Bite the Biscuit by Johnston Linda O

Author:Johnston, Linda O. [Johnston, Linda O.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: linda johnson, Mystery, linda johnston, mystery novel, linda o. johnson, dog mystery, Fiction, mystery book, fiction novel, bite the biscit, animal mystery
Publisher: Llewellyn Worldwide, LTD.
Published: 2015-05-01T04:00:00+00:00

FIFTEEN

SOMEHOW I SLEPT OKAY. Maybe I was just too exhausted to do otherwise.

The next morning I did what was becoming my usual: woke early, got dressed, put Biscuit in the dog run and then fed her, and headed for my shops with my dog beside me in the passenger seat of my car.

I managed not to think about Walt’s phone message—at least not much.

When we arrived, I secured Biscuit in the Barkery and scanned the leftovers from the prior day. Some would be fresh enough to sell, but I preferred giving most away—some at the clinic and some at

Billi’s shelter. As for the Icing leftovers, I’d also sort them out later. Brenda had begun giving some to a homeless shelter down the mountain and had left me a way to reach the staff if I had any donations.

Then I got the baking for both sides started and was well on the way to being able to fill the display cases by the time either of my assistants arrived.

It was Sunday, and I knew weekends could be the busiest times in my shops if a lot of visitors came to Knobcone Heights between their work weeks. That’s the way things had been for Icing, according to Brenda.

I was hoping both my stores’ sales would surpass hers. Not that I’d ever tell her or rub it in.

Dinah was earliest to arrive that day. If I wasn’t mistaken, my younger helper looked even more tired than I felt. In fact, her demeanor reminded me that she was older than she usually appeared. She entered by way of the kitchen just as I removed some dog treats from the oven, which wafted a delicious sent of meat and apples into the air.

“Good morning,” I said cheerfully.

“Hi. Smells good.”

“Yes, it does. Do you want to take over baking the dog treats for now?”

“Sure.” She put her purse down in the usual place, on the bottom shelf of the closed supply cabinet at the back of the kitchen, and put on an apron.

I could tell I wasn’t going to get a scintillating conversation going with her so I just asked, “Are you feeling okay?”

“Sure,” she said again. She dragged her slightly chubby body in my direction and gave me a tired smile. “The thing is, I think I told you that my first love is writing, right?”

I nodded.

“For some reason, all that’s been going on, including Myra’s memorial yesterday, has triggered a story inside me and I stayed up much later than I should have to start writing it.” She looked at me earnestly. “I like the way it’s going, but I promise I won’t do that again.”

I laughed. “From what I’ve heard about writers, your inspiration may control the rest of your life. But do what’s best for you—as long as you’re here on time and able to work.”

“Oh, yes, I am. I will be. I promise.”

She made good on that promise, jumping right into baking, and then helped stock our two sets of display cases.

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