safety. I’m still worried about your safety—but as long as you’re careful and don’t put yourself into any dangerous situations … Carrie, I’d really appreciate your looking into this murder case and finding out who actually did it.”
Thirteen
I supposed this wasn’t completely unexpected. The last time I’d gotten involved with looking into a murder, Reed had eventually segued from trying to get me to back off completely to accepting the fact that I’d keep on doing my own kind of investigation—though he’d continued to tell me to be careful.
Somehow, I figured, Reed must have come to respect what I’d done. Or at least recognized my sleuthing abilities enough to want to use them to his advantage now, if it was possible.
And I hoped it was.
I looked at him over my wine glass, which I lifted as if in a toast. “Here’s to the cops finding the right bad guy first—but if they don’t, then here’s to my figuring it out.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Reed said. We clinked glasses and each took a sip, with the dogs stirring on the floor near our feet.
Surely Reed encouraging me to look into the situation this time meant he was innocent … didn’t it? Of course, he was a smart guy. Maybe he figured that he had to say something like this in order to convince me he hadn’t done it, even if he had …
Darn. Enough of this. I took another swig of wine, then said, “And now I think it’s time for us to eat some of the great Chinese food I brought home. Okay?”
“Sure,” he said. “Let’s do it. I think I actually have an appetite now.”
We went into the kitchen, where I pulled out plates and flatware. We each scooped our own food out of the boxes and warmed it as we wanted in the microwave. I’d chosen mu shu chicken and stir fried veggies. Plus, I’d gotten two fortune cookies.
I wasn’t ready to look at those yet.
Just before we were ready to sit down at the table, my phone rang. It was Neal. “How are things, sis?” he asked.
“Okay. How are things with you?” Like, are you coming home any time soon? But I didn’t ask that aloud.
“I’m probably staying the night here at Janelle’s,” he said as I watched Reed take his seat, both dogs following as if prepared to beg for any treat at all. “How would that work for you?”
I wasn’t sure what was going to happen the rest of my evening, if Reed would stay or go. I still preferred not spending the night alone, but I also didn’t want to ruin Neal’s evening if Reed chose not to hang out here.
“That works fine,” I said. We traded a few more vague comments about his evening, though I knew how close Neal and Janelle were getting.
; “Was that Neal?” Reed asked as I hung up.
“Yes. He just wanted to let me know he won’t be home tonight.” So will you spend the night with me? That was another question I thought of without voicing it.
Fortunately, I didn’t have to. “I’d like to stay here tonight, if that’s okay with you,” Reed said. “I need some company of the human kind.” He nevertheless reached down and patted Hugo’s head. His dog maneuvered as if he was trying to nuzzle a treat from his person’s hand, although none was there at the moment.
“Sounds good to me,” I replied, relieved. We might have been feeding each other’s angst, but we might also be able to help each other deal with it.
After we finished eating, it was time to feed the dogs. The kibble I kept for Biscuit was nice and healthy, of course, and Hugo had eaten it before. I also gave them some premium canned food, and followed it all up with a treat from the Barkery that I removed from the cookie jar shaped like a doghouse that I kept on the counter. There was no trouble with getting either pup to enjoy dinner.
Then it was time to go for our walk. It was dark now, but the streetlights in my neighborhood made it easy for us to see the sidewalks along the slightly curving street. I occasionally just let Biscuit into the fenced dog run at the side of my house, but I believed we both preferred walks, so we did that more often.
And tonight, we were in good company.
We soon returned to the house. Inside the front door, Reed took me into his arms and we kissed—warmly, but not hotly. Would we get more involved tonight? I wasn’t sure, but I knew I’d treasure it either way.
“Hey,” he whispered into my ear, and I waited to hear him whisper something seductive … or sweet nothings. “Did we get any fortune cookies tonight?”
That certainly wasn’t what I’d expected, and I laughed. “Yes,” I said, “we did.”
We returned to the kitchen and I picked up the cookies from where I’d placed them after taking them out of the bag. I held them out to him.
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