Read Online Bite the Biscuit (A Barkery & Biscuits Mystery) by Linda O. Johnston - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Linda O. Johnston
Tags: Fiction, Mystery, mystery novel, Fiction Novel, mystery book, dog mystery, linda johnston, linda johnson, animal mystery, bite the biscit, linda o. johnson
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just hope the police do a good job of investigating and finding out the truth.”
“Me too,” I said fervently. “Now let’s go back into the kitchen. I want to see what you’ve started baking for both shops and help decide what should come next.”
A couple of hours later, I felt better. A little, at least. I hadn’t heard again from Neal, so I assumed he’d gone to work at the resort.
Since Myra had been the executive manager, I wondered who was in charge now. I didn’t believe they’d shut down the whole resort in mourning, but I was curious about how things were being handled there today. Myra had been an important member of the family even though she wasn’t born an Ethman.
I’d talk to Neal later. Right now I was working at Icing, finishing up with some new customers—three women I recognized from seeing them in a store or somewhere else in town. But I didn’t really know them, so I assumed they didn’t have any pets to bring to the veterinary clinic. They’d bought some people-cupcakes for a lunch that their book club was holding at one of their homes. I thanked them and gave them an extra treat too, hoping they’d mention it to the others in their group.
When they left, I realized my mind hadn’t really settled down yet. I needed a break. It wasn’t time for me to head to the vet clinic, though. Did I feel comfortable just leaving for a while?
Why not? After our initial difficulties with getting started that morning—and the discussion about who might have killed Myra—Dinah and Judy had been hard at work, apparently enjoying trading off which one staffed which store, and fortunately their interaction remained peaceful. We’d finished baking today’s people and dog treats unless we got low on something and had to bake some more, and even though we had a steady stream of customers, neither of my assistants appeared to need help.
I decided to take advantage of all this and head to Cuppa-Joe’s, a family restaurant owned by a pair of dear friends of mine, Joe and Irma Nash. And, yes, they served good coffee.
I gave my assistants my instructions and my thanks. They both had my cell phone number, and I told them to call if any questions arose, no matter how insignificant. I assured them I’d be back for an hour or so before heading to my other job.
Then I went into the Barkery, where I’d left Biscuit in her comfortable open-air crate, and she and I left.
Cuppa-Joe’s was on Peak Road at the far side of the town square. It was a sprawling one-story structure with several different dining areas inside, as well as a couple of patios. One patio was in the center of the small complex, accessible by a path between the buildings. That was where Biscuit and I headed.
For the moment, my dog was the only canine there. It was a little early for lunch, and some people appeared to prefer the other patio. I didn’t think Biscuit would mind. There were quite a few customers around and she might get extra attention.
I sat at one of my favorite tables. I came here as often as I could, partly because I enjoyed the family-style food and the attentive service. But I also visited often because I was so fond of the owners.
“Hi, Carrie,” said Kit, who then knelt and said, “Hi, Biscuit,” but without patting my dog. She was, after all, part of the restaurant’s wait staff, so if she petted visiting animals a lot she’d be washing her hands constantly. She rose again and grinned at me.
Kit was around twenty-five years old, with curly blond hair shorter than my wavy mop. She had pink cheeks and a huge, toothy smile. Like the other wait staff members, she wore a knit shirt with buttons and a collar, which had a steaming coffee cup logo on the pocket. The staff all wore different colors. Today, Kit’s shirt was orange.
“Hi,” I responded. “I just want a quick, early lunch—tuna salad sandwich on wheat bread, lettuce and tomato, and some low-fat chips on the side. Oh, and joe, of course.
“Me too,” I said fervently. “Now let’s go back into the kitchen. I want to see what you’ve started baking for both shops and help decide what should come next.”
A couple of hours later, I felt better. A little, at least. I hadn’t heard again from Neal, so I assumed he’d gone to work at the resort.
Since Myra had been the executive manager, I wondered who was in charge now. I didn’t believe they’d shut down the whole resort in mourning, but I was curious about how things were being handled there today. Myra had been an important member of the family even though she wasn’t born an Ethman.
I’d talk to Neal later. Right now I was working at Icing, finishing up with some new customers—three women I recognized from seeing them in a store or somewhere else in town. But I didn’t really know them, so I assumed they didn’t have any pets to bring to the veterinary clinic. They’d bought some people-cupcakes for a lunch that their book club was holding at one of their homes. I thanked them and gave them an extra treat too, hoping they’d mention it to the others in their group.
When they left, I realized my mind hadn’t really settled down yet. I needed a break. It wasn’t time for me to head to the vet clinic, though. Did I feel comfortable just leaving for a while?
Why not? After our initial difficulties with getting started that morning—and the discussion about who might have killed Myra—Dinah and Judy had been hard at work, apparently enjoying trading off which one staffed which store, and fortunately their interaction remained peaceful. We’d finished baking today’s people and dog treats unless we got low on something and had to bake some more, and even though we had a steady stream of customers, neither of my assistants appeared to need help.
I decided to take advantage of all this and head to Cuppa-Joe’s, a family restaurant owned by a pair of dear friends of mine, Joe and Irma Nash. And, yes, they served good coffee.
I gave my assistants my instructions and my thanks. They both had my cell phone number, and I told them to call if any questions arose, no matter how insignificant. I assured them I’d be back for an hour or so before heading to my other job.
Then I went into the Barkery, where I’d left Biscuit in her comfortable open-air crate, and she and I left.
Cuppa-Joe’s was on Peak Road at the far side of the town square. It was a sprawling one-story structure with several different dining areas inside, as well as a couple of patios. One patio was in the center of the small complex, accessible by a path between the buildings. That was where Biscuit and I headed.
For the moment, my dog was the only canine there. It was a little early for lunch, and some people appeared to prefer the other patio. I didn’t think Biscuit would mind. There were quite a few customers around and she might get extra attention.
I sat at one of my favorite tables. I came here as often as I could, partly because I enjoyed the family-style food and the attentive service. But I also visited often because I was so fond of the owners.
“Hi, Carrie,” said Kit, who then knelt and said, “Hi, Biscuit,” but without patting my dog. She was, after all, part of the restaurant’s wait staff, so if she petted visiting animals a lot she’d be washing her hands constantly. She rose again and grinned at me.
Kit was around twenty-five years old, with curly blond hair shorter than my wavy mop. She had pink cheeks and a huge, toothy smile. Like the other wait staff members, she wore a knit shirt with buttons and a collar, which had a steaming coffee cup logo on the pocket. The staff all wore different colors. Today, Kit’s shirt was orange.
“Hi,” I responded. “I just want a quick, early lunch—tuna salad sandwich on wheat bread, lettuce and tomato, and some low-fat chips on the side. Oh, and joe, of course.
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