by Liz Mugavero
Was it her imagination, or did Maeve look afraid of Hatmaker? Anyone looking at him would agree he appeared harmless enough. Even a bit spacy behind those glasses. But something about him made her uneasy.
He smiled at Stan. “See? She’s safe and sound.” Stroking his ratty beard, he asked, “Is there anything else?”
“Are you working on something for Helga’s celebration?” Stan asked.
Hatmaker’s smile faltered, but he caught it. “No, I was stopping by on the mayor’s request to ensure the museum is ready to open next week without any, er, dark clouds hanging over it.”
“Don’t you think that’s a bit premature? I thought they were keeping the museum as-is out of respect for Helga.”
Hatmaker narrowed his eyes. “As tragic as the events of Sunday were, the museum must reopen. My only concern is preserving the history of the town,” he said.
Tony Falco apparently hadn’t taken her tip to heart if he was putting Hatmaker in charge of reopening. “Oh,” Stan said. “So what kinds of pieces are you planning to move out?”
Hatmaker looked surprised that she had heard that—or maybe that she’d had the gall to ask about it. “Well, naturally things that have run their course,” he said in that condescending tone that suggested he thought she was overstepping, but since she had a tenuous connection to the mayor he would humor her. “Old items that may not have any place in the exhibits anymore.”
“Like what?”
Hatmaker’s smile turned into a grimace. “Well, my dear, let’s just take a spin around the room and I can point out some examples.” He motioned for her to follow him. “Now, see this?” He pointed to a cabinet full of really ugly quilts. “This is an exhibit of some of our founding mothers’ quilting projects, done for the soldiers returning from the war. It’s a perfect example of what we want to showcase. What our museum is really about. But this”—he pointed to another cabinet with a jumble of photographs—“this is a haphazard attempt to promote these pictures as historical photo documentaries, when really they’re just a bunch of old photographs assembled with no rhyme or reason.”
Stan stepped closer and examined the pictures. They were all old photos of the town, different buildings, even an old shot of the green. “Why aren’t these a good example? They’re all pictures of the town.”
Hatmaker dismissed her with a flick of his wrist. Clearly she couldn’t know anything about topics such as this one. “There are many things you wouldn’t understand about historical collections,” he said, his tone growing more pinched with each word.
“Really? Look.” She pointed to one, leaning in closer to see the details. “That’s the old library building. Jake and Izzy’s new place.” Chances are Hatmaker hadn’t heard about Fox and friends’ appearance in town yet, but it seemed like something that would garner a lot of attention once the story about the murder came out.
“I didn’t say the photos weren’t relevant. I simply said the way they’re displayed needs some work. These dreadful cabinets need upgrading. And some of them can be displayed in a much more relevant way. Like this thing.” He waved at the old library catalogue that Carla had been perusing when Stan walked in. “There is no need for this . . . monstrosity to be taking up so much space in the main room. This is a holdover from the library upgrade that, in my opinion, is here for more sentimental reasons than historical. And, of course, all these things get dumped in the museum with no particular regard for the objective of the exhibits. Those are some examples of what the mayor is sanctioning as acceptable changes.”
“So where are you sending the pieces you’re having removed?” Stan asked.
“Most likely to storage until we determine a better use.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s been lovely chatting. Now, my apologies, but I must get back.”
In other words, get lost. Stan thought about calling Jessie to report him for trespassing. “Thanks for helping me find Maeve,” she said, and retraced her steps back the way she’d come. On her way by Helga’s old desk, she paused to look. Helga’s glittery purple cane still hung on its hook, forlorn and alone.
Chapter 16
Brenna’s car was already in her driveway when Stan pulled in at ten after two. She smiled. Her assistant was overly motivated, which meant she was super prompt. Stan loved it. Her business had taken off so quickly and the demand was so high, she’d be lost without Brenna. As an added bonus, her young assistant was a talented baker with a sixth sense for combining good nutrition with taste. And she loved animals.
When she let herself in, her dogs weren’t even at the door. Maybe they couldn’t hear over the music blasting from the kitchen. Usher. “DJ Got Us Fallin’ in Love.” Not her top choice of music. But when she entered the kitchen, she saw what was really distracting them. The two dogs and Nutty sat in a semicircle around Brenna, who stood at the stove. She had them all at attention, waiting for pieces of banana. Nutty most likely thought it was one of the freshly baked cookies, of which the aroma filled the room and tickled Stan’s nostrils. Her stomach growled. Embarrassing, especially considering the food in question was technically for dogs and cats. Even though they were made of all human ingredients, she felt silly eating them. But she’d missed lunch again, with her detour to the historical society. Maybe she could make something yummy for her and Brenna to eat while they baked.
She leaned against the wall, watching with a smile as the dogs took their treat and Nutty, as expected, turned his nose up at it and meowed indignantly at Brenna.
“I just thought I’d give you something before the treats came out of the oven,” Brenna defended herself, then noticed Stan at the same time the dogs did. They ran up, wagging and barking, pretending they’d been waiting for her all along. “Hey, Stan. I wanted to get started.” She turned the radio down.
“You’re the best. I’m sorry I’m late.”
“No worries. I had nothing else on my schedule, and I know you had meals to work on today. Don’t you need to bring Abbie’s order over?”
“Shoot.” She’d nearly forgotten her promise to get back to Abbie’s this afternoon. “Yes, I do.”
“They’re in the oven. I stopped for carob chips on my way over. You’ll be all set in a few.” She pointed to the clock. “Plenty of time, too. She’s open until eight.”
“Thank you. So much. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Stan said, shrugging off her coat. “I stopped for the carob chips, too, but got sidetracked.” She noticed the shadow that crossed Brenna’s face before the girl turned away. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” Brenna checked the white board Stan had hung in the kitchen listing all her orders. It was a simple system, but it worked for them. When one of them finished something, they wiped it off the list. And if Stan wasn’t home, Brenna would always know what she’d worked on. “Do you want me to work on the granola next?”
Stan could tell Brenna was lying. Something was wrong, but she didn’t want to push her. It might be none of her business. Or it might be about Helga. She let it go for the time being and consulted the board. The granola was top of the list, but that was more of an experiment for the clinic opening. Something to serve for the pets who came to the party. She wanted to make it without using wheat, and she was still thinking about the best way to do that. She’d planned to work on some sample batches before declaring a final product. But she had six other treat orders to fill by Friday. She hadn’t even filled Brenna in on the wedding planning yet.
“I’m going to have to work on the granola later in the week,” she said. “I need to get the Cheesy Apple Nips to Nicola before her next training class, and the order for the co-op needs delivery tomorrow. What I really need is another oven. And a delivery person. Hey, Jake said something about letting me use the pub oven. Did he mention that to you?”
“He did.” Brenna smiled. “It’s what I was shooting for. I kept telling him how busy you’re getting. We definitely need more room. Hey—you never finished telling me about the new job.
”
“Thanks for the oven push. That’s an awesome idea. Yeah, I’m sorry about last night. My mother and the mayor sidetracked me.” She shook her head. “Want to sit?”
“Sure. I made coffee.” Brenna grabbed two mugs and poured them each a cup. “What was that about with your mother? That whole coaching thing? Yes, I was eavesdropping.” She smiled mischievously.
“You’re a lifesaver.” Stan took a grateful sip of her coffee and sat. “Yes, the coaching thing. It’s hard, because it’s my mother. But Falco’s so arrogant. I can’t coach someone I don’t like. I don’t know if I can coach anyone. Never done it before. But I’d had a long day and I just wasn’t in the mood. Especially after he insinuated he was smarter than me a hundred times over, but he’d take my ‘tips.’ Jerk.”
She didn’t mention how she’d just come across Dale Hatmaker in Helga’s museum, allegedly at Falco’s request. Brenna was likely to march over there and punch him, then go hunt Falco down.
“What did you say?” Brenna asked.
“I told him my tip was to stop disrespecting Helga’s memory by handing her job off before we’d even paid tribute to her.”
“Oh, snap.” Brenna grinned. “Good for you.”
“Yeah, well.” Stan shrugged. “I’m sure my mother is furious with me. Again. But that’s the story of my life. You want to hear about the new job?”
“You bet.” Brenna sat with her own mug while Stan filled her in on the doggie wedding and all the pieces they had to help coordinate, along with the super-cool cake.
“That’s amazing,” Brenna said, but she didn’t look as excited as Stan hoped. Helga’s death was still fresh, Stan reminded herself. There was no law saying the girl had to be over it two days later.
“We’re ten days away,” she said. “I think this will take up most of our time. Are you available for extra hours?”
Brenna burst into tears.
Stunned, Stan reached for a tissue from the box she kept on the counter. “Bren! What’s wrong? If you don’t want to help with the wedding you totally don’t have to.”
“I do,” Brenna sniffled. “I really do. I love working with you and cooking for animals. And that sounds like so much fun.”
“Then what’s wrong? Aside from being sad about Helga. I get that.”
“It’s not that. Well, of course I’m sad about that.” Brenna accepted the tissue and blew her nose. “I got offered a job.”
“You did?” Despite the sinking feeling in her stomach, Stan kept her face neutral. It was inevitable. Brenna was finishing up her graduate degree and she needed a steady gig. “What kind of job?”
“At the nutritionist’s where I’m interning. It’s full-time.” Her focus was on health, which was why the job with Stan had been a good fit.
Unless Stan was mistaken. “That sounds like it’s right up your alley,” she said. “Isn’t it? I mean, you eventually wanted to work with people, right?”
“I guess,” Brenna said, and started to cry again.
“Or not. Don’t you like the place? Is the boss mean?”
“The place is fine. The owner is fine. I just think . . . I don’t want to do it.” Brenna took a deep breath. “There. I said it. I don’t want to do it.”
“Okay, then, you shouldn’t. Simple. Right?” Stan asked.
“Not really. My dad is giving me a hard time about my ‘lack of direction.’ And the fact that I’m crashing at Jake’s.”
Stan frowned. “I don’t think you have a lack of direction. And I don’t get the sense Jake feels like you’re ‘crashing.’ What did he say about it?”
“I didn’t talk to him about it. He’s got so much on his plate right now. But he always says he wants me to do what I want to do, and he tells me he likes having me there. I think he really just likes to keep an eye on me. But it’s okay, because he’s not a jerk. And, of course, he doesn’t see anything wrong with working at the bar.”
“That would be silly of him. And of course he loves having you there.” Stan drummed her fingers on the table and thought about this. It wouldn’t do to tell Brenna how much she needed her, because then she’d feel like she was letting Stan down if she chose another direction. “What do you want to do, Bren? Like in the future?”
“I don’t know.” She looked miserable.
“Look. You’re twenty-six, right?”
Brenna nodded.
“If I had it to do over, I’d live my twenties a lot differently.” Stan got up and poured them each a glass of ice water. “I would definitely do more of what I wanted, rather than what people thought I should do. You’re doing what you want, and I think it’s great. Are you making enough money?”
“Yeah, I’m saving a lot, too. And I’m already working in nutrition. With you.”
Phew.
“But,” Brenna continued, “I don’t have health insurance.”
“That’s important. But,” Stan added, “it’s not as scary as it used to be. There are a lot more options now, and inexpensive ones at that. I don’t know, Bren. I can’t give you the answer. You have to think about what’s best for you. Just make sure whatever it is, it’s what you want to do, not what anyone else wants you to do. Make sense?”
“Yeah.” Brenna tossed her tissue into the trash can and rose as the oven timer went off. “I’ll think about it. We better get moving, though. We have lots to bake.” She smiled. “And a wedding to plan.”
After the marathon bake session ended and Brenna left to drop off Abbie’s cookies, Stan called Char back, knowing this would be a long conversation. Char didn’t disappoint, regaling her with the tale of Adrian Fox and his crew’s dramatic, last-minute appearance at the B and B and THANK GOD they had been able to accommodate them. The four-story inn had five really nice guest rooms, in addition to Char and Ray’s room at the very top of the house. A couple of the crew had to double up since they had guests already, but in all it was pretty good for a five-person party showing up with no reservation. He’d even slipped Char some extra cash for accommodating them on the fly. And with their presence, she was in the best position to hear all about their ghostly findings.
Stan did almost none of the talking. When she was finally able to hang up, she dug the newspaper clippings she’d absconded with from the historical society out of her bag. When she pulled them out, the envelope from the DNA place she’d signed for came out with them.
“Shoot,” she muttered. She’d forgotten to call Amara to tell her about it. She found her cell phone and dialed Amara’s number. The phone rang three times and went to voice mail. She left her a message, then carried her clippings and a glass of wine to her den. She turned on her gas fireplace, pulled the blinds, and tugged her favorite fleecy blanket over her lap. Her animal companions followed her and settled in their usual spots: Nutty on the back of the couch by her head, Scruffy next to her snuggled in the blanket, and Henry at her feet. The four of them agreed this was their favorite room in the house. She’d painted it a deep cranberry red, selected black furniture and bold cityscapes for the walls, and added bookcases along one side of the room. She had lamps of varying sizes placed around the room with low lights for ambience. She’d mounted a TV on the wall but hardly ever watched it. She could stare for hours into the fire. Especially since the cleanup was so easy—nothing like fighting with a real fireplace.
Stan laid the clippings out on the coffee table in front of her and put them in order by date. Satisfied she had the flow right, she dug in. The first one detailed Constantine’s disappearance:
Boxer Missing, Fight Forfeited
By Arthur Pierce, Frog Ledge
Felix Constantine’s no-show to a fight with local Tommy Hendricks has cost him a win, but family members say Constantine would’ve been there if he’d been able.
“I’m concerned,” said Lucas Klein, Constantine’s manager. “I haven’t heard a word from him, which is not like him.”
Klein asked that anyone with information about Felix’s whereabouts contact him.<
br />
Felix Constantine arrived in Frog Ledge on Thursday to prepare for a Saturday fight with Hendricks. He was last seen at a party on Friday evening.
Then, the following Monday morning:
Body of Boxer Found in
Library Basement
By Arthur Pierce, Frog Ledge
The body of missing boxer Felix Constantine was discovered Monday by a library worker who’d gone into the seldom-used basement to retrieve a box of supplies.
The worker, who declined to be identified, noticed a shoe on the floor. After investigating, Constantine’s body was discovered and police were called. The medical examiner hasn’t revealed cause or time of death at press time.
“We’re heartbroken,” said a tearful Arlene Constantine, Felix’s mother. “Our son was a good, kind boy and didn’t deserve this.”
The story was accompanied by grainy, black-and-white photos of the library basement, as well as some outside shots of the front of the building and all the activity as the medical examiner and police removed the body. She flipped to the next story, filed a few days later. The headline said it all:
Murder!
Boxer’s Death Declared a Homicide
The article went on to recount the medical examiner’s ruling that Constantine had suffered blunt head trauma. Estimated time of death was late Friday night—consistent with the height of the party. The investigating police detective—a local Frog Ledger, which meant they had their own police force at the time—promised a speedy resolution to the case. And a plea by Constantine’s younger sister:
“Whoever hurt my brother, please come forward,” said Carmen Constantine, sister of the deceased. “Give his family the closure we deserve.”