Bite the Biscuit (A Barkery & Biscuits Mystery) by Linda O. Johnston Page A

both knew I’d argued with Myra, for one thing. But it was my turn to interrupt him.
    “I’m so glad you’re both here,” I said. “Please just check out the displays to make sure they look good for when customers arrive, okay? Start with Icing.”
    “Sure, but—” Dinah began.
    “Great. Now, Wayne, let’s go back to the others, okay?” I used napkins with Icing’s logo on them to pick out some scones, then headed toward the door back into the Barkery.
    When we returned, Neal and Bridget were both standing. I handed the scones to our two unwelcome guests. I’d get one for my brother later.
    “I’ve been asking Bridget about what we can do to help figure out what really happened,” my brother said. “To make it clear we’re both sorry but had nothing to do with it.”
    Bridget’s face was unreadable, but she shot a glance toward Wayne, then nodded slightly, taking a small bite of scone without even thanking me for it.
    Wayne kept his scone in the napkin and put it on a chair. Then he pulled a phone from his pocket. “We’re going to keep things as confidential as we can as long as we can,” he said. “But you know how the media is. They’re going to push till they learn how Ms. Ethman died.”
    I gulped. Was he going to show us a picture of her body?
    But no. Instead, the photo he pulled up turned out to be one of a dog leash.
    “One that looked just like this was wrapped around her neck,” he said. “Do you happen to have one like it?”
    It was beige, and made of woven mesh. I had a similar one for Biscuit—the one I kept at the Barkery, in fact—but it was black. And that kind of leash was very common anyway.
    “I definitely don’t have a beige one like that,” I said firmly, “but I can’t swear that the black one I have for Biscuit isn’t similar, maybe even from the same manufacturer. And I think I’ve seen ones like it in the Ethmans’ pet store—the Knob Hill Pet Emporium.”
    I glanced toward Neal, and he nodded. He’d been there too, to buy dog food for Biscuit. Biscuit currently sat on the floor at our feet, looking from one human to another.
    “That’s quite possible,” Bridget said. “That leash is a fairly popular style, and we’re still checking out possible sources.”
    “Is that what killed her?” I asked. Could she really have been strangled with a leash like that?
    “It’s still under investigation, but the leash is believed to be a factor,” Bridget said. “And there’s something else.”
    Once more, I caught her nod to her colleague. He brought up another picture. “This was found near Ms. Ethman,” he said.
    He passed the phone to me, and I tried not to gasp.
    It might not be true, of course. They could just be attempting to rattle me. To trap me into a confession—one that would be false, of course.
    But the item found near Myra’s body did look familiar. Too familiar. It appeared to be a large portion of one of the dog treats from the Barkery: bone-shaped, with a stylized B&B that I’d etched into the dough to promote my new venture.
    It had apparently come from right here, in my shop.

FIVE
    M Y MIND BEGAN SWIRLING like an expanding vortex. Could I possibly recall everyone who’d gotten one of these treats for their dogs? Unlikely. I’d passed out a bunch of our products, but so had my assistants and even Neal, and some treats had just been left on trays for people to pick up.
    “There were a lot of these given out yesterday,” I managed to say, snapping off all attempts at remembering specifics and turning to face both detectives. It wasn’t easy. My knees threatened to buckle, especially under their chilly stares. Fortunately, I remained standing. “It doesn’t matter that they were baked here. Anyone who came to our party could have gotten one and left it at … at the site.” Wherever the murder site was. I still wasn’t sure, but the TV news had suggested Myra was found outside her garage, on the edge of some nearby woods. If my