A Biscuit, a Casket

by Liz Mugavero

  Jake took another swig of his beer. Waited.

  “That’s why she threw the chair at that guy in her store. Because they’re looking for the money now from her and she doesn’t have it.” Frustrated, Stan leaned forward. “Don’t you want to say something?”

  Jake finished chewing, wiped his mouth with his napkin. Picked up his water glass and drank. “What do you want me to say? People make choices, Stan. Izzy didn’t want to hear it when I asked her to reconsider her deal with Hal. They offered the right price for the building. I’m sorry she’s in over her head, but I honestly don’t know what I can do to help.”

  “How come you never mentioned it? That you bought and sold properties?”

  Jake did that half smile thing. “I didn’t realize I was being interrogated.”

  Stan flushed. “You’re not. But with you and Izzy . . . not getting along, I would’ve thought you’d want people to know why. If that’s why.”

  “I don’t need to justify anything to ‘people.’ If people like me, great. If they don’t, I’m not gonna lose sleep over it. Most people,” he amended. “But I have no control over what people think. That’s a lesson I learned a long time ago. Believe me, life gets a lot easier when you figure that out.”

  How could she argue with that? She sighed and picked her fork up again.

  “Izzy made a bad choice,” he said. “Hal made a worse one. I didn’t make them do it. Hell, I had no idea until the Realtor brought me an offer. Then I went to see her. I knew talking to him wouldn’t get me anywhere. Remember, I’ve known the Hoffmans forever. But I found out she’s pretty stubborn, too. And she wanted the building. Told me everything was under control. I had another building under agreement, so I closed the deal.” He shrugged.

  “Do you own a lot of properties?”

  “A few,” he said. “I started dabbling in rental properties when I moved back to Frog Ledge. Some, like Hal and Izzy, wanted to do their own rehab because they had specific ideas of what they wanted. Usually I buy, rehab, and sell. I’m picky about what I want and I stay in the immediate area. I’d like to see more opportunities for people to work in Frog Ledge. If we can get businesses in here, it’ll be a good thing. Businesses need locations.”

  His dedication to his town was impressive. “When do you have time to do all that with the bar?” She’d never even seen him looking like he’d walked off a construction site.

  “I have a crew who does the work.” He smiled. “I don’t want to do the work anymore.”

  “Makes sense.” She ate more, thinking, absently looking around the room while she did so. He had connections, obviously. There had to be some solution for Izzy, even if it was simply getting a name of someone who might help her. “So what could we do to help—” She stopped. Stared across the room, at a corner booth half hidden by a human-sized bamboo tree.

  Jake followed her gaze. “What?”

  “That’s my mother.” Who was presently laughing, snuggled up with mayoral candidate Tony Falco in the middle of the booth. There was a bottle of wine on the table. Falco refilled her mother’s glass as Stan watched. “Excuse me,” she said to Jake, and rose, tossing her napkin on the table. She marched over to her mother and stopped in front of them, folding her arms across her chest.

  “Hello, Mom. I’m glad I wasn’t waiting to have dinner with you.” As soon as she said the words, she realized how ridiculous they were. She was here eating dinner, too.

  Her mother’s eyes went wide behind the rim of her wineglass. She swallowed and set it down. Beside her, Tony Falco flashed a thousand-watt smile at her.

  “Kristan. What are you doing here? Are you on a date? With whom?” Patricia rose and scanned the room. Stan risked a glance over her shoulder in time to see Jake lifting a hand in a wave. Her mother squinted. “Is that the bartender?”

  “He owns the place,” Stan said through gritted teeth. “What are you doing?”

  Patricia sat again, but she left space between her and Falco. “We’re having dinner.”

  “A lovely dinner at that,” Falco broke in, standing and extending a hand to her. “Lovely to see you again. I had no idea you were Patricia’s daughter.”

  Now her mother was confused. “You know each other?”

  “Yeah. I dumped a glass of water in his lap.” Stan didn’t elaborate. “Are you on a date?” Great question, Sherlock. “I didn’t even know you liked Thai food.” Not like that had anything to do with anything, but Stan was at a loss. Why was her mother here with this politician? And why was she acting like a jilted suitor? The irony of the situation almost made her laugh. The last time she’d seen her ex, Richard, she’d been in this very position at a different restaurant.

  “As a matter of fact, I am on a date. And I do like Thai food. Does that suit you?” Her mother’s tone had cooled considerably. She was in control again after being caught off guard.

  “So this is what all the secrecy was about? Where did you meet him? Did Char set you guys up or something?”

  Her mother looked uncomfortable, but Falco missed it. “Not at all. Patricia and I go way back,” he said, with an adoring look at her mother.

  Finally, it dawned on her. “So this is why you came to Frog Ledge. Not to visit me. You had arrangements to see him. Why didn’t you just tell me that, Mom? Why go through all the pretense?” She shook her head. “I’ll never learn when it comes to you. Enjoy your dinner.”

  She spun on her heel and walked back to Jake. He’d been far enough away that she doubted he’d heard, but he could tell the conversation had not been pleasant.

  “Ready to go?” he asked. He already had his wallet out to pay. She wanted to kiss him for understanding.

  “Let’s go get a drink,” she said.

  Chapter 33

  Sunday dawned sunny, crisp, and bright, not a cloud to be seen. If a stranger walked into Frog Ledge today, they would never guess the picturesque small town with its steepled white churches and rolling farmland had been the site of a recent murder.

  The weather was perfect for the day of festivities—Char and Ray’s annual open house at Alpaca Haven, followed by the pet costume parade Stan was judging and the outdoor movie night on the green, sponsored by the library. They were showing as many of the Nightmare on Elm Street movies as townsfolk could stomach, beginning at seven and lasting well into the night. A longtime Freddy Krueger fan, Stan had planned to catch at least the first one. Then Jake invited her to go with him to the movies when he dropped her off last night, which was even better.

  As she walked to Char and Ray’s with her dogs and a shopping bag full of animal goodies, she saw fellow residents out in full force taking advantage of the best of fall. Tag sales were happening all along Stan’s road, on both sides of the green, part of a neighborhood effort in conjunction with St. Andrew’s. The parish the Hoffmans belonged to was raising funds for the family, in light of not only Hal’s death but Tyler’s subsequent arrest.

  Stan hoped they were successful. Normally she tried to get to the local tag sales, always looking for new cooking accessories or fun-shaped cookie cutters now that she was getting more creative with her treats. But she had to be at Char’s early to help set up. Plus she wanted to see her mother. She felt bad about their confrontation in the restaurant. If her mother wanted to date some slimy local politician, that was up to her. Stan didn’t have to be childish about it. As they rounded the corner to Char’s already-full driveway, Scruffy realized where they were going and started yanking on her leash, woo-woo-wooing all the way. She loved visiting Char and Ray.

  “Hang on, Scruf,” Stan called, trying not to drop her bag full of food. Henry, always obedient, walked right next to her. Savannah saw them coming and ran out to the driveway, her tail wagging. She immediately ran to Scruffy and sniffed her from all sides. She did look great. Her coat was rich and full and she had no hot spots anymore. Stan felt a sense of pride that her food had contributed to the dog’s health.

  When she finished sniffing Scruffy and
did the same to Henry, Savannah led them around the house to the yard. Guitar music played and the smell of coffee and pastries wafted across the lawn. Brenna had told her a number of times that the open house was one of Frog Ledge’s biggest events of the year. But when she stepped through the gate, her mouth dropped open. Char knew how to plan a party, for sure. She had walked through a latticed archway decorated with purple, green, and gold bows, an entryway to the festivities. From here, she had a spectacular view of the entire backyard, which had been transformed into a Mardi Gras fairyland. Shimmery streamers with all three colors decorated the sides of the house. Three tents were set up, one purple, one green, and one yellow-gold. They all had signs hanging from them—BEVERAGES, SNACKS, FOOD. The tables had festive tablecloths and the chairs were decorated with matching seat cushions.

  A small stage was set up to the left of the tents. Stan could see a few people setting up equipment, others riffing on guitars. The rest of the property was the alpaca area. Stan could see a few of them out in their pens, watching the goings-on lazily as staff changed their water and cleaned the area. The enclosure had its own purple, green, and gold accents. Stan giggled. It was so perfect. So Char. No Mardi Gras in Connecticut, so Char brought her own.

  “You like?” Her friend materialized behind her. She was dressed for the occasion, of course, in a bright green dress, with a purple scarf tied around her neck and gold shoes.

  “I love.” Stan hugged her and kissed her cheek. “This is amazing.”

  “It’ll be a fun day.” Char surveyed her kingdom, nodding in satisfaction. “I’m not thrilled about the color of my gold tent. It’s not quite gold. But it was special order and kind of a pain to get, so I let it go.”

  “It’s great,” Stan said. “The whole setup is great. Who’s the band?”

  “Oh, the band!” Char clapped her hands. “You’ll never guess. Leigh-Anne told me that Ted Brahm had a band. They do lots of fun music. He said they could do the bluesy stuff we like for Mardi Gras parties. They’re called the Dairy Farmers. Isn’t that adorable?”

  It seemed rather predictable to Stan, but she didn’t say so. Ted Brahm looked like more of a sixties hippie than a New Orleans expert, but she didn’t say that either. She wondered if Char knew about Em and Ted. She had to. Char knew everything. But before she could ask, Izzy swept through the archway with a huge platter of petits fours and a bag presumably loaded with other goodies, her three dogs at her heels. “Hey, Stan! You brought doggie dessert and I brought people dessert. We’re a good team.”

  “You girls are wonderful.” Char kissed Izzy’s cheek. “Go set up in the gold tent. Stan, Brenna’s already here.”

  “Come on, then. You can pick your display spot.” Izzy grinned and led the way. She appeared a lot more relaxed than the last time Stan had seen her. More like herself.

  “So how’s everything going?” Stan couldn’t help but ask as they reached the tent and began unpacking goodies. Her conversation with Jake last night had been interrupted, and she’d never gotten to ask him about helping Izzy get out of her bad financial situation.

  “Things are going much better,” Izzy said, arranging her platter on the table. “I think I have a solution.”

  “You do? What—” She turned as deafening feedback screeched through the microphone. One of the men in Ted’s band held up an apologetic hand as he went back to fiddling with his sound. By the time she’d turned around, Izzy was gone. Stan spotted her a few feet away, deep in conversation with someone Stan didn’t recognize. Well, maybe she didn’t feel like getting into it here. That was understandable.

  Brenna came up behind her. “Isn’t this sweet?”

  Stan agreed. “Where should we set up?”

  Brenna looked around. “Right here’s a good spot.”

  Stan turned to her own bag to unpack and noticed she had six dogs—no, make that seven, a small Yorkie had crept up to the circle and was sitting behind Scruffy—all watching her intently. “Guys, you can’t eat them all before the day even begins!” She smiled. “Good thing I brought extras.”

  She handed out treats to all her fans, most of whom plopped contentedly on the grass in front of her to eat them. The Yorkie took her stash and trotted away, the huge cookie clutched in her tiny mouth.

  “Did you hear?” Brenna said. “Enrico was officially arrested and charged with trespass, endangerment, and something else—I can’t remember what. But not murder.”

  “Really? Was this in the paper?”

  “It happened yesterday. Cyril put it on the website.”

  “Wow. So they’re back to square one with the murder, then.”

  “Yes. Back to Tyler.” Brenna looked unhappy. “I know he didn’t do it, Stan.”

  “If I know your sister, I’m sure she won’t let it go if she has any doubt,” Stan assured her. Brenna didn’t look convinced.

  “It’s so odd, though. What did Enrico hope to gain by sabotaging the milk supply? Was he unhappy at work? Did the Hoffmans do something unfair to him?”

  Brenna shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “It’s got to tie in somehow.” Stan wished her brain would process all this information in a more organized fashion so she could examine it better. But it wasn’t the time to try.

  The day flew from there. It seemed the whole town had crowded into Char and Ray’s backyard, and brought friends along. There were tours of the farm, visits with the alpacas, lots of eating and drinking, a number of doggie visitors, and to Stan’s surprise, decent music from Ted Brahm and his band. As Stan paused at one point to watch the band perform, she wondered what the extent of Em and Ted’s relationship was. How long it had been going on? Had Hal known? Suspected? Cared?

  And what about Ted Brahm? In the few times Stan had met him, the hippie-turned-farmer seemed gentle and laid back. If he really loved Em and knew Hal wasn’t treating her right, would he still be laid back? Or could he turn murderous? “Everybody’s got a dark side,” Kelly Clarkson reminded her. Had Ted killed Hal? Would he let his lover’s son take the fall?

  The whole thing made her head hurt. And she still hadn’t seen her mother anywhere. Admittedly, it was hard to find anyone in the crowd of people in Char’s backyard. She wondered if her mother had packed up and gone home, or maybe packed up and gone to Tony Falco’s house. She hadn’t had a chance to ask Char yet. Stan was too busy selling her treats and answering questions about her ingredients.

  Jessie Pasquale walked in, in uniform. Immediately the crowd quieted. Stan saw her arrive and go straight to Char. They spoke quietly, then Char went to the stage and drew a line across her throat, signaling for the band to stop playing. Jessie motioned for Ted Brahm to get off stage.

  “What’s going on?” Brenna said.

  “No idea.” Stan slipped through the crowd until she reached Char, who looked upset. Em was nowhere in sight. “What’s up?”

  “Tyler skipped bail,” Char said. “Jessie went looking for him at Em’s sister’s, where he was supposed to be staying. All his things and his car are gone.”

  Chapter 34

  Stan had a hard time slipping away from Char’s party to make her pet parade judging obligation. After Jessie showed up canvasing for Tyler Hoffman, the entire focus of the party turned to Tyler’s possible whereabouts, whether anyone else was on his hit list, and what to do in the event of a sighting.

  She finally got away and headed to the green. Her co-judges were already there, as well as what seemed like the town’s entire animal population. She was delighted to see Amara in one of the chairs. The other judge was a fiftyish man who looked way too uptight to like dogs in costume. He introduced himself as the town manager.

  The green buzzed with the news of Tyler Hoffman’s escape. Stan heard bits and pieces of conversations: “Do you think he’s dangerous?” “Would he go back to the scene of the crime?” “I wonder if they have police dogs hunting him.”

  “Sheesh,” she said, taking the seat next to Amara at the judging table. “People are
so quick to condemn.”

  Amara nodded, her face troubled. “I don’t know what to think, honestly. I didn’t know Tyler. But family problems can escalate so quickly. I hope they find him. And I really hope they figure out who did it—whether it’s him or not.”

  “Agreed.” Stan smiled as she looked around at the pets roaming the green with every kind of costume imaginable. “I’ve never done this before. I imagine it will be difficult.”

  Amara grinned. “The town hasn’t had one before. Diane and I proposed it after last year’s Halloween activities. It’s a way to get more out-of-towners here, too. We’re trying to raise the animal-lover status, especially with the new business.” She sat back and smiled like the Cheshire cat.

  It took Stan a moment to process what she’d said. “Oh! The council approved the clinic and shelter?”

  “They did,” Amara said. “So basically, none of us will have a life for a while, but we’re so excited about what it will do for this town.”

  Stan agreed. “I can’t wait. Please let me know what I can do to help.”

  “Funny you should ask,” Amara said. “We thought we would explore selling a line of healthy organic meals. We should talk. Maybe it’s something you’d be interested in.”

  Her own line of meals? Stan salivated at the thought. And if she prepared them under veterinary supervision, she’d have the nutrition issue covered. “I’d love to talk about that,” she said.

  Her spirits decidedly higher, she turned her attention to the town pets, who had begun their parade around the green. Some owners also wore matching costumes, a shameless plug for votes that had to be ignored. Only the animals could be judged.

  There were three categories in addition to the typical Best, Most Original, and Scariest costumes: Best Inanimate Object, Most Likely to Be a Zombie Sidekick, and Most Likely to Hit It Big on Broadway. After seeing nearly fifty dogs, Stan conferred with her fellow judges and they announced the winners. Her favorite was the chocolate lab dressed as the rapper Eminem, who won for Most Original.