Read To Catch a Treat for Free Online Page B

just run into Ada a few times in dog parks and that Ada had told her about how wonderful this area is. She might even have mentioned she was planning a trip here soon. That wasn’t important to Janelle—finding someplace to go to try to get her mind off her lost dog was what she was after.”
    â€œAnd I gather that hasn’t been successful,” I said.
    â€œNo. I think maybe only the passage of time, or maybe getting another dog, will help her with that.”
    I wasn’t sure if Biscuit understood the word “dog.” Even if she did, she probably wasn’t aware that she was anything different from a human—except maybe a little smarter. In any case, she stood up from where she lay by my feet and nuzzled my leg.
    â€œI think she says it’s bedtime,” Neal said, watching her.
    â€œI think she’s right,” I said, standing to head to my room.

five
    Despite the fact I’d gone to bed a little late last night, on Sunday morning I was in the kitchen of my two shops right on time: five o’clock a.m.
    I wasn’t alone. My new part-time assistants—especially Frida Grainger—really loved to bake. This morning, Frida had asked to work in the Icing part of the kitchen, which was fine with me. She would be the one to bake human cookies and cupcakes and scones and other people treats, while I got into lots of kinds of dog biscuits and cookies. As always, Biscuit would hang out in the Barkery in her large, open-topped enclosure, since no dogs were allowed in the kitchen. This was for sanitary reasons, as mandated by the local health department and our occupancy permit.
    My longer-term assistant, Dinah, worked five days a week now, usually Tuesday through Saturday, although this week would be a bit different to accommodate some scheduling issues with our part-timers.
    â€œSo how was your hike yesterday?” Frida asked as she kneaded a large chunk of dough for cinnamon cookies.
    â€œFun,” I said without giving details. “And what kind of culinary masterpiece did you create?”
    â€œI’m working on a new gourmet Irish stew,” she said with a huge grin on her pretty, round face.
    She stood opposite me, across the center dividing shelves. On my side was the stainless steel utility counter for mixing and preparing dough for the Barkery, and huge ovens were behind me, against the wall. Frida’s side was the mirror image of mine. But I’d made it clear that no one was to combine ingredients from the two sides, since some human stuff, like chocolate, was poisonous to dogs. On the other hand, similar-tasting carob was used on both sides. I’d had a special ventilation system installed so that the aroma of meaty animal treats wouldn’t contaminate the people goodies containing sugar, chocolate, and more—and vice versa.
    Frida had graduated from one of the Art Institute of California campuses a couple of years ago and had been working as a chef at some pretty high-class restaurants in San Bernardino County since then. It was fortunate for me that her fiancé had gotten a job in Knobcone Heights as the local manager of a supermarket. He apparently had aspirations of moving up in the company, but for now, at least, the couple was here, and Frida had needed a part-time job that used her skills at the same time I’d started looking for additional help. In her off hours, she created new people cuisine at home.
    Although I would never tell her so, Frida looked as if she enjoyed her own creations a lot, as well as the goodies we cooked here. She was far from obese, but she definitely wasn’t svelte. And one of the things I liked about her was that I almost never saw anything but a smile on her face.
    â€œThat stew sounds great,” I said. “I hope you’ll allow me to be one of your guinea pigs when you’ve perfected it.”
    â€œOf course. After all, Zorro has offered to be your guinea dog whenever you