Trick or Deadly Treat

Book 9: Fresh-Baked Mystery

by Livia J Washburn

Genres: Mystery; Cozy Mystery; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

It’s Halloween in Weatherford, Texas—which means Phyllis Newsom is baking up a storm of yummy seasonal treats...but she’s about to get even busier unmasking a killer...

While Phyllis and her friend Carolyn are preparing for a baking contest, her housemate Sam adopts Buck, an adorable Dalmatian who was hit by a car. To thank local veterinarian Hank Baxter for helping the dog, Phyllis and Carolyn bake a batch of doggie treats for his other four-legged patients.

But when they arrive at the clinic, the vet is in the process of being arrested—for the murder of his wife! Convinced that the police are barking up the wrong tree and that someone’s been burying evidence, Sam begs Phyllis to help find the real killer. Joined by Buck, the friends engage in a dogged pursuit of the murderer, who will stop at nothing to muzzle them…permanently.

INCLUDES RECIPES!

Release date: October 7, 2014

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 304

Sample

MORE PRAISE FOR THE FRESH-BAKED MYSTERIES

Other Fresh-Baked Mysteries by Livia J. Washburn

OBSIDIAN

Chapter 1

P hyllis Newsom put her hands over her ears and said, “Oh, my goodness!”

“Yeah, they’re kinda loud, aren’t they?” Sam Fletcher said with a grin. “And enthusiastic, to boot.”

They stood in a cement-floored runway between rows of metal cages filled with dogs of all shapes, sizes, breeds, and mixtures of breeds. The air inside the cinder-block building contained an assortment of smells, all of them pungent and none particularly pleasant, but Sam didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he looked as happy as Phyllis had seen him in a while.

Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all, she thought.

When he had first told her that he wanted to get a dog, her immediate impulse had been to say no. A flat, nonnegotiable no. And since the big, old two-story house on a tree-shaded street in Weatherford, Texas, belonged to her and Sam only rented a room there, it was Phyllis’s decision to make.

The problem was, Sam wasn’t just a boarder, subject to his landlady’s rules and decisions. The four retired teachers who lived in the house—Phyllis, Sam, Carolyn Wilbarger, and Eve Turner—had become more like family over the years. They were best friends as well, and in Sam’s case, Phyllis had to admit that the two of them were more than just friends. She couldn’t just dismiss what he wanted out of hand.

Because of that, she found herself in this big, smelly, noisy room full of barking dogs.

The young woman who worked as a volunteer at the animal shelter wore a plastic name tag that read JULIE on her shirt. She smiled, waved a hand at the cages, and said, “Feel free to look around all you want, folks. I’m sure you’ll find just the right dog for you.”

“Thanks, Julie,” Sam said. He went over to the closest cage, which held a German shepherd, and put his hand close to the bars so the dog could sniff it.

According to the paperwork in a clear plastic envelope attached to the cage, the dog’s name was Daisy and she was three years old, no health problems, good with children. That wasn’t really a consideration since no children lived in Phyllis’s house. Her grandson, Bobby, visited sometimes, though, so actually it was important that whatever dog Sam picked was well behaved and safe to be around children, she thought.

“Howdy, Daisy,” Sam said as he scratched the dog’s muzzle. “How ya doin’, girl?”

Phyllis smiled. The affection Sam felt for this dog, for all dogs, really, was obvious. He was a genuinely good man, and she was glad she had gotten to know him, even this late in their lives.

Daisy licked Sam’s fingers. Phyllis could tell that he didn’t want to move on to the next cage, but he had to take a look at the rest of the dogs. Phyllis stayed with him as he made his way slowly along the runway.

She saw beagles, schnauzers, Chihuahuas, and lots of mutts. Big dogs, small dogs, shorthairs, longhairs. Most were eager and friendly, as if they knew that the humans who came to see them held their fate in their hands. A few seemed sullen, and Phyllis wondered if they had been mistreated and no longer trusted anybody who went on two legs.

What was that famous line from Animal Farm? “Four legs good, two legs bad”? Something like that, she decided. Unfortunately, all too often that was true. Her own experiences over the past few years with the uglier side of life had taught her that.

Animals killed, certainly, but only humans were capable of murder.

Sam broke into her thoughts by looking at her, shaking his head, and saying, “Well, coming here turned out to be a bad mistake.”

“How so?”

“I want to take all of ’em home with me. I don’t reckon there’s room for that, though.”

“I have a pretty big backyard,” Phyllis said, “but not that big.”

Sam sighed and said, “All right. I reckon I’m gonna have to—”

He stopped as the metal door at the end of the runway, between the kennel area and the office, swung open and a male volunteer came through carrying a dog. The animal was wrapped in a blanket and whimpering in pain.

“Lonny, what happened?” Julie asked as she hurried toward the newcomer.

“Aw, somebody hit this poor fella out on the road. I saw it happen just now as I was coming in. Looks like maybe his front leg is busted.”

“Do you think he belongs to somebody around here?”

Lonny shook his head and said, “I dunno. He doesn’t have a collar and he’s pretty skinny, so I’ve got a hunch he’s a stray.”

Sam walked up to the volunteers with Phyllis trailing behind him. He said, “That’s a Dalmatian, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Lonny said. “Full grown, but not too old, I’d say.”

“I always wanted a Dalmatian when I was a kid. Are you folks going to adopt him out?”

“Mister, he hasn’t been processed in. You can have him right now if you want him. You’re gonna have to give me your word that you’ll take care of him, though. He needs medical attention.”

“Where’s the nearest vet?” Sam asked.

Lonny and Julie looked at each other, and Julie said, “That would be Dr. Baxter, about a mile back up the road toward town.”

“Then that’s where I’m takin’ him right now,” Sam said. “You can follow me if you want, to make sure that’s what I do.”

“I don’t guess that’s necessary,” Lonny said. “You got a car outside?”

“My pickup,” Sam told him.

“I’ll put him in the back for you.”

Sam shook his head. “I’ll hold him. My friend here can drive.”

Sam’s decision to take the injured dog seemed awfully impulsive to Phyllis. She said, “Sam, are you sure you want to do this?”

He answered by reaching out and gently taking the blanket-wrapped Dalmatian out of Lonny’s arms. Sam was tall and lanky, but he was also strong enough to hold the medium-sized dog.

“Be careful,” Julie told him. “Injured dogs sometimes bite.”

“This fella’s not gonna bite me,” Sam said with a shake of his head. “I can tell we’re gonna get along just fine.”

Phyllis hoped that was true. It seemed to her that Sam was taking on quite a bit here. He had always been one of the calmest, steadiest people she knew, not given to being rash or reckless, but evidently he could do things on the spur of the moment, too.

“Truck keys are in my pocket,” he said to her. “Let’s go.”

She delved into the front pocket of his jeans, found the keys, and said, “All right.” As they walked out of the shelter, she turned her head to say, “Thank you,” to the two volunteers.

Sam’s pickup was parked fairly close. Phyllis hurried ahead and unlocked and opened the passenger door.

“Can you get in without any help?” she asked.

“Yeah, I reckon we can manage.” Carefully, Sam eased himself into the seat with the dog half lying across his lap and half cradled against his chest. It reached its head up and licked his jaw. Sam laughed and said, “And they were worried about you bitin’ me. Hang on there, fella. We’re gonna get you taken care of.”

Phyllis closed the door and went around to get behind the wheel. She asked, “Do you want me to help get your seat belt fastened?”

“Naw. We won’t bother with it. We’re not going very far. Just don’t get in any wrecks along the way.”

“But it’s against the law not to have your seat belt fastened.”

“Yeah, but I’m a grown man. If anybody gets a ticket, it’ll be me, not you.”

Phyllis sighed and turned the key in the ignition. He was right, of course, and actually, it was unlikely they would get in an accident here on this side road on the outskirts of Weatherford. But it still bothered her to be breaking the law as she started driving toward the vet Julie had told them about.

Of course, if anybody wanted to get technical about it, she had been accused of breaking other laws in the past that were more serious than not fastening a seat belt. Things like obstruction of justice and tampering with evidence . . .

She found the place she was looking for without any trouble. A sign that read BAXTER VETERINARY CLINIC sat beside a driveway that turned off to the left. The driveway led through some trees to a paved parking area beside a brown brick building with a completely fenced-in area divided into runs behind it. A continuation of the driveway circled around to a large metal barn with its doors standing open. A pickup was parked next to the barn.

Another pickup and two cars were parked beside the building. Phyllis eased into an empty spot and stopped Sam’s truck. She hurried around to open the passenger door for him, but he had it open by the time she got there.

Still with no apparent difficulty, he carried the dog toward the front door. Phyllis held it open for them, and they went into an office that smelled a little like the animal shelter but not nearly as strong.

A man with unruly dark hair and salt-and-pepper beard stubble stood behind a counter, talking to a woman who had a pet carrier on the floor at her feet. A cat inside the carrier meowed loudly and insistently.

“Two tablets every twelve hours,” the man said as he put a plastic pill bottle on the counter. “That ought to take care of the infection in a few days, but keep giving her the pills until they’re all gone.”

“All right, Doctor,” the woman said. “Thank you.”

“Call us right away if she gets worse.”

The woman nodded and said, “I will.” She picked up the carrier and turned toward the door. When she saw Sam standing there holding the dog, she said, “Oh, my goodness. What happened?”

“Car hit him,” Sam said. “Looks like a front leg may be busted.”

“You’ve brought him to the right place,” the woman said. “There’s no better vet around here than Dr. Baxter.”

The man smiled and said, “I appreciate the vote of confidence.” To Sam he went on. “Bring him right on back here into surgery. I’ve got another patient waiting, but that’s just for booster shots and this is an emergency.”

He swung open a wooden gate to let Sam behind the counter. As he did, an attractive blond woman in her thirties came out of an office in the back. She looked a little impatient at having to wait for Sam to go by with the Dalmatian. When the way was clear, she said, “I’ll see you at home tonight, Hank,” and briskly left the vet clinic before Baxter had a chance to respond.

“Right back here,” he told Sam as he opened another door. Sam carried the dog into a big room with an operating table in the middle of it.

Phyllis stood back, watching as Sam carefully placed the injured dog on the table. As Baxter unwrapped the blanket, he said, “You’ll have to excuse me if things get a little hectic around here. My assistant and my office manager are both out sick today, so I’m holding down the fort by myself.”

“You should get your wife to help you,” Phyllis said, thinking of the blond woman who had been leaving as they were coming back here.

Baxter shook his head and said, “Susan has patients of her own to see.”

“She’s a vet, too?” Sam asked.

“Nah. A people doctor.” Baxter shrugged. “A real doctor, some might say.”

“Yeah, people who don’t know any better,” Sam said.

Baxter lightly ran his fingers along the dog’s left front leg, which even Phyllis could see looked a little funny. The dog whined but didn’t struggle or try to bite.

“That’s a good boy,” Baxter told the Dalmatian. “I know that had to hurt.” He looked up at Sam. “It’s broken, all right. What I’d like to do is go in there and make sure it’s reset properly, then put a pin in it to ensure that it stays that way. Then I’ll cast it. After he wears the cast for a couple of weeks, he should be okay.”

“Will you need to keep him tonight?”

Baxter nodded and said, “Yes, just to let the anesthetic wear off and to make sure there are no problems. He should be able to go home in the morning.” He stroked the dog’s flank and frowned slightly. “He’s pretty skinny. He is your dog?”

“He is now,” Sam said. “He was a stray that one of the volunteers down at the animal shelter found a little while ago. I claimed him before they ever processed him in.”

“All right. We’ll get him fixed up, and it’ll be up to you to get him fattened up, Mr. . . . ?”

“Fletcher. Sam Fletcher. This is my friend Phyllis Newsom.”

“Pleased to meet you both,” Baxter said with a nod. “I’m Hank Baxter.”

“This’ll give me a chance to fix up a place for him to stay,” Sam went on. “That way we’ll have it ready for him when he comes home tomorrow.”

“Sounds good, if that’s what you want to do. I can work up an estimate for you—”

Sam waved that off. “It’ll be all right. You go ahead and fix him up, like you said.”

“Okay. Go on back out front and we’ll do a little paperwork. I’ll meet you there in a minute after I put . . . What is the dog’s name, anyway? Does he have one?”

“Buck,” Sam answered without hesitation. “That fella’s name is Buck.”

Chapter 2

A s they were driving away from the vet clinic a little later, with Sam behind the wheel again, Phyllis asked, “What made you decide to call him Buck? You were very emphatic about it.”

“Buck Jones, of course.”

“Of course,” Phyllis repeated, knowing Sam’s great fondness for old Western movies. “He was the one who died in the nightclub fire, wasn’t he?”

She had heard Sam talk about the incident before and was a little surprised that some of the details had stuck in her mind.

“Yep, the Cocoanut Grove fire in Boston. Ol’ Buck made it out all right, but then he decided to go back in and see if he could rescue some of the folks who hadn’t. He never came back out.”

“It sounds like he was a hero in real life, not just on the screen.”

“That’s the way I see it,” Sam said. “Anyway, Buck’s just a good name for a dog.”

“I think so, too.”

After a few minutes, Sam said, “I gave some thought to callin’ him El Diablo.”

“Why in the world would you name a dog El Diablo?”

“Because when I was little—I told you I always wanted a Dalmatian when I was little, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Phyllis said.

“Anyway, when I was little I just called ’em spotted dogs, but my mama figured it’d be a good idea to teach me their real name. That would’ve been all well and good if I could’ve pronounced it, but I had a little trouble with it. Didn’t really cause a problem, though, until one day when Mama had the WMU ladies from the church over to the house and I said somethin’ about wantin’ a dog. One of the ladies asked me what kind of dog I wanted and I answered as proud as you please, ‘A damnation!’”

Phyllis burst out laughing.

“So that’s why I thought El Diablo might be a good name, that bein’ Spanish for the devil and all, but I went with Buck instead,” Sam concluded as Phyllis sagged against the door and snorted a couple of times.

Sam added, “You might not want to lean on the door that way. I guess it’ll probably be all right, though, since you got your seat belt on.”

*   *   *

They went into the house through the door in the garage that led to the kitchen, where they found Carolyn Wilbarger standing and looking into the pantry with an intent frown on her face.

“Is something wrong?” Phyllis asked.

“What? Oh, no, nothing’s wrong. I was just thinking about something.” Carolyn turned from the pantry and went on. “Well, did you find a dog at the animal shelter?”

“In a manner of speakin’,” Sam said.

“What does that mean?”

“I got a dog, and he came from the animal shelter, but I didn’t actually adopt him from there.”

“What did you do, steal him?” As soon as she’d asked the question, Carolyn’s eyes widened. “Oh, good heavens, that’s exactly the sort of thing you’d do, isn’t it? Did you really steal a dog from the animal shelter?”

“Of course not,” Phyllis said. She explained quickly about Buck.

When Phyllis was finished, Carolyn said, “Hmph. Well, it’s nice of you to take care of a crippled dog, I suppose.”

“He’s not crippled,” Sam said. “Well, right now he is, I reckon, but the vet said he ought to be fine once his leg heals up. I’m gonna make sure of it. In fact, I’m gonna go out on the back porch and see if I can finish up that doghouse I started.”

Sam had been working on building a doghouse, off and on, for the past couple of weeks, ever since he had brought up the idea of getting a dog. Since he hadn’t known what kind of dog he would wind up with or how big it would be, he had designed the house to be fairly large.

To Phyllis it looked almost big enough for a Shetland pony. When it was finished, Buck would fit in it with no trouble at all.

Sam went out the back door and left Phyllis and Carolyn alone in the kitchen. Carolyn kept her voice fairly low as she asked, “Well? What do you think of this dog?”

“He seems nice enough,” Phyllis said. “He’s a Dalmatian.”

“Like the ones in that movie. Sometimes they’re pretty dogs.” Carolyn added ominously, “But they’re still dogs. Smelly, hairy dogs who do rude things on carpets.”

“That’s why Buck is going to live in the backyard.”

“Uh-huh.” Carolyn sounded like she didn’t believe that for a second. “Until Sam asks you if he can stay inside, you mean.”

“Oh, I don’t think Buck would like that. He’d rather be outside, where he can run around once his leg is better. The yard is plenty big enough to give one dog room to romp.”

“We’ll see,” Carolyn said. “In the meantime, I want to show you something.” She picked up a magazine lying on the kitchen counter. “Look.”

“Is that the new Taste of Texas?” Phyllis asked.

A Taste of Texas was one of her favorite magazines. She’d had a subscription to it for years. It was devoted to Texas cooking, and Phyllis always found several recipes in each issue that she wanted to try. Carolyn was also a fan, so every copy that came into the house wound up being read cover to cover multiple times.

“It is,” Carolyn answered Phyllis’s question, “and it’s a special contest issue.”

Phyllis’s eyes widened, and she said, “I didn’t know they had contests.”

“It’s the first annual.”

Ever since the two of them had retired from teaching, Phyllis and Carolyn had indulged their passion for baking, and cooking in general, by entering contests. Recently, in fact, they had both competed at the State Fair of Texas. Sam had even gotten in on that by entering one of the competitions, and by no stretch of the imagination was he an avid cook.

Quite a rivalry had developed between Phyllis and Carolyn as each of them edged out the other for victories in various contests, but for the sake of their friendship—and peace in the house—they had tried to play that down in recent years.

“You can see they have three separate contests,” Carolyn said as she showed Phyllis the magazine cover. “Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I was thinking we could enter separate contests and increase our chances of both winning, like we did at the state fair.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Phyllis agreed. “Which one would you like to do?”

Carolyn shook her head and said, “Oh, no, it’s your magazine. You should have first choice, and I’ll pick from the other two.”

“It’s no more my magazine than it is yours,” Phyllis protested. “If you want to get technical about it, it belongs to PylisMewcom, since that’s the name on the address label.”

“I don’t care. You go ahead and pick, Phyllis.”

“Well, if you’re going to insist . . . I’ve been thinking about trying to come up with a white chili casserole recipe. That would make a good dinner entrée, don’t you think?”

Phyllis could tell from the expression on her friend’s face that she had made a good choice. Carolyn nodded and said, “That sounds delicious. I was leaning toward a casserole, too. A hearty breakfast casserole. I was just checking the pantry and thinking about possible ingredients when you and Sam came in.”

“If there’s anything I can do to help you . . .”

“Same here.” Carolyn laid the magazine on the counter and opened it. “Let’s take a look at the rules . . .”

*   *   *

After poring over the magazine with Carolyn for a while and thinking about the casserole she might bake, Phyllis took a break and went outside. She’d heard plenty of hammering going on in the backyard, along with the whining hum of a circular saw and a screw gun. The house had a large wooden back porch, and Sam was constructing the doghouse at one end of it.

When Sam noticed her, he stepped back from his work and grinned at her.

“What do you think?” he asked with a note of pride in his voice. “Reckon Buck will be happy in it?”

“I think any dog would be,” Phyllis said.

Phyllis didn’t know that much about doghouses. She was probably more familiar with the one that Snoopy slept on top of in the comics than anything else. Her family had had a dog for a while when she was growing up, but it had slept underneath her parents’ farmhouse with its pier-and-beam foundation. The only pets she and her late husband, Kenny, had had while their son, Mike, was growing up were fish and birds.

But even so, she could tell that this doghouse was well put together, like all of Sam’s carpentry projects, and looked like it would be comfortable. It was big and roomy, and Sam had tacked down a nice piece of thick carpet on its floor. Phyllis had some old blankets he could put in there for Buck to curl up in, too.

The doghouse roof had shingles on it, so if any rain blew in under the porch roof, it would stay dry inside. The roof extended out quite a bit in an overhang to protect the arched entrance.

Sam pointed and said, “I cut a window in the back and put one of those louvered covers on it, so it’ll keep rain out but let air through. The trees block the north wind, but it’ll catch any breeze from the west. That’ll be nice in the spring and fall, and I can close it up during the winter.”

Phyllis smiled and said, “I think Buck is a lucky dog. If we hadn’t happened to be at the shelter when that man brought him in, who knows what might have happened to him.”

“Shoot. I’m the one who’s lucky to have found him,” Sam said. “You can look in a dog’s eyes and tell how smart he is, you know. He’s a mighty smart fella. I’m sure of it.”

“Maybe you can teach him some tricks.”

Sam made a little face and shook his head. “I’m not much on tricks. I like a dog that’ll walk with you and that you can talk to. You get a good enough dog, I swear sometimes it seems like they’re talkin’ back to you. That’s the way it feels anyway.” He hesitated for a moment, then went on, “After my wife passed on, I must’ve walked a thousand miles up and down those country roads out where we lived, just tryin’ to make sense of it all. And the old dog that we had then was right with me every step of the way. Sometimes I think those walks with that old varmint were the only thing that kept me from goin’ outta my head. He was always ready to go, always willin’ to listen to whatever I had to say. Now, that’s a good dog. Sure was hard when I lost him, too.”

“It must have been,” Phyllis said. She had to swallow before she could get the words out, and her eyes were moist.

“Oh, well,” Sam said with a smile. “It wasn’t long after that I moved in here with you fine ladies, and things got better. Didn’t really have time then to sit around and feel sorry for myself, because there was always somethin’ goin’ on.”

“Too much going on, if you ask me. All those horrible murders . . .” She shuddered. “I never intended to spend my retirement catching killers!”

“You do seem to have a knack for it. That and bakin’.” Sam slapped the top of the doghouse. “And now we’re gonna have a dog, too. Can’t hardly wait to show ol’ Buck his new home.”

Seeing how happy he was, Phyllis thought again that she was glad she had decided to go along with what he wanted. He had tiptoed around the subject for a while before he ever came right out with it, and to tell the truth, when he’d told her that he had an important question to ask her, she had been convinced it was going to be something else entirely.

She had believed he was going to ask her to marry him.

When he’d said instead that he wanted to get a dog, Phyllis hadn’t known at first whether to be relieved or disappointed. It hadn’t taken her long to figure out that she was relieved. That way she hadn’t had to make a decision and give him an answer.

She loved Sam, but as far as she was concerned, things could go on the way they were for the time being. They were both happy, and there was no need to risk that.

“I think I might go call the vet clinic,” Sam went on. “Doc Baxter gave me his card. I want to find out how Buck’s doin’ after his surgery.”

“I’m sure if there was any problem the doctor would let you know,” Phyllis said.

“Yeah, more than likely. But I think I’ll call anyway.”

He went into the house, leaving Phyllis on the porch. She stood there for a moment, looking at the doghouse, then walked over to it and rested a hand on the roof.

“Buck, you had better be nice to that man,” she said quietly, even though the future occupant of the doghouse was several miles away. “If anybody deserves to have a good dog, it’s Sam Fletcher.”

Chapter 3

S am called the vet’s office again the next morning, and after telling the woman who answered the phone who he was, he asked if Buck was ready to be picked up.

“I think so, but let me go and check,” she said. After a couple of minutes, she came back to the phone and reported, “Yes. Dr. Baxter said you can come get him anytime you want.”

“All right. I’ll be there in a little while. Thanks.”

He was already in the kitchen, so after he hung up the phone, he turned to the table where Phyllis, Carolyn, and Eve sat and said, “Good news. I can go get Buck anytime.”

“Buck,” Eve Turner repeated. “I like that name. It’s so manly.”

Carolyn opened her mouth to say something, but Sam saw Phyllis give her a quick look and Carolyn just cleared her throat and kept whatever she’d been about to say to herself.

Sam could guess that it would’ve