A Biscuit, a Casket

by Liz Mugavero

  “Betty, it’s Stan.”

  “Good morning, dear! How can I help you?” She lowered her voice. “Are you researching potential murderers? I’d love to help. What can I do?”

  Betty had a thing for crime. Stan figured she’d been a detective in a previous life. “No, not researching murderers. I need your help for the dogs, actually.”

  “Oh, well, that’s just as fun. What do those cutie-wooties need?”

  “Costumes. Benny’s party is this afternoon at my house and I have nothing for them to wear. Char said to call you. I’m desperate, Betty. I still have to finish the cake and I don’t want my dogs to hate me for making them different.”

  “Oh, have no fear,” Betty said. “Give me an hour.”

  True to her word, Stan’s doorbell rang exactly an hour later. The treats were in the oven after one minor incident with Nutty diving into the batter for a taste—an incident that had set Stan back about fifteen minutes, the amount of time it took her to chase Nutty, wash his paws, and clean the batter trail. She was finishing the peanut butter cake with her special cream cheese frosting. The original cake she’d prepared for the party had vanished in the aftermath of Hal’s murder, although Stan had a sneaking suspicion Benny had ended up with it. She’d seen him on the green the other day and he looked a little chunkier.

  Betty followed up her ring with a rap on the screen, impatient as always. “Yoo hoo! Stan!” Stan had the front door open to let in the crisp, fall breeze. It felt delightful. Nutty thought so, too. He’d squished himself on the windowsill and had his fluffy face pressed against the screen. The breeze ruffled the hair in his ears.

  Stan headed down the hall, the dogs trotting behind her. “We’re coming,” she called out, then slowed as Betty proudly held up a glittery pink and green sequined vest with fringes. “What the . . .”

  “It’s for Henry!” Betty beamed, clearly proud.

  Stan unlocked the screen and pushed it open. “That’s for a dog?”

  “Well, no,” Betty admitted, stepping into the hall and shaking the vest out. Loose glitter and dust rained down on Stan’s hardwood floor. Nutty sneezed and jumped off the sill. He stalked off, tail in the air. “It was for Len Crowley. His original play about a singing real estate agent. It wasn’t one of our best, but we have to give people creative license.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I thought this would fit Henry. And this”—she reached into her shopping bag and proudly thrust a black getup with whiskers at Stan—“is for Scruffy. From when we did an adaptation of Cats.”

  Stan tentatively took the outfit from her. “Um, thanks, Betty. This is lovely of you.” She looked doubtfully at Scruffy, who was on her hind legs trying to sniff the clothing. Henry had taken one look at the sequined vest and dropped to his belly in the hall, covering his eyes with his paws.

  “I’m glad you called. And I wanted to ask you a favor. How would you like to judge the pet costume parade tomorrow evening?”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you, silly. You’re a perfect choice. All the animals in town love you. There are two other judges. It’s quick—forty-five minutes tops. It’s right before we start showing the movies on the green for Halloween.” Betty smiled. “Tomorrow’s going to be a great day. So what do you say?”

  “Sure,” Stan said. “It sounds like fun.”

  “Excellent! I knew you would do it. Say, how’s the cake coming?” Betty marched into the kitchen to see for herself, and let out a squeal when she saw the perfect ghost shape. “It’s gorgeous! Benny will love it.”

  “Thanks, I hope so.” Stan glanced at her watch. “I still have to clean and get the decorations up.”

  “You should try on the outfits first. Want me to help?”

  Stan cringed inwardly. “Oh, that’s not necessary. They can be fresh about putting clothes on. I’ll do it.” There’s no way they’ll be wearing these outfits.

  “Excellent,” Betty declared. “And did I mention Nancy invited me to take pictures? I’ll be able to see how adorable they look! I may even post them to the theater company’s Facebook page.” She squeezed Stan’s arm. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours, then.”

  Chapter 31

  There was nothing like a doggie party to take your mind off murder. By the time Benny’s party was in full swing, Stan realized she hadn’t thought about Hal Hoffman or the farm in hours. The party had commenced in the backyard with tennis balls and Frisbees galore. Duncan and Jake were there. It was slightly unsettling to Stan to see Jake sitting so casually on her back deck, chatting with Ursula Schumacher, a local historian and mom to Tessa the beagle. Stan could feel Jake’s eyes on her, though, as she ran around tending to the guests.

  Duncan wasn’t into the games. He followed Stan around hoping for extra treats. Benny wasn’t into the games either, possibly due to his chunkiness. He preferred sitting in the grass, guarding his goods. Betty, who apparently had a third career as a photographer, snapped more photos than paparazzi. Henry, embarrassed in his sequined vest, had begged to go inside. Stan relented and took the vest off him before setting him free to go nap. Scruffy, however, was torn between wanting to play with the other dogs and ripping the cat suit off. Betty thought she looked adorable and wouldn’t stop taking her picture.

  After conferring with Benny’s mom about bringing the cake out, Stan headed inside to get the cake. She was excited for the dogs to try it. She hoped they loved it.

  “You should add party planner to your resume.” Jake’s voice appeared near her ear. He caught the door and held it for her as she stepped through.

  Stan pushed back a lock of hair that kept falling into her eye and tried to smile. “I don’t think I want to advertise this. It’s much harder when you have to run the party instead of just catering. Need something?”

  He held up his glass. “Just going to top off my water.”

  “I can get it for you.”

  “No need. I’m used to pouring drinks.” He winked at her and moved into the kitchen.

  “So you’re off tonight?” Stan pulled the cake out of the fridge where it had been thawing.

  “I may go in later and see what’s going on. My people have everything under control, but if I have nothing else going on . . .” He shrugged.

  Stan didn’t know what to say to that, so she focused on the cake. She’d done the ghost in honor of Halloween, which happened to be Duncan’s costume. Stan had a sneaking suspicion that was because Jake had found it easier to drape a sheet over the dog so he wouldn’t have to hear Stan’s criticism rather than because he had an affinity for ghosts, but she kept that opinion to herself.

  Jake filled his water, then stood next to her, checking out the cake. “Looks like Dunc,” he said, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

  Stan laughed. “I think he’s the only one with a homemade costume. If you want to call that homemade.”

  “The abuse never ceases.” Jake shook his head. “At least I got him a costume this time.” He started to walk back outside, then turned. “So. After you wrap up this shindig, any interest in having dinner?”

  The knife dropped from her fingers and clattered to the floor. Luckily no animals were underneath it. Unruffled, Jake bent and picked it up, rinsed it, and placed it next to the cake on the counter. “You can let me know,” he said, that same amused smile lurking on his lips. “You have your hands full right now.” And he disappeared outside.

  Ugh. Stan rapped her fist against her forehead. Why couldn’t she get it together in front of him? She could hold a conversation just fine—until it got personal. Or until he asked her out. Which, admittedly, had not happened before today, so she had an excuse for reacting the way she did. Didn’t she?

  So, what to do? After missing each other last night, she and her mother were supposed to have dinner tonight. But she’d much rather have dinner with Jake. Which made her a terrible daughter. Think about it later. The doggies are waiting for cake. She put the cake and knife on a tray and headed outside. Duncan and Benny waited
at the door, tails wagging, ears on alert. Cake? their hopeful expressions said. We get cake, too?

  “Yes, you guys get cake. Come on over.” She led the parade of dogs to the table and placed the cake on it. Nancy joined her.

  “Oh, this is delightful!” she crowed. “I love it. However do you get so creative?”

  Stan blinked. She didn’t really think of herself as creative. She’d simply ordered a cake pan in the shape of a ghost from her new favorite supplier. But she didn’t tell Nancy that. Instead, she winked. “I can’t tell you all my secrets,” she said. “Come on, Benny, let’s get you the first piece.”

  At three o’clock, after only two doggie fights over cake, the party wrapped. Benny had finagled two pieces, Nyla the poodle had gotten a stint in time-out for stealing Toby the dachshund’s piece, and every last crumb had been cleaned up. Goodie bags with cow trachea had been distributed. Nancy declared the day a success and promised to tell everyone she knew how great Stan’s parties were, which had Stan floating on air. Henry had come back out now that he didn’t have to wear his costume, and he contentedly sniffed around the fence with Scruffy in tow. Stan packed up the remaining treats and tried calling her mother to find out about dinner. She didn’t answer. Again. And Jake was waiting.

  He hadn’t left yet. She saw him collecting paper plates the dogs had licked clean from the grass and other areas. Duncan followed, making sure each plate had no frosting left that was going to waste. Stan watched him for a minute, envying the ease in which he moved through life. Nothing much seemed to bother Jake, although Stan knew that despite his laid-back exterior, he wasn’t lackadaisical. He knew everything he needed to know, and he cared a lot about the town and the people in it. Which is probably why he gave Izzy the advice he’d given her about her deal with Hal, and look what he’d gotten for it.

  Crap. She needed to see if he could offer any suggestion for Izzy’s situation. She’d promised.

  He turned then, and caught her watching him. She flushed and busied herself pulling down the “Happy Birthday” banner she’d hung for Benny on the back porch.

  “I think your yard is back to normal,” he said. “Nice job, Stan. The dog lovers in town are impressed. Your business is going to do well here.”

  Sweet words to hear. Especially from him. Ah, screw it. “If you still want to go to dinner, I’m in,” she blurted before she could change her mind. Could she be more socially awkward?

  He looked almost as surprised as she felt, but recovered quickly. “Excellent,” he said. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  “Seven,” she repeated stupidly.

  He nodded, then clipped Duncan’s leash on and exited through the gate to the driveway. Stan finished taking down her decorations. She had four hours to figure out what to wear.

  Chapter 32

  Stan couldn’t remember the last time she’d been on a date. With a critical eye, she stood in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, finding a million things wrong with her hair and outfit. Nutty watched from the bed disdainfully.

  “Why are you giving me that look?” she asked him. “Just because you have perfect hair.” His orangey brown Maine coon coat was full and rich and thick. The neighborhood cats were jealous when they saw him sitting in his window.

  Nutty flicked his tail at her and rolled over, bored with the human vanity routine. Stan grabbed a clip and twisted her hair up, smoothed her black dress and kicked off her red shoes in favor of blue ones. Refusing to second guess the outfit again, she marched downstairs and grabbed her purse. She had a voice mail on her phone. She dialed, then hit the End button when Jake pulled into the driveway. Fluffed her hair again. The dogs waited anxiously at the door.

  “Nope, sorry, guys. You’re not coming for this one.” She took a deep breath. “Wish me luck. Hopefully I won’t spill anything on him or otherwise completely embarrass myself.”

  The restaurant he’d chosen was just outside Frog Ledge—thankfully nowhere near Bruno’s. It wasn’t an Irish pub, either. It was a Thai restaurant. She’d mentioned once how much she loved Thai food, and he’d remembered. This place was awesome, beginning with the Asian pear martini she’d ordered in hopes of calming herself. Why on earth was she so nervous about this date?

  Because he’s adorable. And nice—definitely a trait that takes getting used to.

  Jake had dressed up, too. Not fancy, but he wasn’t wearing his usual bar uniform of jeans, a T-shirt, and a baseball cap. He wore a black dress shirt and a pair of gray slacks. His dirty blond hair was its usual shaggy self, which was a relief, but he had shaved, which Stan found unnerving. There were also no dogs to focus on. Usually Duncan was jumping all over the place begging for treats, or Scruffy was trying to get in someone’s lap. Tonight it was just them. They’d managed to get through the vegetable spring roll appetizers by talking about Pawsitively Organic and Brenna’s baking talents. Now they waited for the main course to arrive, and silence had settled.

  And he kept watching her across the table, which wasn’t helping, as he sipped his Sam Adams Harvest Pumpkin Ale. Stan took a big gulp of her drink and prayed for some aspect of her former social skills to return. They seemed to have been eliminated along with her former job.

  “So did you hear what happened last night?” she asked.

  He frowned. “With what?”

  So Jessie and the rest of Troop E were keeping Enrico’s arrest under wraps. She told him about the incident at the farm, glossing over the part about Enrico hitting her with the shovel, and focusing on the attempt to taint the milk with sick cows.

  Jake listened intently, his eyes dark, twirling his beer bottle around on the table. When she finished he asked, “Did you get hurt?”

  “Me? No.” Just bruised, nothing major. “But I have no idea what happened with Enrico. Do you think this means he killed Hal and the charges against Tyler will be dropped?”

  “I have no idea,” Jake said. “I would presume right now they have him on trespassing and other criminal activity, maybe assault, and knowing my sister she’ll look to tie him to the murder.”

  “Yeah.” Stan sipped her drink. “I have to admit, I wondered if Hal’s murder had anything to do with his real estate deals.” She watched his face closely. It didn’t change.

  Wouldn’t want to play poker with this family.

  He topped off her glass of water with the pitcher on the table, then refilled his own glass. He replaced the pitcher deliberately, waiting for her to continue. Of course he couldn’t make it easy. She wasn’t very good at fishing, either. The waitress came and set down her plate of shrimp pad Thai and Jake’s spicy chicken curry, giving her a minute to think through how to approach him.

  “I think he was losing money all over the place,” she said.

  “How do you know that?” Jake added a dash of hot sauce to his already spicy food. Stan’s tongue curdled, imagining the burn.

  “Just stuff that I’ve heard,” she said noncommittally, wrapping noodles around her fork. She took a deep breath. “And I had a strange encounter with a guy at Bruno’s.”

  “Bruno’s?” he repeated. “As in the bar?”

  But her memory had finally gotten around to working. Her face drained. Bruno’s. Bullet Man. He was supposed to show up at the farm tonight. And she’d completely forgotten to alert anyone because she’d been hosting a doggie party and worrying about going on this date.

  She jumped up. “I have to call your sister.”

  “Brenna? Why?”

  “No. Jessie. Shoot.” She fumbled for her phone.

  “Stan, what’s going on? Sit and tell me.”

  She did, detailing her conversation with Bullet Man and her impulsive response to his question. “He’s going to show up there tonight. I have to get your sister there.”

  But instead of agreeing with her, he laughed.

  She stared at him. Had he lost his mind? “What’s funny?” she demanded. “That guy was creepy. He could be the killer. That was completely irresponsible o
f me—”

  “Stan,” he interrupted. “Relax. That guy was Screech Monahan. I can see how you would think he’s creepy, but he’s harmless.”

  “You know him?” Apparently there was a lot about Jake she didn’t know.

  “I do. And you’re right, that is a bullet hole. Screech had an altercation with someone a lot more dangerous than him a few years ago. That was the result. And they call him Screech because his voice is altered now. His idea,” he said, holding up his hands.

  Stan had no idea what to say to that.

  “He and Hal had an arrangement, but it wasn’t as sinister as you think. Screech drives an old hearse. Hal was renting the car for the corn maze, as a shuttle from the parking area down the street.”

  This was getting more and more bizarre. “A hearse? How do you know this guy again?”

  Jake smiled. “He’s a Frog Ledge legend.”

  “I see.” Stan took a bite of her food. “Harmless, you say?”

  “Completely,” Jake assured her.

  “Well, that’s a relief, at least. But he’s going to show up at the farm and no one’s there.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” Jake pulled out his phone, scrolled through his contacts, and dialed. “Hey, it’s Jake. Misunderstanding about the maze tonight. It’s closed until further notice.” He paused. “I know. Sorry about that, man. I’ll let you know if things change.” He hung up, pocketed the phone, and smiled at her. “All set.”

  Stan frowned. She’d learned a lot about Jake over the past couple of days. “Thanks,” she said.

  “No problem.”

  She turned her attention back to her food. “Oh, I finally talked to Izzy.” She stuffed a forkful of food into her mouth, waiting for his reaction.

  He kept eating. “So what was the story?”

  Jeez, he was a tough customer. She swallowed and set her fork down. Beating around the bush never worked for her. “Izzy told me about partnering with Hal. To buy your building. And how Hal borrowed from bad people and dragged Izzy down with him.”