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

flimsy reciprocal alibi with Neal wasn’t enough to remove me from their suspect list, I couldn’t claim innocence based on having no idea where Myra had lived. She was an Ethman by marriage. Everyone in town knew where they lived.
    “You could have too,” Bridget said.
    She’d seemed to be such a caring person when I’d met her at the veterinary clinic. At least she loved her cat. But that affection clearly didn’t spill over onto an acquaintance she apparently considered a murder suspect.
    “So what’s your opinion about why the biscuit found there was broken?” Wayne asked.
    What was he looking for? I hesitated briefly, considering how to respond. “I don’t know,” I finally said. “All I know is that I didn’t leave it there and have no idea who did.” I looked from one of them to the other. “I know I’m a convenient suspect. I argued with Myra, I admit that, but it wasn’t that huge a disagreement. Even if it had been … You don’t know me very well, but I can assure you I’m not stupid enough to argue with someone in public and then kill them.”
    “She’s not,” Neal confirmed. “In fact, my sis is pretty smart.”
    “Then she’d be smart enough to plant a clue against herself so she could claim later that she’s being framed.” A snide grin bisected Wayne’s wide face.
    “I can’t believe you’re zeroing in on me,” I said softly. My fear must have been obvious to poor Biscuit, who sat leaning against my leg looking up at me. I bent to pat her, wishing I felt secure enough to reassure her.
    “They’re probably just trying to trap you and doing the same thing with everyone else they consider a suspect,” Neal said, also drawing closer. I appreciated the protective presence of my brother, especially when he maneuvered around Biscuit and put his arm around my shoulder.
    “Including you,” Wayne said casually to Neal, and I felt Neal stiffen.
    “But I didn’t—” he began.
    “Argue with her?” Bridget cut in. “No matter. You undoubtedly heard your sister arguing, and protecting a family member is a good enough motive.” Neal released me and opened his mouth to reply, but Bridget continued. “Look, we know neither of you is going to step right up and admit today that you killed Myra. It’s time for us to go. But you can be sure the whole Knobcone Heights Police Department will continue to investigate this homicide and collect evidence a whole lot better and more efficiently than those unreal clowns you see portrayed on TV shows. Then we’ll arrest the person who murdered Ms. Ethman and make sure the charges stick. Goodbye, Neal. And bye, Carrie. I hope the next time I see you is at the veterinary clinic when I pick up some vitamins for Butterball—but I wouldn’t count on it. It’s more likely to be when we have more questions for you.”
    With that, both detectives strode out of the Barkery—and it was a good thing, too. A couple of customers were waiting outside the front door since it was a few minutes past seven a.m. The man and woman glanced curiously toward the two cops, but hopefully they didn’t know that’s what they were. At least the detectives hadn’t been in uniform.
    I noticed then that Judy was just inside the doorway to the kitchen. She stepped into the Barkery quickly to greet the customers but shot a glance over her shoulder toward me. Her expression was blank, all except for a look in her eyes that I couldn’t quite interpret. Fear? Accusation? My imagination? I wasn’t sure, but her face appeared paler than I was used to seeing it.
    She must have been listening in.
    “It’ll be okay, Carrie.” That was Neal. He was still standing beside me. “But I’d better get to work now. You call me if they come back, okay?”
    “Okay,” I said.
    He gave me a hug and Biscuit a pat, and then he left. And despite the customers who stood by the full display case, I felt completely alone. Even Judy had disappeared into the kitchen after greeting the