A Biscuit, a Casket

by Liz Mugavero

  In disgust Stan watched the scene unfolding in front of her. How many blows could this family take? “Are you arresting her?” she asked.

  Pasqale ignored her.

  Em turned to Stan, her eyes pleading.

  “What do you need?” Stan asked.

  “The boys—” Em began, but just then Tyler came around the corner of the house. He took in the scene, then turned to his mother.

  “Mom? What’s going on?”

  “Nothing, honey. I have to go with Jessie for a little while. Will you make sure your brothers all get home and start their homework? Call Ted. Ask him to send someone to help tonight.” She nodded, smiled, and touched his cheek. “Go on, now.” She turned to Stan and handed her a key ring. “Keys to the house. Hold on to them, okay?”

  Stan reached out to accept them and squeezed Em’s hand.

  Tyler stared at his mother as she started walking toward the cruiser. “Mom?”

  “Do as I say, Ty,” Emmalee called without looking back.

  Tyler raced forward and grabbed his mother’s wrist. “Mom!”

  “Tyler,” Jessie said. She opened the cruiser’s passenger door—at least she didn’t make Em sit in the back like a criminal—and waited. Tyler didn’t let go. Jessie stepped forward, as if to remove his hand. Emmalee pulled it away first.

  “Don’t touch him,” she warned.

  “Please get in, Emmalee.”

  Emmalee extracted her hand from her son’s. “It’s okay, Tyler,” she said.

  But Tyler didn’t think so. He put himself between Jessie and his mother and said, “It’s me you want.”

  “Tyler!” Emmalee exclaimed. “Go in the house right now.”

  “No, Mom. They’re trying to arrest you for something you didn’t do.” He faced Jessie. “I did it. I killed my dad.” He turned back to his mother. “I’m sorry.”

  Stan’s mouth dropped open. What in the world was Tyler doing?

  Emmalee’s face had drained of color. “Tyler,” she whispered. “What are you talking about?”

  Her son ignored her. “Go ahead. Handcuff me if you want. I’m confessing. Leave my mother alone and I’ll get in the car. Seriously. Ask anyone at school. I wasn’t there that day.”

  “Tyler. Be absolutely certain this is what you want to do,” Jessie warned.

  Tyler shrugged. “I did it. So let’s go.”

  “Do not take my son,” Em hissed at Jessie. “He’s lying! Neither of us killed Hal! My God, for all his faults, we loved him. He was our family.” Her voice broke. “He was our family.” She grabbed Jessie’s arms, pleading with her. “You’re like our family, too. You can’t do this.”

  “Mom, just be quiet.” Tyler’s eyes remained on Jessie. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

  Jessie yanked the back door open, muttering something under her breath, and waited for Tyler to duck in. “You have the right to remain silent,” she began.

  Emmalee looked like she was about to pass out. Stan moved to her side and slid an arm around her. Em started to cry. “What is he doing?” she asked, but Stan knew she wasn’t expecting an answer.

  Jessie didn’t look at them again. She shut the back door, got in the car, and drove away. Stan could see the back of Tyler’s head through the rear window of the disappearing car. He didn’t turn around.

  Chapter 25

  As quickly as the news had spread around Frog Ledge about Hal Hoffman’s death, the news of his wife’s would-be arrest and son’s confession seemed to hit the wires even faster. Cyril Pierce must have been up at the crack of dawn the morning after the scene at the Hoffmans’ to get his news printed and out the door. It was the only article in the edition. When Stan had first moved to town, she’d been told the Frog Ledge Holler came out twice per week. Now it seemed Cyril had thrown his schedule to the wind and was printing papers whenever he felt like it. Stan wondered who tipped him off to Tyler’s arrest. According to the story, the arraignment was scheduled for ten this morning.

  Stan had gone back to the farm after Tyler’s arrest to bring dishes of seasoned turkey, rice, and butternut squash for the Hoffman animals. She’d been worried about Samson since Em told her he hadn’t felt well. Samson and Petunia had both been grateful for the food, because Em and her children were gone. The house had been empty. Stan had wondered if she should take the dog home with her, but decided to see how he seemed the following day.

  Now she and the dogs were up early, dressed for a walk on the green. Nutty was sleeping in. Stan couldn’t sleep. She wanted exercise. She also wanted to hear what people were saying. She was as bad as Char.

  There was a crowd on the green already when she, Henry, and Scruffy crossed the street. They were doing yoga. When Stan got closer, she recognized Amara teaching the class, twisting herself into some kind of crazy pose. Most of the others struggled to follow her and keep their balance. She saw Stan from her upside-down pose and waved.

  Stan was so surprised she almost forgot to wave back. Maybe Amara was ready to drop the grudge?

  Frantic barking jolted Stan from her thoughts. Bracing herself for the inevitable, she turned in time to see Duncan racing down the green at top speed, tongue lagging, aimed straight for her. Scruffy and Henry saw him, too, and began their own barking and wagging celebration. Behind him, Stan could see Jake loping along, halfheartedly calling the dog. She really needed to make him understand how important a leash was.

  But first, she needed to keep her balance as Duncan launched himself at her. She was better at preparing for it, though. When he jumped and threw his paws on her shoulders, she didn’t even fall. Henry and Scruffy clamored around him, yelping for joy.

  Stan grabbed Duncan’s collar and coaxed him to the ground. Duncan had a tendency to get himself in trouble. He was slick, sneaky, and obsessed with Stan and her food, and went to great lengths to be with her—including busting out of his house and finding his way to hers, which he’d done on a number of occasions. She turned to look for Jake. Someone had stopped him to talk along the way, which was usually the case. Townspeople, young and old, loved him. The elderly folks adored him because he helped them do things they couldn’t do anymore. The younger folks liked him because he ran a cool bar. And most of the females in town liked him because, well, he was damn cute. She could see him in half-listening mode, one eye on their group, as he nodded in response to the little old man with the plaid sweater talking animatedly.

  When Jake finally broke free and jogged over to them, Stan was handing out treats from her ever-present treat bag. Duncan sat at her feet, gazing at her adoringly, waiting for the next goodie to tantalize his tastebuds. Henry and Scruffy were following his example.

  “Wow, you guys look like poster children for good dogs.” Jake came up behind them and clipped Duncan’s leash on.

  “Why don’t you do that before you go outside, instead of after you have to chase him?” Stan asked.

  Jake sighed. “I know, I know. Bad doggie parent. I’ve heard it all before.”

  “Hmmph.” Stan shook her head. “You’re a slow learner.”

  “Jeez. We haven’t even gone on a date yet and we’re already fighting like an old married couple.” He said it so matter-of-factly Stan was left gaping at him, her ability to form words completely vanished.

  “Kristan!”

  She groaned inwardly. Her mother. On the green. Was nothing sacred? She turned to greet her. The words died in her throat when she saw Patricia, wearing a pink velour jogging suit that looked like nothing she would ever wear, walking with Leigh-Anne Sutton, who was dressed in an equally ugly identical velour suit in teal. What on earth had come over her mother?

  “Crap,” she muttered, then pasted on a smile and waved back. “Morning!”

  Jake followed her gaze with interest. “Isn’t that other woman the one helping Em at the farm? Who’s that with her?”

  “That,” Stan said, repressing a sigh, “is my mother.”

  “Your mother? I didn’t know she lived around here.” />
  “She doesn’t. She showed up for an alleged visit the other day and decided she was afraid of my dogs. So she’s staying with Char.”

  “Really.” Jake’s lips took on that hint of a smile, the one that meant he was trying not to laugh. “You sound thrilled.”

  “Terribly.” Stan pasted on a smile as her mother and Leigh-Anne reached them and chirped greetings. She saw them both appraise Jake, from his backward Yankees hat to his unshaven chin. His typical morning look. “How are you, Mom, Leigh-Anne? You guys look like twins.” She indicated their outfits.

  “Oh, I had nothing to walk in. Leigh-Anne was sweet enough to offer me her extra suit.” Now that she was closer, Stan could see her mother wasn’t thrilled with the outfit either. That, at least, made her feel a little better. She had started to think her real mother had been stolen by zombies. As much as they disagreed on everything, it was still unsettling to see her acting so strangely.

  “I needed a walking partner and thought your mom would love to see the green,” Leigh-Anne said. “Isn’t it beautiful? We don’t have one like it where I live. This is the best one in the state.” She turned a full-watt smile on Jake. “Hello, you sexy bartender, you!”

  Stan didn’t know whether to burst out laughing or sputter in protest. Was Leigh-Anne old enough to be a cougar?

  The look on Jake’s face was priceless, too. He mumbled some kind of response that Stan couldn’t even make out, and busied himself straightening Duncan’s collar. It was the only time Stan had ever seen him at a loss for words.

  Patricia squinted at Amara’s group. “What are they doing?”

  “Yoga,” Stan said.

  “Outside? Why would they do that?” Patricia wrinkled her nose. “It’s so dirty. And so many allergens.”

  There she was. Despite herself, Stan smiled. “This is Jake McGee. Jake, my mother. Patricia Connor.”

  “Pleasure to meet you.” Jake shook her hand. “Are you enjoying your stay at the B and B?”

  “It’s delightful,” Patricia said. “The only damper is that murder.” She shook her head, her gaze turning to the Hoffman farm. Stan turned to look, too, almost expecting to see the house with the empty, eerie look of other homes that had held murderous or murdered occupants. Of course, it didn’t look that way at all. It looked like a run-down farmhouse that needed some TLC.

  “Scary,” Patricia went on. “To think your own child could do that to you. My goodness, I’ve had my challenges with my girls”—here she sent Stan a knowing look—“but I never once feared for my life. How terrible.”

  Such high praise.

  “You know,” Leigh-Anne confided, stepping closer and dropping her voice, “I’m not surprised, to be honest. After my experience with that boy.”

  Stan could feel Jake stiffen next to her. “What do you mean?” he asked. His tone was pleasant but his eyes were on fire. Whoa. Stan had never actually seen Jake mad, but he looked suspiciously like Jessie.

  Leigh-Anne chewed on her bubblegum-pink lip. She looked genuinely worried. “I hate to say anything, but I’m afraid it will come out anyway. Especially during the trial. Oh, dear.” She glanced around the green, saw no one close enough to pay attention, then spoke softly. “Tyler Hoffman came to my farm the weekend before Hal . . . died.”

  Silence. Stan spoke first. “What for?”

  “He asked if he could tour the farm, see how we did certain things. I couldn’t figure out what had prompted him, other than our cheese and ice-cream-making capabilities, which his family doesn’t have. And that’s the future of the farming industry, you know. Or, I thought perhaps he was taking a late interest in the business. I know that was one of the things that disappointed Hal—his oldest had no desire to go into the family business.”

  Patricia clucked sympathetically. “I felt the same way when Kristan fled the nest and chose her career.”

  “Mom, there was no family business,” Stan said through gritted teeth.

  Patricia looked offended. “Not a business, per se, but family traditions, Kristan. Fund-raising. Committees. Fulfilling a higher purpose.”

  Leigh-Anne watched them with interest. Stan opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again. Let it go. She certainly didn’t need Jake and Leigh-Anne witnessing what would surely turn into a sparring match. But she didn’t agree with Leigh-Anne about Hal and Tyler. Disappointed? Stan had gotten enough of a sense of Hal over the last week that she felt she understood him on a basic level. Being that farming wasn’t his top priority, she doubted Hal would be disappointed over his son’s choice to go to school and find a different career. Maybe he kept up the charade for his farming acquaintances. Or maybe she was giving herself too much credit for reading into a dead man’s psyche.

  Leigh-Anne, obviously realizing she wasn’t going to witness this family drama play out, continued her story. “So when I brought Tyler to admire the new barn I’m building, he dropped a bombshell.” She paused for dramatic effect. “He demanded I buy his parents out of their farm.”

  Stan’s mouth dropped. “What?” She looked at Jake. “Did Hal put him up to that?”

  Jake looked equally as surprised. He shook his head. “I doubt it.”

  Leigh-Anne shook her head. “Heavens, no. He looked very jumpy—almost like he was on something—and told me I needed to buy it. That his family needed cash, his mother needed health insurance, and he knew I could afford it. He got very belligerent. Had me pinned against the wall in my barn. I felt quite threatened. Luckily one of my staffers came in and broke it up.”

  “Then what?” Jake asked.

  Leigh-Anne stared at him blankly. “Then he left.”

  “And did you call his parents? File a complaint with the police? Tell anyone?”

  “Well, no. I felt terrible being the one to relay that message to Hal and Em.” She cast her eyes to the ground. “I should have, I know. But I thought perhaps he was just acting out. Stressed. I know there were worries about tuition payments.” She shook her head. “Being a farmer is so difficult these days. Believe me, I know. I can almost sympathize with the boy. But it was frightening.”

  Stan watched Leigh-Anne twirling her thick gold chain around her fingers and thought she probably didn’t know. At least not what it was like to be Emmalee Hoffman. Clearly Leigh-Anne’s farm was a business venture above all else, run by other people until it came down to the dollars. And who knew, maybe that was the way to do it. She certainly didn’t look like she struggled through life like the Hoffmans because of family tradition or loyalty. Or maybe Zen Garden Farm simply had more capital.

  Jake wrapped Duncan’s leash tighter around his hand as the dog started to stray behind Henry, who had lost interest in the conversation and was sniffing the base of a tree. Stan could see the stress in his knuckles. They were bone white.

  Patricia shuddered. “How unnerving. Let’s finish walking, Leigh-Anne. Kristan, will I see you for dinner?”

  “Sure, Mom,” Stan said, her mind on Tyler and Leigh-Anne’s story. “I’ll call you later. See you, Leigh-Anne.”

  “Yes, I’ll see you at the farm, I’m sure.” Leigh-Ann reached over and squeezed Stan’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I should probably tell that state trooper who’s leading the investigation, shouldn’t I?”

  She didn’t seem to realize that was Jake’s sister, and Jake didn’t offer the information, or even answer. Stan followed his lead. She waited until Leigh-Anne and her mother had gotten a quarter of the way around the loop, then looked at Jake.

  “Wow,” Stan said slowly. “Maybe Tyler confronted his dad about asking Leigh-Anne to buy them out and things got out of hand. Although I hate to believe it. He seems like such a smart kid with places to go.” Another thought dawned on her. “I wonder if that’s why I haven’t been able to get anywhere with the financial work at the farm. Em put Tyler in charge of getting me the information. I don’t have any history yet. I hate to say it, but maybe they do have the right guy.”

  Jake’s face was grim. “I have a h
ard time seeing Tyler lashing out in a rage and killing his father, no matter how frustrated he was. I’ve known that kid forever, Stan. I just don’t see it.”

  Fresh out of fresh vegetables, Stan walked to the Frog Ledge food co-op. She grabbed a basket, heading down the fresh produce aisle. She picked out some kale for her morning smoothies, along with organic pears and some raspberries. Rounding the corner into the local honey aisle, she almost crashed right into Amara Leonard.

  Amara looked as startled as Stan. She still wore her yoga clothes. Her hair was scooped back with a hair band. Her glasses were perched on top of her head and she held ajar of brown rice syrup in her hand.

  Well, here was her chance. “Sorry,” Stan said. Brilliant start.

  Amara shrugged. “No problem.”

  Stan sighed. She opened her mouth to apologize, but Amara started talking at the same time.

  Stan motioned for her to continue. “You first.”

  “I just wanted to thank you. For speaking up at the town meeting. Your support is important,” she said.

  “It is?” Stan asked, surprised, then she recovered. “I mean, sure, yes, you’re welcome. I think it’s a great idea. The town needs a vet, and having both traditions available will promote good things. Glad I could help.”

  Amara nodded, clearly uncomfortable. She grabbed an avocado off the display and studied it intently.

  Stan took a breath. It seemed to be the perfect time. If it didn’t work, so be it, but at least she could say she’d tried. “I really am sorry about our misunderstanding,” Stan said. “I . . . wish we could be friends. Or at least doctor and patient. Nutty needs you.”

  Amara hesitated, then sighed and dropped the avocado back into its bin. “I guess you’re not Zen if you’re holding a grudge,” she admitted. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean to accuse me of murder. I was being overly sensitive. I’m sorry, too.”

  They both looked at each other for a minute, not really sure what to do next. Ah, what the heck, Stan thought, and gave Amara a hug, which thankfully she didn’t resist.