A Biscuit, a Casket

by Liz Mugavero

  Izzy unlocked a door at the top of the stairs and led her into an adorable kitchen with sunny yellow walls, a cozy kitchen table, and three dogs jockeying for position to greet them.

  “Hey, guys!” Stan got down on her knees to give all the dogs hugs. Baxter, Elvira, and Junior crowded around her, all looking for treats. Stan was happy to oblige. She had her usual treat bag she brought when visiting Izzy.

  Once the dogs were happy, she got to her feet and brushed her jeans off. Izzy was pouring a glass of orange juice. “You all set with coffee? Want anything else?”

  Stan declined.

  “Let’s go sit, then.” Izzy walked into a living room that looked like a New York City penthouse featured in a photo shoot—black and white and modern with splashes of red. Stan wondered how she kept everything so pristine with the dogs there. She already felt like her house needed constant cleaning with two dogs and one cat.

  She perched on the edge of the black sofa. Izzy sat across from her on the white chair with a red throw. She crossed her long legs, sipped her drink, and regarded Stan, looking more like a movie star than a café owner in a sleepy, rural town. “So, what’s up?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “You said that,” Izzy said. “What are we talking about?”

  “You know what. Hal Hoffman. And Bruno’s.”

  “Bruno’s? What about Bruno’s? Did you go there last night?” She raised her eyebrows at Stan’s nod. “How was your pizza?” Sarcasm tinged her voice.

  Stan bared her teeth. “I didn’t get pizza. After my experience in the pub I figured it wouldn’t be that good after all.”

  “What happened?”

  “Oh, come on, Izzy. I didn’t come here to play games. I’m your friend and I care about you. You never told me the real story about the guy in your café, and now I hear you and Hal had some deal going. When I mentioned Bruno’s you clearly knew what kind of place it was. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

  Izzy narrowed her eyes. “How did you hear about that deal?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Great. So the whole town knows about my bad judgment.” She flopped back on her chair, put her head on the back, and stared at the ceiling.

  “The whole town doesn’t know anything unless you told them. Except maybe that you threw a chair at one of your customers,” Stan said.

  Izzy shook her head. “He wasn’t a customer. You want to know why I threw a chair at that guy? Because he threatened me. Nobody threatens me and gets away with it.”

  “How did he threaten you? Did you tell Pasquale?”

  “Yeah, right. You can’t exactly tell the cops you borrowed money from a scumbag like that and expect them to have any sympathy. So no, I didn’t tell the cops anything. Fortunately, the scumbag was scared of being found out, too, so he dropped the charges. I figure he’ll come looking for me eventually, some night when I’m near a dark alley alone.”

  “Izzy. Did you borrow money from a gangster? Does he operate at Bruno’s?”

  Izzy scooped Elvira, who had wandered into the room, onto her lap, nuzzling the dog’s head against her chin. “I suppose I should start from the beginning.”

  “That’d be nice,” Stan said.

  Izzy ignored her sarcasm. “When I got to Frog Ledge and bought this place, I threw my entire life savings into it, between the mortgage and the repairs. This floor was perfect but I needed to redo downstairs. Expensive, but worth it. I wanted to own a business so bad.” Her tone was wistful. “And I’m doing way better than I expected. I wish more of the locals would come around, but it’s all good.

  “Except that I don’t have a cushion anymore. And I had a problem with some of the work in the kitchen, so it got a little out of hand, expense-wise. So I’ve been living on the edge a bit.” She laughed self-consciously. “But who doesn’t do that in America today, right?”

  Stan stayed silent. She didn’t usually live on the edge, financially or otherwise. Financially, she knew it was wise. In other aspects of her life, she figured she was shortchanging herself. Although this week alone she’d broken into someone’s computer and made a possible deal with a gangster, both of which could qualify.

  “I figured since the stock market was tanking, real estate might be the way to go to make some cash back,” Izzy went on. “I bought a piece of commercial property and it was a disaster. Two businesses moved in, then moved out again in less than three months. I can’t keep a tenant in there to save my life, and I can’t sell it.”

  “Where is the property? Here in Frog Ledge?”

  “Actually, no. It’s in Willard.”

  Stan thought of her adventure last night. “Near where I was last night?”

  Izzy was silent, but her facial expression said it all.

  “Oh, God. It’s not affiliated with Bruno’s, is it?”

  Izzy wrinkled her nose. “Not affiliated, but near enough that no one wants to be in that neighborhood. Between the bikers and the other . . . problems, it’s not good for business. And I didn’t do my homework well enough. Nothing new there, either. I can’t unload it. So I’m even more strapped. And then, the perfect place came along for my second dream.”

  “Second dream? I’m assuming the café was your first?”

  Izzy grinned. “Actually, marrying Brad Pitt was my first, but I gave that up a while back. I don’t like his new scruffy look anyway. So yeah, the café. Next is a bookstore. Ideally, they would be in the same place, but my shop expanded more than I had planned, so it wouldn’t work right now. Nope, there’s a place a little ways down the street that’s perfect for a bookstore. It was on sale a little over a year ago. It seemed like fate. And here’s where the story goes wrong.”

  “Oh, God. What did you do?” Stan wanted to cover her ears. She hated hearing stories about bad financial decisions. She’d learned money at a young age, and her years in financial services gave her some great insights into investments and best practices. She’d been in such good shape being laid off hadn’t even made her bank account blink. But it sounded like Izzy hadn’t been as informed, or as thoughtful.

  “I found a partner to buy the building with me.”

  “Hal Hoffman.”

  “Bingo! You get the prize behind door number three.” Izzy rose abruptly and headed into the kitchen. She refilled her glass and returned. “Again, Impulsive Izzy. Not enough homework. My uncle knew Hal. They were both members of the regional Chamber of Commerce, years ago. I guess the fact that they were friends shoulda clued me in. My unc had some issues. Anyhow, he told me I needed to hook up with Hal—not literally, so don’t wiggle your eyebrows at me—and get in on his real estate biz. Always had his eye on the prize, my uncle did.”

  “So where’s your uncle now? Can he help?” Stan asked.

  “In jail out west somewhere,” Izzy said without missing a beat.

  “Oh.” Stan wasn’t sure she wanted to know why.

  “I listened to him. Came to Frog Ledge and started this business, and scoped out the opportunities with Hal. Hal came in the café a lot. Wanted to supply my dairy. Loved that I wanted to get in on the real estate stuff. I think he saw me as a good prospect to help him get rich quick. Hal’s deals were pretty sketchy. But I wanted the store, so I got on board. And then I was on the hook. My fault, again. I didn’t question where he was getting the dough. Plus, he was involved in a lawsuit. Supposed to be getting money off some countersuit, and he was going to dump a chunk of that settlement right into the building.” She smiled wistfully. “I could smell my bookstore. But the lawsuit didn’t get settled as fast as he thought. The payments stopped getting made. And he avoided me.

  “When I finally confronted him, he confessed he didn’t have his share of the money. So I tried to cover the payments—I really did. I didn’t have staff for a while so I didn’t have to pay salaries. He gave me the dairy supplies for free to try to help, but his wife caught wind of it and freaked out.” She shook her head. “It all went to hell. The loan sharks s
tarted putting pressure on me when they realized he couldn’t pay. Then they stopped coming around for a while, so I thought maybe he had gotten his act together. Turns out, he was gambling—don’t ask me whose money. Turned a few profits, and then he lost big. The visits started up again. And then the son-of-a-gun got himself killed. And I have mortgages on three buildings that I can’t keep paying.” Her eyes watered and she turned away.

  “So the guy in the chair incident. He was sent by the person Hal dealt with to get a loan?”

  Izzy nodded, still facing away from Stan.

  “Do you know his name?” Stan’s mind immediately went to the guy with the hole in this throat at Bruno’s. “What did he look like? Did he have a hole in this throat?”

  “A what?”

  Guess not. “Forget it. His name?”

  “No idea. I let Hal handle it.”

  “Izzy.” Stan got up from the couch and perched on the edge of Izzy’s ottoman. “Do you think these people killed Hal?”

  Tears dripped down Izzy’s cheeks as she faced Stan. “I don’t know. I wondered when . . . I saw the paper. But I don’t know. And then I worry they might kill me. That’s why I got freaked out that day. In the café.”

  “Understandable.” Stan got up and paced, her brain working. “Have you been threatened in any other way?”

  “Couple of phone calls, but can’t prove who made them.” Izzy waved a dismissive hand. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing the cops can do. It’s not like it was a legal loan or anything. I’m telling you, if I don’t make one kind of stupid decision with a man, I make another. At least I didn’t get involved with him, eh? Now everyone just thinks I was.” She swiped angrily at her cheeks.

  Stan rose and placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Izzy. Everyone makes decisions they wish they could do over. We just have to figure out how to get you out of it.” She dropped her hand and paced the living room, her mind racing. “Have you talked to a corporate Realtor?”

  Izzy nodded. “No one wants to touch the Willard neighborhood. And I don’t want to sell the other building, just refinance.”

  Stan paced again. “Okay. We could also talk to a local bank. Sometimes they’re better able to lend money, especially if it’s to an established local person. We could try to get a better loan for all three. I’m sure the interest on whatever Hal did is insane, am I right?”

  At Izzy’s sheepish nod, Stan sighed. “Okay. That might lower your payment. Have you tried that?”

  “No,” Izzy admitted.

  “Have you tried anything?”

  “I’ve tried to stop crying. I’ve tried not to tell anyone.” Izzy threw her hands up in exasperation. “Look, Stan, I’m not as business savvy as you. I messed up and I don’t know how to fix it. And I’m terrified of losing my café.”

  “Okay, okay. Look. You won’t lose the café. Let’s put a plan together. Let’s try the former owner’s Realtor. Or maybe even ask the former owner if he knows anyone. If he’s some developer, he might have a lead. Do you know who it is?”

  “Oh yeah, I know him all right,” Izzy said in a monotone.

  “Well, who is it?” Stan demanded, impatient.

  “Boy, you get bossy when it comes to money stuff.” Izzy shook her head. “If you insist. It’s Jake McGee.”

  For a moment, Stan was speechless. “Jake McGee?” she repeated. “Like, Jake McGee of McSwigg’s?”

  “Yep. The one and only. Ah, now your tune changes.”

  Jake was involved in real estate? So Jake knew about Hal’s sketchy dealings. Had he been part of any of that, even unwillingly? Maybe Hal had ripped him off. Maybe he’d been angry with Hal about some deal. Angry enough to kill him? The thought left her cold. When had she turned so suspicious?

  “Does he know what’s going on?” she asked Izzy.

  “Of course not. He sold the building and he was done. I didn’t even know he was the owner until Hal made the offer,” Izzy snapped.

  Things were starting to click in Stan’s brain, even through the fog of surprise and suspicion. Finally, the mystery of Jake and Izzy, solved. “So Jake found out—when? When his Realtor brought a cash offer to him?”

  “I guess,” Izzy said. “He wanted to know who the buyer was. Then he showed up at my door to lecture me. Before that, I’d only met him a couple of times. He owned this building, too.”

  “Really.” And she’d thought he just owned a cool bar and mixed drinks.

  “Yeah, really. I got mad. Couldn’t figure out why he wanted to keep me from my dream. I had all these conspiracy theories.” Izzy barked out a humorless laugh. “Like he didn’t want me to succeed because I wasn’t a local, or because I wasn’t even from this country. You know, the usual self-doubt garbage. So I threw him out and told him to mind his own business. I guess I got even angrier at him when I found out he’d been right.”

  Stan reached for her coffee. It was empty. She had a blazing headache and wished she could inject some straight into her veins. “So you really don’t know a guy with a hole in his throat?”

  “Swear to God I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

  “But you don’t know who the actual investor is, so it could be him.”

  “I suppose, but . . . a hole in his throat?”

  “Yeah. Looks like he got shot right through here.” Stan pointed to the base of her neck. “Course, I’m no bullet hole expert, but it looked like it. He asked me about an agreement Hal had with him. Starting this weekend. Do you know what that’s about?”

  Izzy shook her head slowly. “Swear on my mother.” “Do you like your mother?”

  “Love her,” Izzy said. “She’s a great lady.”

  “Okay. Because he asked if we were on. I had to answer.”

  “So what did you say?”

  “I didn’t say yes or no. I told him to come by the farm and we’d work it out.”

  “You did what?” Izzy gaped at her.

  Stan shrugged. “I was hoping maybe it would flush out the killer. I’ll probably have Pasquale at the farm that night. I should tell her.”

  “Girl, you’re crazy.”

  “I know. Will you let me know if you hear anything?”

  “About crazy men with bullet holes in their throats making arrangements for Saturday night?” Izzy laughed without mirth. “Sure, you got it.”

  Stan left Izzy’s around lunchtime, after a grueling conversation during which she got Izzy to agree to talk to Jake—if Stan mediated. Stan wasn’t thrilled about getting in the middle, but she wanted to help Izzy. And she got the sense that Jake wasn’t as cold and uncaring as Izzy had initially insinuated. Stan was pretty sure Izzy’s grudge had to do with her bad real estate choice rather than any real character flaw on Jake’s part. Maybe she could help smooth things over between the two, if nothing else. That is, if Jake agreed.

  At least they hadn’t dated. For some reason, that made her feel lighter.

  Her stomach was in knots as she headed to the farm. Halfway there, she realized she’d forgotten to check her e-mail in hopes Justin had cracked the code on those documents. She’d have to check later. In the meantime, she’d finish tidying up the office, check in with Roger, and call it a day. She had to get Benny’s birthday party planned—it was Saturday and she hadn’t prepared anything yet. She had a cake to bake, decorations to buy, and goodie bags to make up.

  Lost in her own lists, she walked into the Hoffmans’ driveway and didn’t notice Em sitting on the porch steps until she called to her.

  “Hi there, Stan.” Despite the forced enthusiasm in her voice, Em looked exhausted and sad.

  “Oh, hey, Em. Sorry, didn’t see you.” Stan changed direction and walked over. “How are you holding up?”

  “I’m fine. So sweet of you to come to the funeral.”

  “Of course I would come! How could I not?”

  Em nodded. “May I ask you a favor?”

  Please, no cow pushing. “Sure.”

  “Can you come see Samson? He doesn�
�t look like he’s feeling well today. I wondered if you could tell me what to give him for food that might make him feel better.”

  Stan opened her mouth to say, I’m not a vet, I have no idea what would make your dog feel better, then closed it again. The poor lady had been through enough and probably didn’t have money to go to the vet. “Sure,” she said. “Where is he?”

  Em looked relieved. “Oh, thank you. He’s inside.” She rose, slowly, like her bones ached, and motioned for Stan to follow her. “I’m sorry to keep sidetracking you, but the kids couldn’t stand if it the dog was sick, too—”

  She stopped midsentence as Jessie Pasquale’s cruiser rolled to a stop in the driveway. Stan followed Em’s gaze and watched Pasquale emerge from the driver’s seat. She was alone. Of the times Stan had seen Pasquale in tense situations, she’d never seen her look so uncomfortable.

  Pasquale adjusted her shirt. Fiddled with her big belt. Pushed the sunglasses from her eyes to the top of her head. Finally, she walked over.

  Emmalee watched her. She must have sensed this visit was different, because her smile was shaky. “Hi, Jessie. You have news for me?”

  Jessie paused in front of the steps, shifting her weight from one foot to the other until she realized she was doing it. She stilled her movements and put her cop face back on. She did not look at Stan.

  “Emmalee, would you mind coming with me? I need to ask you a few questions about your husband’s murder,” she said.

  Emmalee’s mouth opened, then closed. “I . . . What do you mean?”

  Jessie stood firm. “I need you to get in the car.”

  Em’s hands went to her hips. “Jessie, what in the world are you talking about? I’ve got a farm to run!”

  “Emmalee, please don’t make this more difficult than it already is. I just need to ask you some questions about the day Hal died. Please.”