Pick and Chews Read online

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  Pick and Chews: A Barkery & Biscuits Mystery © 2018 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 © 2018

  E-book ISBN: 9780738755953

  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: Pick and chews / Linda O. Johnston.

  Description: Woodbury, Minnesota: Midnight Ink, [2018] | Series: A Barkery &

  Biscuits mystery; 4 |

  Identifiers: LCCN 2017054913 (print) | LCCN 2017057363 (ebook) | ISBN

  9780738755953 () | ISBN 9780738752457 (softcover: acid-free paper)

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

  GSAFD: Mystery fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3610.O387 (ebook) | LCC PS3610.O387 P53 2018 (print) |

  DDC 813/.6—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017054913

  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

  Pick and Chews is dedicated to people who love their pets, as are the other books in this series and all of what I write.

  I want especially to thank and hug those people who were affected by so many difficult situations last year while I was writing this book, such as Hurricanes Harvey, Irma, and Maria, the horrible wildfires in Los Angeles and other parts of the country, and the flooding and mudslides. People often had to evacuate their homes, yet brought their pets, their furry family members, with them. They might not have had much choice in what they and their pets ate—healthy and tasty or not—but at least most of them survived, and hopefully have regained normalcy in their lives.

  Pick and Chews is also dedicated to mystery readers who enjoy stories involving pets and food—especially those who have read the Barkery & Biscuits Mysteries.

  And, as always, I dedicate Pick and Chews to my dear husband, Fred, who acted as my servant and fed our dogs—and me—as I healed last year from a broken knee!

  One

  As always, I loved being here at the Knobcone Veterinary Clinic, even in the chill of March in the San Bernardino Mountains. A few minutes earlier, I’d dropped off my wonderful dog, Biscuit, a golden toy poodle/terrier mix, at the doggy daycare facility at the back of the clinic. After leaving my jacket in the locker room, I donned my light blue scrubs and hurried toward the vet tech room to check in for my shift. But as I passed the offices along the inside hall, a door opened.

  Dr. Arvus Kline, wearing his traditional white medical jacket, stepped out of his office holding a clipboard. Arvie was the head veterinarian, one of the clinic’s founders, my boss, and one of the most wonderful people I’d ever met. Although only in his sixties, he looked older, with wispy, silvery hair and a deeply wrinkled face. But his attitude was young, particularly toward his staff, the animals he helped to save … and me.

  “Good afternoon, Arvie.” I smiled.

  “Good afternoon, Carrie.” Arvie stepped farther into the wide hallway that just beyond us was lined with doors into examination and treatment rooms. A man followed him out. “Carrie, this is Dr. Oliver Browning. He’s one of the vets Reed recommended from the San Diego Pet Care Center.”

  “Hi, Dr. Browning,” I said.

  The short, slender man wearing a brown suit and a huge grin on his narrow face reached out his hand, and I shook it. What was left of his hair was dark. “Hi, Carrie. Call me Oliver. Very nice to meet you.”

  “Oliver, Carrie’s a part-time vet tech here. She also owns a couple of bakeries nearby. Her Barkery and Biscuits shop sells homemade and healthy doggy treats, and she developed some of the recipes when she was working here full time. Her other bakery, next door, is Icing on the Cake, and—”

  “And I’ll bet she sells homemade and healthy people treats there,” Oliver interrupted, “though I doubt she developed the recipes while working here.”

  We all laughed, and I said, “I’m not so sure how healthy those recipes are either, but fortunately people seem to enjoy them.”

  “Well, I’ll definitely have to stop over and visit your shops while I’m in town,” Oliver said. “And hopefully I’ll move here soon and be able to patronize them a lot.”

  He leveled a gaze straight at Arvie, who only smiled a bit. I knew why. One of the other vets who founded the clinic was retiring, and Arvie was searching for a really good replacement. Dr. Reed Storme, one of the less-senior vets and a very good friend—well, more than a friend—of mine had given him a couple of referrals from the animal hospital where he’d worked before coming to Knobcone Heights, and this Dr. Browning had to be one of them. I’d heard Arvie would be interviewing soon but hadn’t known when. Was the other applicant around, too?

  “I’m giving Oliver a brief tour now,” Arvie said. “We won’t hold you up any longer.” In other words, I was to check in and start my vet tech duties for the day. Fine with me.

  “Great meeting you, Carrie,” Oliver said. “Hope we get an opportunity to work together soon.”

  I thought he was laying it on a bit thick, but maybe he really wanted the job here. I could understand that. This clinic was a great place to work—thanks to Arvie and Reed and the others on the staff, even including me. Plus, Knobcone Heights was a wonderful location to work—and play.

  I didn’t know what Arvie’s criteria were for choosing the successor to Dr. Angela Regles, but I knew whoever won the position would have to be smart enough to diagnose and treat all kinds of pet ailments, and caring enough to treat every animal—and their owners—with compassion. That was true of the vet techs, too, although we did more treatment than diagnosis, and anything we diagnosed had to be confirmed by a licensed vet. But caring? Oh, yes.

  “See ya,” I said with a wave to Oliver, intending to be totally neutral. It was Arvie’s call whether this guy and I ever worked together.

  My boss apparently appreciated my attitude, since he raised his brows and smiled at me as he led his interviewee down the hall. I figured I’d learn more later.

  I hurried into the room where veterinary tec
hnicians like me signed in, then said hi to Yolanda, one of the other techs, who happened to be in there on the computer. Attractive, dark-complected, and highly competent, she grumbled a hello, which was normal for her these days.

  “Anything exciting going on?” I asked.

  “Not really. But if you want, you can go into the reception room and grab the dog in there who’s here to get neutered. I don’t think Reed is ready yet, but that’s next on the agenda.” She pointed to the computer screen at the combined schedule for the whole place.

  “Sounds good.” I turned away and hurried to the reception room. It was a good-sized area, with an abundance of chairs and a tile floor in case of doggy or kitty accidents. Along one side was the reception desk, which today was staffed by Kayle, another of our vet techs. Like me, the young guy was in blue scrubs, and his light brown hair matched the hint of beard on his cute face.

  A guy stood beside Kayle, looking down at him. He wore a suit, like Oliver. Was this the other interviewee?

  “How long have you worked here?” he asked Kayle—almost as if he were conducting an interview.

  “Almost a year.” I knew Kayle was interested in applying for veterinary school but wasn’t aware whether he had yet.

  “Do you like it?” the guy persisted.

  “Very much. Oh, hey, Carrie,” Kayle said, apparently noticing me for the first time. I thought I heard relief in his tone. “Could you take Fizzler back to Dr. Reed’s examination room? He’s here to be neutered.”

  There was only one dog in the reception area, plus several portable crates on the floor, or on laps, that I assumed held cats. Each was accompanied by a person, and at Fizzler’s name his owner, a woman who appeared about my age, approached with him on a leash. Fizzler was mid-size, gray, and appeared to be a miniature poodle mix.

  “Of course,” I said. Then, looking at the guy who’d been interrogating Kayle, I added, “I hope you enjoy it here in Knobcone Heights and at this clinic.”

  “You know I’m a new arrival?” He was a bit better-looking than the man I assumed was his rival for the job: maybe six feet tall, slender, with a full head of medium brown hair and darker brown eyes that seemed to study me.

  “I guessed. And before you ask, I’ve worked here for over five years, though I’m part-time now. This animal hospital is a wonderful place to work, and you can’t go wrong if you’re the one who happens to land the job here.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping for.” He pulled a smartphone out of his pocket, poked at it, and said, “My interview’s in about five minutes, with Dr. Arvus Kline. Can I tell him you’re rooting for me? I’m Dr. Jon Arden.” He aimed a toothy grin at me.

  “Only if you qualify that by saying I’m rooting for you if you happen to be the best.” My turn to grin.

  “Of course I am.”

  This discussion had gone on long enough. “Well, if so, good luck.” I picked up Fizzler’s paperwork from the desk and learned the dog’s last name was Vink. I turned to Fizzler and his owner. “Are you ready to see Dr. Storme?”

  “I am,” Ms. Vink said, “but I suspect poor Fizzler would rather be anywhere than here, if he happens to understand what’s going on.”

  I laughed. “I’d imagine so. Please come this way.” I began walking toward the door to the inside of the clinic, and glanced back to make sure that leashed Fizzler and his owner were following.

  The examination room Reed was scheduled to use that afternoon was a few doors down the hall. The smile I’d had on my face before grew larger. It would be the first time I’d seen Reed that day, though we had talked on the phone earlier. We hadn’t been able to get together for dinner the past several evenings and had made plans for that night, once he was off duty at the clinic and I’d closed my shops. Dinner was our standard get-together time, and we did it as often as we could.

  We wouldn’t discuss dinner now, though, but we’d probably share some glances to suggest we both were thinking about it.

  But when the patients and I reached the door to that room, I heard voices raised inside—and no one was scheduled to be in there. Once I had Fizzler and his owner situated, I was supposed to go get Reed. And one of those voices sounded like his. I didn’t recognize the other but it was female.

  What was going on?

  “Excuse me just a second,” I said to Ms. Vink. “I need to check to see if we should go to a different room.”

  A displeased look passed over her face but I didn’t wait to explain. I opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind me.

  Reed was there, as I’d figured. So was a woman I didn’t know. She stood close to Reed, looking up at him and scowling. She’d raised one finger as if she wanted to poke him in the eye with it. She wore a tailored blouse and skirt that appeared nearly as businesslike as the outfits of the men who’d come in to interview. But Reed had only mentioned two former colleagues, both men.

  Reed looked at me, though the woman didn’t. His intense dark eyes flashed, and a scowl marred his usually great-looking appearance. Like Arvie, he was dressed in a white medical jacket. “We’ll be out of here in a minute, Carrie.” His gruff voice suggested he wanted me to leave.

  “I’ve got your patient and his owner in the hallway,” I said. “Are you going to be able to handle his neutering?”

  The woman gave a burst of nasty laughter. “Oh, he’s good at neutering, literally and figuratively.”

  I didn’t want to think about what she meant by that. Did she have a relationship with Reed? Had he somehow hurt—neutered—her?

  I’d learned a bit about Reed’s background before he started working at the Knobcone Vet Clinic a year ago: former military, a K-9 handler, and then veterinary school, followed by a first, short-term practice in San Diego. He’d never mentioned any former relationships, but then, neither had I.

  “Oh, can it already, Raela,” Reed snapped at the woman. “The last thing I want is for us to work together again. That’s why I invited Oliver and Jon here to interview but not you. Don’t you have any kind of a conscience? No, don’t answer that. I already know. For one thing, if you did, you wouldn’t have taken time off at the San Diego clinic when you knew two other vets were going to be gone.”

  “If I didn’t do it now, I knew there’d be no possibility of getting the job here. And from the way you’ve described it, it’s veterinary heaven.”

  So her name was Raela? I definitely wanted to know more, but this wasn’t the time. “Excuse me, Raela,” I said. “I don’t know about the interviews or how they’re being scheduled, but I do know about the scheduling of our patients, and one is waiting right now for Reed. I’d appreciate it if you’d step out of here for now. You can continue this later, if you want to.” More important, if Reed wanted to.

  “So who are you?” she sneered. She looked me up and down, and at the same time I had an opportunity to look her in the face. She definitely had pretty features: high cheekbones, smooth skin, full lips, and gorgeous long medium-blonde hair framing it all. “A technician or other minion, I assume. I’m a veterinarian—Doctor Raela Fellner.”

  No wonder Reed hadn’t wanted her to interview at the clinic, not with that attitude. I certainly wouldn’t want her to start working here and be one of my bosses.

  I wondered if she was a reason Reed had left his former job. Well, I’d find out later.

  For now—

  “Get the hell out of here,” Reed said through gritted teeth, stating what I’d hoped to say more tactfully, but this was better. Reed moved away from her even as he clenched his fists.

  As much as I’d have liked to punch her, too, I didn’t think that was a good idea. I pulled my phone from my pocket.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she countered angrily.

  I glared at her. “Once I call the cops,” I said, “I suspect you’ll have … oh, maybe five minutes at the most to leave without getting arrested. We know them around here, and you don’t.” Of course I was bluffing. Yes, I knew some of them. But get them t
o do something I requested, even if there was some kind of law being broken, or danger involved? Though in this case any danger might be to the miserable cause of the problem, not from her. Well, I doubted we’d see them that quickly anyway. If at all.

  “Oh, I’ll get out of this room right away so you can go ahead and get your neutering started.” She stressed the word as if she wanted to perform that kind of surgery on Reed. “And you know what? I rather like what I’ve seen of this town. I think I’ll hang around, interview or not. Or maybe I’ll just go over your head to get that interview after all. I’ll be the one to decide.”

  She again leveled a nasty grin at Reed, then at me, and glided out of the room.

  Two

  First thing after Raela left, I took Fizzler from her owner to see Reed. Ms. Vink, back in the reception area, was clearly not a happy patient parent after being forced to wait as she had. I understood that. And though I was Reed’s assistant during the neutering, we certainly had no chance to talk then about what had just occurred.

  Judging by the grim look on Reed’s face, that was the way he wanted it. But he fortunately was one excellent vet, and I could tell, thanks to all my experience during such procedures, that he didn’t allow any emotions to interfere with what he did.

  When we’d finished, and with Reed’s okay, I went out to the waiting room to assure Ms. Vink that all had gone well and that she could pick Fizzler up in a few hours after our staff watched him for a while to make sure all remained okay and he woke up soon.

  “Thank you,” she said with a soft smile, apparently over her justifiable earlier irritation with us.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Though there were still some people with cat carriers in the waiting room, Dr. Jon Arden wasn’t there any longer, so I figured Arvie must be interviewing him. I was curious how that was going. But as I stepped back into the hallway, I noticed Reed and Arvie talking outside the restrooms several doors away from Arvie’s office.

  Talk about curious … I had to find out what they were talking about, so I hurried in their direction.

  “I don’t want to hold you up from talking to Jon,” Reed said. “I think you’ll like him.”