Bad to the Bone

  Copyright Information

  Bad to the Bone: A Barkery & Biscuits Mystery © 2017 by Linda O. Johnston.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any matter whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Midnight Ink, except in the form of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  As the purchaser of this ebook, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. The text may not be otherwise reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, or recorded on any other storage device in any form or by any means.

  Any unauthorized usage of the text without express written permission of the publisher is a violation of the author’s copyright and is illegal and punishable by law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First e-book edition © 2017

  E-book ISBN: 9780738751825

  Book format by Bob Gaul

  Cover design by Ellen Lawson

  Cover illustration by Christina Hess

  Midnight Ink is an imprint of Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Johnston, Linda O., author.

  Title: Bad to the bone / Linda O. Johnston.

  Description: First edition. | Woodbury, Minnesota: Midnight Ink, [2017] |

  Series: A Barkery & Biscuits mystery; #3

  Identifiers: LCCN 2016056335 (print) | LCCN 2017002875 (ebook) | ISBN

  9780738746289 | ISBN 9780738751825

  Subjects: LCSH: Dog owners—Fiction. | Murder—Investigation—Fiction. |

  GSAFD: Mystery fiction

  Classification: LCC PS3610.O387 B34 2017 (print) | LCC PS3610.O387 (ebook) |

  DDC 813/.6—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016056335

  Midnight Ink does not participate in, endorse, or have any authority or responsibility concerning private business arrangements between our authors and the public.

  Any Internet references contained in this work are current at publication time, but the publisher cannot guarantee that a specific reference will continue or be maintained. Please refer to the publisher’s website for links to current author websites.

  Midnight Ink

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  Manufactured in the United States of America

  Bad to the Bone is dedicated to people who love their pets,

  most especially dogs—as are the other books in this series and nearly everything I write! Our pets are family and we all want

  to feed them well, including with tasty, healthy treats.

  It’s also dedicated to people with a sweet tooth and mystery

  readers who enjoy stories involving pets and food—especially

  those who read the Barkery & Biscuits Mysteries.

  And, no surprise to those of you who read my books: I dedicate this one, too, to my dear husband Fred, who brainstorms with

  me and tastes the treats—the human ones—that I bake.

  Plus, it’s dedicated to my beloved Cavalier King Charles Spaniels: Lexie, who’s no longer with us; Mystie, her “sister,” who loves tasting the treats; and Cari, the newest member of our family.

  One

  “How about another dozen chocolate chip cookies?” I asked Sissy. The grinning middle-aged lady stood across the counter from me at Icing on the Cake, the people-treats portion of my two adjoining bakeries. Sissy, dressed in a loose red jacket over jeans, was a regular here, and she was planning a party for her poker club this weekend.

  “Why not?” she replied. “And … well, let’s go for another dozen of my favorites, too.”

  I knew what her favorites were. Sissy adored red velvet cupcakes. She had adored them far longer than I had owned Icing and its counterpart next door, Barkery and Biscuits, where I baked and sold healthy treats for dogs. Previously, the connected spaces had been one store, called Icing on the Cake. I’d bought the business from my friend Brenda Anesco when she’d had to leave Knobcone Heights to care for her ailing mother, and I’d split it into two shops. Brenda had specialized in the red velvet cupcakes, and I’d gotten the recipe from her.

  “Absolutely,” I told Sissy. I used fresh tissue paper to add cookies to the partly filled box I held, then grabbed another red box with the Icing logo on it from the shelves behind me and put the cupcakes into it.

  I inhaled the delightfully sweet aroma emanating from the bakery’s kitchen as I started tallying up Sissy’s order. One of my part-time assistants, Vicky Valdez, was in there, baking today’s final batch of treats for Icing. It was late afternoon now.

  Before I finished totaling Sissy’s bill, my only full-time employee, Dinah Greeley, entered through the door from the Barkery. I’d inherited Dinah along with Icing, and she was wonderful: a slightly overweight, young-looking college graduate who loved to help—and to write.

  “Carrie, can you come over to the Barkery?” she asked, approaching me with a smile and a wave toward Sissy. “A friend of yours is here asking for you.”

  I knew who it was: Jack Loroco. He’d called me earlier.

  “Sure, as soon as I’m done here.”

  “Oh, I’d be glad to finish helping Sissy.” Dinah’s smile widened. So did Sissy’s.

  Mine, too. “Great,” I said. “Thanks.” Once Dinah had reached my side behind the counter, I quickly showed her what I’d been up to, then said a quick and warm goodbye to Sissy, wished her luck at poker and with her party, and headed toward the door that Dinah had just come through.

  As much as I loved Icing, I was about to enter my very own, very special creation, Barkery and Biscuits. As soon as I opened the door, I inhaled the meatier aroma and glanced across the blue tile floor—with its beige dog biscuit decoration in the center—to see my own adorable Biscuit, a golden toy poodle–terrier mix, in her large open-air crate at the far side of the room. She was trading nose sniffs through the mesh with Rigsley, Jack’s large gray mixed-breed dog who was several times Biscuit’s size.

  Jack, holding the end of Rigsley’s leash, was standing at the Barkery’s glass display case, a mirror image of the one in Icing. It contained dog biscuits that were round or shaped like bones or even spaniel faces—every one of them my own creation or created specially for me.

  “Hi, Carrie.” Jack had obviously been watching for me. When I’d first met him months ago, he was tan and wore light-colored, sometimes-casual clothing, but it was October now, chilly in the San Bernardino Mountains. Jack was visiting our resort town, Knobcone Heights, more frequently than in the past, and now tended to wear long-sleeved shirts and dark trousers. Today, his shirt was beige, his trousers black.

  I joined him at the display case. “Hi to you, too.”

  Jack was a good-looking guy, and at times I’d thought we might start sharing some kind of romantic connection, but that had never materialized. Instead, we had a business relationship—or, Jack wanted us to have one. And I was considering it more seriously now.

  I’d developed healthy treats for the patients at the Knobcone Veterinary Clinic, where I still worked part-time as a veterinary technician. I loved working there. But I’d always wanted to be my own boss, so here I was, baking and selling my treats. And that was why Jack was in town s
o much. He worked for VimPets, the large pet food manufacturer, and he’d been trying since I’d opened to get me to sell to his company some of my best-loved and healthiest dog treat recipes. At first his company hadn’t been interested. And even when things changed on that front, I’d remained reluctant. Now, though, Jack and I seemed to be headed toward a mutual agreement. He had convinced me—maybe—that the promotional advantage and public credit I’d get by selling VimPets a recipe might be worth it. And recently he’d told me he was fine with my idea of coming up with a brand-new recipe or two just for VimPets, rather than providing one I’d already created and used to bake products sold here. He wanted to promote his company’s credibility in selling healthy and unique pet foods by showcasing me, and my Barkery, as an example. So now I was more receptive to the possibility.

  Moving closer to the dogs, I started petting Rigsley. “I was wondering when you’d be back in town, Jack.” After commuting for months to his home in Los Angeles, stopping to market VimPets products along the way, last month he’d actually rented an apartment in Knobcone Heights. His new relationship with my friend Billi Matlock, one of our City Councilwomen, might have been one reason why. Although Billi claimed it wasn’t, she smiled a lot whenever I brought up the subject.

  “So which treats look best to you today?” I asked Jack, teasing him in a way. The biscuits now in the case were the same kinds that were always there, and included carob-and-peanut-butter dog treats, pumpkin-and-yam biscuits, and small, crunchy training rewards that contained beef and yams.

  The kinds of recipes I’d been waffling about selling to Jack.

  “They all look good to me,” he said. “You know that. And we can talk later about your ideas for the new recipes you’re developing for me. You are doing that, aren’t you?”

  “Still thinking about it,” I said as noncommittally as I could.

  “Great. I’ll be in town for a while and I hope we can work something out.” He stopped looking into the case, straightened, and glanced down at me. He was about six feet tall, and his hazel eyes sparkled. “Anyhow, I just stopped in to say hello. Although—” He stopped, the expression on his face somewhat pleased, as if he’d just come up with a good idea. “How about if you and Reed and your dogs join Rigsley and me for dinner tonight? Since I just got back into town, I’m hungry for a meal at the resort.”

  Dr. Reed Storme was one of my bosses at the vet clinic. He and I were dating, and things had started to get a bit hotter and heavier between us, though for fun, not commitment. I never refused a possible evening out with Reed if I could help it, and dinner at the Knobcone Heights Resort, one of the nicest venues in town, was always fine with me. It’s also where my brother Neal worked.

  In fact … “Would you mind if I also invited Neal and Janelle to join us?” I asked. Janelle was one of my part-time assistants, as well as Neal’s girlfriend.

  “Fine,” Jack said. “The more the merrier.” He bent down to pat Rigsley’s head, since his dog had come over and begun rubbing against Jack’s leg.

  “I assume Billi will be there, too.” I walked toward the crate that held my little Biscuit, who looked a bit forlorn since Rigsley had stopped trading nose sniffs with her.

  I was surprised not to immediately hear an “of course,” and turned to face Jack just as the bell at the Barkery’s door rang and some customers walked in. I’d installed this type of bell in both shops to alert my assistants and me when someone entered, in case we were all in another room.

  This time, the visitors were a couple I didn’t know, with a black miniature poodle ensconced in the woman’s arms.

  After aiming another quizzical look at Jack, I headed in their direction. “Welcome,” I said. “Have you been to the Barkery before? Would you like me to give your pup a sample dog treat to help you decide what to buy for him—her?”

  “Him,” the twenty-something woman said. “He’s named Vespa. And, yes, I know he’d love a sample.” She knelt and put her dog on the ground, where Rigsley sniffed him and Biscuit wriggled behind her fence, obviously hoping to meet Vespa.

  I walked behind the sales counter, to the back of the display case, where I could pick out a treat for little Vespa. When I turned around, Jack was watching me.

  “Gotta go,” he said, shortening Rigsley’s leash. “And, sure, I’ll call Billi and invite her to join us.”

  Why hadn’t he said that before? Maybe the dinner was really an unplanned idea. Still, his reaction to my question sounded off.

  “How’s seven o’clock?” he added.

  It was fine, since my shops both closed at six. I’d invite Reed and Neal when I had a moment to get on the phone. “Sounds good,” I said, and got one of the carob-and-peanut-butter biscuits out of the case. As I walked around the counter, I heard the bell sound as Jack and Rigsley left.

  I handed the woman the biscuit and she gave it to Vespa. As I started describing the ingredients in it, and the other wonderful biscuits the couple could buy, I couldn’t stop wondering why Jack hadn’t invited Billi to dinner until I’d asked.

  I saw my friend fairly frequently, since in addition to being a City Councilwoman and owning a day spa, she ran Mountaintop Rescue, the local no-kill animal shelter. I always took leftover treats from the Barkery there, as well as to my vet clinic, before they got stale.

  Was the relationship between Jack and Billi getting stale already? Surely she’d have told me …

  I was overthinking this, I decided. I directed my concentration fully toward my customers. Tonight, I’d learn anything there was to know about Jack and Billi’s relationship.

  It was quarter till seven, and I was waiting for Reed to pick Biscuit and me up at our house. I’d changed from my usual shirt promoting one shop or the other, or both—the Barkery today—into a frilly white blouse and black skirt, with low-heeled black shoes that were pretty, I thought, but comfortable.

  With no hesitation, Reed had accepted the invitation to have dinner with us at the resort. Of course, I’d assured him we’d eat outside under the heating gadgets, so that Hugo, his Belgian Malinois, could join us, too.

  My house was in a nice residential neighborhood without a lot of traffic, so I had no problem hearing Reed’s arrival. Biscuit woofed as I opened the door. I smiled at the handsome guy standing there and figured he must have taken time to shave, since usually, by this hour, he had a dark shadow of beard that complemented his thick, wavy black hair.

  He smiled back and bent so we could share a kiss before heading to his car, where Hugo was waiting.

  The drive to the Knobcone Heights Resort didn’t take long, mostly because the town was fairly compact, not because my neighborhood was among the posh ones in that area. The resort was off Summit Street, on the shore of Knobcone Lake. It consisted of several sprawling buildings, each a couple of stories high, with sloping slate roofs over thick white walls and dark wood-framed windows. Reed found a spot right away in the parking lot—which would not be a cheap undertaking, and I doubted Neal would be able to validate our parking tonight. But I anticipated a fun evening.

  As we exited the car with our dogs, I noticed Billi off to our right in the busy lot. I nudged Reed, and we headed in her direction. She saw us and stopped to wait.

  Billi was a member of one of Knobcone Heights’ most elite families, but she was sweet and down-to-earth and constantly busy with her three careers. She was lovely and trim, with long, highlighted dark hair and a face I was sure any man would notice, with high cheekbones, full lips, and smiling deep brown eyes. Tonight she wore a silvery shirt-dress and carried a small matching bag. She hadn’t brought her dogs, Fanny and Flip, so she was alone.

  “Hi, Carrie and Reed,” she said as we reached her. “Biscuit and Hugo, too.” She bent to give both dogs a pat on their heads.

  “How are things at Mountaintop Rescue?” I asked as we headed for the door of the main reception building, past rows of pa
rked cars and people heading into and out of the parking lot.

  “Fine, as always. In fact, some guys who work at a technology company in San Bernardino came by today to check out a couple of pit bulls they saw on our website. Can you guess the rest?”

  “Those pit bulls are now in their forever homes?”

  “Yep.” Billi’s smile grew even wider, and I matched it.

  We reached the door quickly. While the resort’s two other buildings contained mostly hotel rooms, this one held the reception desk, restaurant, bar, and spa, and also provided access to the stairway that led to the lakefront.

  Inside, the ceilings were tall and slanted. I turned right, toward the reception counter, and stood in front of it just long enough to wave at Neal to let him know we were here. Then I joined Reed and Billi again.

  The resort’s main restaurant was at the rear of the building, facing the lake, which provided a wonderful view. There was a substantial patio behind the restaurant, overlooking the beach. We headed there with the dogs.

  Reed held the door open for all of us. Jack had already arrived, and sat at the head of a couple of tables he’d pushed together to accommodate the group he expected. An outdoor heater on a tall post stood at each end of the table, and I could feel the warmth the nearest one generated. Rigsley sat at his feet.

  We weren’t the only ones outside, despite the chill. In fact, the patio was fairly crowded. I glanced toward the nearby window and noted that the inside lights glowed on an even larger crowd. To get seated faster, a bunch of people must have decided to sit outside.

  “Hi.” Jack stood as we joined him, as did Rigsley. Out of curiosity, I observed the initial interaction between Jack and Billi. It was what I would have expected before sensing his hesitation earlier. She approached him quickly, and they shared smiles and a brief kiss.

  I hadn’t lost my curiosity about his earlier behavior, but apparently Jack and Billi remained an item. I still wasn’t sure whether or not it was what I wished for my friend, but if it was what she wanted, then I was fine with it.