by Liz Mugavero
She loaded Scruffy and Henry into the car. They were coming to the patisserie for the day, while Duncan and Gaston went to the pub with Jake.
She parked in Amara’s driveway and hurried to the porch. It might be too early to ring the bell. But as she pondered, the inside door swung open and Amara stood there. She looked like she hadn’t slept all night. Her usually sleek, styled bob was lackluster and looked like she’d been running her fingers through it. She wore fleece sweats and a sweatshirt so large it must’ve been Vincent’s.
“Hi! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” Stan said. “I just wanted to leave you some food. It’s from my not-happening grand opening.” She held up the tray.
“You didn’t wake me at all. I thought you were Vince and Beau coming back from their walk.” She swung the door wider. “Can you come in for a minute?”
“A quick minute. Scruffy and Henry are in the car. But I can make us a quick coffee.”
Amara smiled a little and swung the door wider. “Thank God. I don’t have the energy.” She closed and locked the door behind Stan and shuffled into the kitchen.
“How are you holding up?” Stan asked, slipping out of her jacket.
Amara shrugged. “Fine.”
“That doesn’t sound convincing. Where do you hide your coffee?”
Amara pointed to a cabinet. Stan opened it and perused the contents before selecting an Ethiopian blend she recognized as one of Izzy’s most popular brands. She set to work grinding and brewing.
“So what else have you heard?” Amara asked. “About … last night?”
“I haven’t heard much,” Stan said, keeping her back to her friend.
Amara frowned. “Not even from Jessie?”
“No. I mean, I know she’s pursuing this as something more than natural causes. I think if she waited for results and it was something … else, she’d never forgive herself for sitting on it. But who knows,” Stan said. “It could be natural causes, and then this would all be just a big misunderstanding.” She turned to look at Amara. “She wants to talk to everyone on the committee, and basically everyone involved somehow in the celebration. She wants to circle back with you. About extra elves or something.”
“I figured,” Amara said. “Although the extra elves didn’t show up. I told her everything I knew last night. Well …” She trailed off.
“What? There’s more?”
Amara sat down heavily at the kitchen table and adjusted her glasses. “I have no idea if it means anything at all. I guess I’m just wondering—you know, if someone really did kill him—if they thought it was Seamus.”
Stan’s hand stilled on the way to get coffee mugs. “What makes you say that?” she asked casually. She didn’t mention that her own train of thought had gone to the same station. “I keep hearing Harold had the potential to make a few enemies. He was a bit of a loose cannon, right? Plenty of opportunity to rile people up when you’re as unstable as he sounded.”
Amara looked skeptical. “Maybe. But then …” She trailed off again.
“But then what?” Stan asked.
Amara hesitated so long Stan thought she might not answer. She was about to find another way to ask when Amara blurted out, “I saw Seamus’s son outside the museum. Outside the headquarters, actually. The cute one.” She hesitated. “He was kind of … looking like he didn’t want to be seen.”
“Liam?” Stan asked. “The one with the dark hair and blue eyes?”
Amara nodded.
“When?”
“Early. Before people would’ve started coming around.” Amara thought. “Around four?”
Stan hit the button on the coffee machine and leaned on the counter, her mind racing. Why would Liam have been at the museum? Unless he’d been looking for his dad. Or … no way. Stan shook her head to clear it. Seamus’s own son? Admittedly the man had his flaws, and likely hadn’t been in the running for father of the year, but would his own son try to poison him? She thought back to the conversation last night, the blatant disdain both sons had shown, in their own way. The thought was chilling.
Amara watched Stan, the question obvious on her face.
“Are you asking if he would try to kill his own father? Come on. That’s absurd.” Stan laughed it off. “Liam is a decent guy. Jake’s closest to him out of any of his cousins. He wouldn’t have him staying with us if he thought he … could do something like that. It’s crazy, Amara. I bet there were a lot of people around the museum that day. It was open, right? And besides,” she went on, not waiting for an answer, “there could’ve been a ton of reasons he’d be out there.”
“Like he suddenly wanted to know the history of Frog Ledge and couldn’t find the front door?” Amara snorted. “I don’t know, Stan. Maybe you’re right, but it looked weird to me. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Look.” Stan poured coffee into two mugs. “Jessie doesn’t even know for sure yet what happened. Until she does, let’s not jump to crazy conclusions, okay?”
“You’re right. You’re so right. God, I don’t know what I’m saying.” Amara grasped her hair in both her fists. “I just can’t believe that poor man died right in front of me.”
“I know,” Stan said quietly. Amara sank into a chair at the kitchen table. The refrigerator hummed on. Somewhere outside, a horn honked.
“That was a crazy thing to say. Forget I even mentioned it,” Amara said finally. “And please don’t tell Jake I said anything, okay?”
“I won’t,” Stan promised. She definitely wouldn’t say anything to Jake. But she might find a way to casually ask Liam what he’d been doing there. Just to see how he reacted.
Chapter Thirteen
Stan had already had too many cups of coffee, but she needed more. A dull headache had started pounding behind her eyes after she left Amara’s, and by the time she got to Izzy’s it had increased in intensity. Logic told her that something healthy, like a green juice, would be a better choice. But today wasn’t a day for logic. It was a day for one of Izzy’s lattes and something sweet, hot, and gooey from her pastry case. So she detoured into the café, telling herself it was as much for her own caffeine intake as it was to check on Izzy—who still hadn’t responded to her message.
“Guys, I promise I’ll be right back,” she said to the dogs. At least it wasn’t too cold out today—she didn’t feel as guilty leaving them in the car again for a few minutes.
As usual, the place was packed. She was relieved to see Izzy and two other baristas working the counter, fluidly moving around each other to steam milk, pour coffee, and warm pastries. Stan took a moment to appreciate the fact that more locals than ever before now took advantage of the café, something that had taken a while, given the New England-y nature of this area—resistant to change and anything new and scary. She joined the long line waiting for their morning fix, and realized she stood behind Tony Falco.
He wore running clothes and had a hat pulled low over his forehead, clearly hoping for incognito status, but that hadn’t stopped the woman in line yammering on at him about how terrible it was about poor Harold, and how awful for the town to have this stain on such a (usually) lovely Christmas celebration! And by the way, had they given any thought to having a do-over tree lighting ceremony?
Stan took pity on Tony, something she wouldn’t have thought possible a few months ago. “Excuse me,” she broke in smoothly, smiling widely at the woman. “I actually need to discuss Christmas activities with Tony. I’m on the committee.”
“Oh! How wonderful.” The nosy woman looked pleased. “I’ll let you talk, then.” She turned back to the bored-looking man standing beside her. Husband, probably, who was used to this sort of thing.
Tony shot Stan a grateful look. “Thank you,” he muttered.
“No problem. Have time to sit for a minute?”
He looked a bit surprised at the invitation, but nodded. They stood in silence until they reached the counter. Izzy greeted them with her usual smile, but today it looked forced. Her long
braids were swept up in a ponytail. Her normally glowing caramel skin had a pallor to it.
“Hey,” Stan said. “I messaged you earlier.”
“Yeah, sorry. I’ve been running around since I got up. What can I get for you?” she asked.
Stan wanted to ask how she was, but Izzy didn’t seem to want to talk. So they ordered coffees—a regular black coffee for Tony and a mocha latte for Stan. Tony declined a pastry. His obvious morning exercise and low-calorie coffee choice had her feeling guilty, so she reluctantly skipped the muffin she’d been ogling. Izzy called their order to one of the girls, and then she was on to the next customer before Stan had a chance to say anything else. Odd, but it was super busy in here. They collected their drinks and went to Stan’s favorite table in the back, which a group of women had miraculously just vacated. A copy of the Frog Ledge Holler sat discarded on the table, Tyler’s picture front and center. Stan pushed the paper aside.
Tony took the seat across from her and took a sip of his coffee, his eyes troubled.
“Are you doing okay?” Stan asked finally, once the silence had stretched far enough into the uncomfortable zone.
Tony nodded, but his face was a grimace. “I feel terrible for Harold.”
“Did you know him well?”
He shrugged. “About as well as most people knew him. I’d actually worked with him once at the museum. He was helping put together an exhibit on farming during the Revolutionary War. The equipment we were displaying was quite heavy and we needed extra hands. He was a good worker.”
He looked distraught. Stan got the sense that he wasn’t simply repeating a party line, but was truly saddened by the death of a member of his community. Stan actually thought she’d started to like him—something she’d never anticipated when they’d first met.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “It’s a shame.” She hesitated a minute. “Have you talked to Jessie since last night?”
His eyes dropped to his coffee cup, which he tipped back and forth, watching the liquid slosh around in his cup. He’d barely sipped yet. “No. But I suspect I’ll see her when I go into the office. She likely won’t have news for me, but probably more questions.”
“Yeah.” Stan sipped her latte, wishing she could derive more enjoyment from it. “So where’s Mom this morning?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Your mother is home. She’s meeting with the wedding planner. We’re getting close now.” He smiled for the first time since last night. “I can’t wait. And I won’t let anything ruin the day for her,” he added, as if anticipating Stan’s thought.
“Hopefully it won’t even be a question,” Stan said. “Maybe this will all end up being a mistake. Poor Harold could’ve just gotten sick.” She felt like she kept saying that in hopes of making it true. It would still be awful for poor Harold, but some of the other awfulness could be alleviated.
“One can only hope. Any word from Ray?” Tony asked.
“I haven’t talked to Char. She didn’t answer when I called her this morning. She’s pretty upset.”
He nodded. “I’m sure she is. Who wouldn’t be? So what do you think she’ll do?”
Stan lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug. “I’m not sure. I suppose if he doesn’t show up soon she’ll file a police report, once the window for waiting has passed. I know Jessie has already been in touch with the Boston police to at least give them a heads-up.”
“So she’s certain that’s where they are?”
“That’s where they were headed.”
Tony absorbed that information. When he spoke, he did so with hesitation. “What do you know about Seamus McGee? I only met him once.”
Something in his voice gave Stan pause. She searched his face, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. She thought about the question. Truth was, she didn’t really know much about Seamus, other than what she’d heard from the family. “Not much,” she admitted. “Jake is fond of him. He’s got sons. I don’t think they’re overly fond of him. They’re staying with us. Liam and Declan.”
“What do you know about his relationship with Vivian O’Sullivan?”
“Just that they’ve been seeing each other for years. Since they were kids, really, aside from the time Seamus was married. But it’s a seasonal thing. He lives in Ireland mostly.”
“What’s he do for a living?”
“I have no idea.” Stan regarded him curiously. “Why?”
Tony shrugged. “Curious, is all. Listen, I need to get ready to go to the office. If you hear anything, let me know.” He pushed his chair back and stood, picking up his coffee cup.
As he strode away, Stan couldn’t help but think there was a reason he was asking so many questions about Seamus. She wondered what it was.
Chapter Fourteen
When she arrived at the bakery with Scruffy and Henry, the lights were on and a car was parked in the front lot. Her sister’s car. What was Caitlyn doing here so early? Stan parked around back to leave spaces open for customers and let herself in via the back door. Her nostrils perked up at the heavenly smells. If she didn’t know this was a dog bakery, she’d have no trouble believing these were people goodies in the oven. Which, technically, they could be. All the ingredients were natural, organic, and real food—the only difference would be the level of sweetness, since she used items like honey to sweeten the doggie treats instead of the typical sugar one would use in a human pastry.
Kyle was bent over, peering into the oven. When he heard the door, he stood and smiled. “Hey there. Good morning.” He’d let his blond hair grow a bit longer than when she’d met him over the summer, and it had darkened a bit since he’d been out of the Florida sun. He still had his trademark stubble. Kyle was a cutie, no doubt about it. And her sister was smitten.
Caitlyn waved a spoon coated with batter from her station at the counter. “Hi! We figured you weren’t going to want to come in so early. With all your company and everything. And Brenna is probably with her family, sick with worry about her uncle.” She glanced at Kyle, the adoration apparent in her eyes. “Kyle suggested we come in and get everything up and running for you.”
“Wow. You guys are the best,” Stan said, suddenly feeling a little weepy. It was a strange feeling to want to cry tears of happiness over her younger sister instead of tears of frustration, but she welcomed the change. She’d had a third baker for a little while over the summer, but now that the position was open again, she and Brenna had scrambled to keep up. Having Kyle around was a lifesaver, she had to admit. And the fact that he had Caitlyn baking, well, that said it all. Her sister had gone from having a full household staff to being a hands-on, involved girlfriend, mother, and sister. In Frog Ledge, no less. What had started as a visit to avoid the daily divorce drama infiltrating Caitlyn’s and her daughter Eva’s lives had led to her deciding to move here. She’d simultaneously reconciled with Kyle, whom she’d left her husband for in the first place but then split with after some misunderstandings. She’d refused to see him when he first came to town to woo her back, but had since given in. Now they were getting married and had just bought a house in town—which was surreal to Stan.
“I told you he was fantastic,” Caitlyn said with a big grin.
Stan resisted the urge to point out to her sister that only a few months ago, she was trying to convince Jessie to throw Kyle out of town. “You sure did,” she agreed. “Where’s Eva?”
“She slept over at Jessie’s last night,” Caitlyn said, returning her attention to her dough, which she now laid out on a cookie sheet and began cutting into shapes.
“At Jessie’s? Why?”
Caitlyn looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “Because she’s friends with Lily?”
“But Jessie’s working a—she’s working,” Stan finished lamely. She didn’t want to let on anything about the suspicions of murder yet.
“Sure. Marty’s there too. They’d already said the girls could have a sleepover and didn’t want to disappoint them. So we took advantage
of the opportunity to help you. Babe, can you slide my tray in?” She handed her tray of Santa Claus heads to Kyle, who rearranged a couple of things in the oven before sliding them onto the top rack.
“You got it,” he said, setting the timer and grabbing two trays of cooled cookies. “I’m going to go load the case. Stan, I took your list of pastries off the fridge. I’m hoping that was the right thing to do?”
“It’s perfect,” Stan said. “I owe you, Kyle.”
He waved her off. “Don’t be silly. We’re family now.” He winked at her and headed out into the main room.
Caitlyn watched him go, a lovesick expression on her face. Stan had to smile.
“I love him tons,” her sister said, glancing at Stan. “I really do. And I love this town. Which is so crazy, right? I mean, you thought I would hate it. Heck, I thought I would hate it. But I don’t. Eva loves it too, which makes me happy. Even though her dad is going to try to convince her otherwise when she goes to visit him. But he won’t. Especially now that she’s got a dog.”
In another un-Caitlyn-like move, her sister had adopted a dog who had recently lost his owner. Cooper, a golden retriever, had bonded with the whole family, but he and Eva had become instant best buds.
“I’m glad,” Stan said. “And I’m even more glad today. Really, Caitlyn, I’m so grateful to you guys. I never would’ve caught up.”
Caitlyn waved her off. “So how is Jake? And his family?” she asked. “They holding up okay?”
“They are. I think Char is more of a mess, honestly.” Stan shook her head. “This is so not like Ray. That’s what keeps bringing me back to this idea that they’re in trouble.”
Caitlyn measured out blueberries and added them to her mixture. “I can’t believe any of this is happening. I mean, that poor man dying like that. After what happened over the summer … God, it seems surreal.”
“Well, we don’t know that this is anything like that,” Stan warned.
Caitlyn shot her a How dumb do you think I am? look. “I’ve heard the rumors.”