Kneading to Die

by Liz Mugavero

  “I’m baking. You drank too much wine.” She let them in the front door. Nutty waited. She bent to pet his head.

  “And I’m gonna drink more,” Nikki said. “Maybe I’ll just crash here tonight. And as long as you’re baking, can you bake for the adoption event Saturday?”

  “Fine with me if you stay. What am I baking? Oh, hang on.” Stan dropped her groceries on the table and searched through her purse for her phone, which had begun playing the piano solo that indicated an incoming call. Richard. “Hey,” she said. “You back?”

  “I am.” He sounded tired. “How are you? How’s the picture hanging going?”

  Behind her, Nikki left the room. Probably to get more wine so she didn’t have to hear the conversation. “Pretty good. How come you didn’t call me back the other day? I had something to tell you.”

  “I know, I’m sorry. There were a ton of people around and we left dinner late. But I can’t wait to hear your story. Can we talk about it tomorrow? So I can give you my full attention? I need to get some sleep. It was a long few days.”

  “Oh. Sure. Give me a call tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, babe. Love you.” He disconnected.

  “Richard’s tired?” Nikki reappeared with the open wine bottle and two glasses.

  “Yeah. Those conferences are draining.” Stan heard the defensive tone in her voice and forced it back. “Anyway, an adoption event?”

  “I’m having one on Saturday. Hoped you might join me. With treats.” Nikki turned puppy dog eyes on her. “You know what a hit they are at those things. We always make money off them.”

  “You should’ve mentioned it while we were in the store. I would’ve bought more stuff.”

  “Sorry, I forgot. It’s eleven to three, on Saturday, at that cute store in Jamestown. You know, the one with the handmade sweaters?”

  “I remember. Okay, I’ll bring a good variety.”

  Nikki smiled. “You always do.”

  Chapter 10

  Stan’s kitchen smelled like a bakery, and it was only eight in the morning. Sleep had eluded her for most of the night. Finally at five, when she heard Nikki get up and leave, she decided to make the most of the time. She’d brewed another lovely pot of Izzy’s coffee, made a smoothie and got some treats going. On the menu: peanut butter bran, apple and cheddar and apple cranberry oat. Some new kinds. She wanted to try some of them out on Nutty before baking extra batches for Saturday’s adoption event. Once those were in the oven, she started the slow-cooker chicken for Nutty’s meals.

  She loved cooking and baking. Her grandmother, the original animal whisperer, had passed that love on to her. Humans or animals, her grandma was always feeding something, but her four-legged friends and neighbors had especially appreciated it. Her grandmother had been able to tame the most unruly beast with her cookies. Stan had always wished for the talent.

  Now there was no excuse not to cultivate it. And lovely to have the doors and windows open on a beautiful summer day, in her own house, with all the time in the world. The scene would be perfect if she didn’t have visions of dead vets dancing in her head and lingering memories of a cemetery stalker.

  “Better take advantage while it lasts,” that annoying, responsible voice lectured as she offered Nutty a freshly baked and cooled treat. “You need to get a job. Maybe as soon as next week.”

  Stan pushed the thought away; then she felt immediately guilty. “You need to be excited about this job interview,” she told herself out loud, pulling the next batch out of the oven with a gloved hand and setting it on the counter. The morning sun glinted through the windows, bouncing shards of light around the pretty tiled floor where Nutty sprawled, watching her every move, licking his mouth and waiting for more.

  “And these aren’t for you. These are for the adoption event,” she told him. “But I’m making you chicken. With veggies and a little cheese. Do you think this job interview is a good idea?”

  Nutty stared at her steadily, his tail swishing across the floor. Clearly, he wasn’t about to give her a thoughtful answer without a good meal first.

  The sound of an engine roaring to life right outside her window made her jump. She peered through the blinds and saw a black-haired boy pushing a beat-up lawn mower. Gene’s apprentice. She’d nearly forgotten. Good thing he hadn’t. She went out on the porch and waved. The boy didn’t seem to see her. Stan walked over in her flip-flops. The kid paused, but he didn’t turn off the machine. Stan couldn’t see his face behind that messy hair, but she felt his eyes on her. She wondered if the grass would be even or if he was guessing in which direction he needed to cut.

  She waved again. He continued cutting. He must not see her. She stood in the path of the mower. He barely slowed. Stan wondered if she should worry about his ability to do this job. Nah, she had enough to worry about. She waved at Russ once more. Maybe she should get out of the way. But finally he stopped. Let the mower idle. She still couldn’t see his eyes, but she assumed he was looking at her.

  “Need anything?” she called.

  No response. Russ started mowing again.

  “Okay, then.” Weird kid. She got out of the way and headed back inside to shower. While the slow cooker cooked, she had an errand to run.

  Izzy’s shop seemed to be the only one in town without a wooden sign by Gene. Hers was a purple-and-white–striped sign. Stan knew it would be politically incorrect to say so since Gene seemed to be the approved sign vendor, but she loved it. Nicely suited to a sweetshop. The large front window offered a tantalizing glimpse of candies, syrups and fudge. A happy, tinkling sound greeted Stan as she pushed the door open. She stepped in and breathed the delectable scents of chocolate, coffee and baked goods, feeling like she’d gone straight to heaven. A few customers were scattered at the café tables, talking over iced drinks and pastries. But the candy counter drew her attention immediately.

  It snaked through the middle of the room, a superb S-shaped glass creation filled to bursting with chocolates of all shapes and sizes. Truffles, caramels, cream-filleds, nonpareils, white chocolate seashells, chocolate squares, chocolate fruits. And that was only the first section. Her hand went to her chin, an automatic check to see if she drooled. A smiling face appeared over the counter, looking at her.

  “You decided to visit! I’m so glad.” Izzy spread her hands to take in the treats. “What do you think?”

  Stan laughed. “I think I need to move! If I stay in town, I’m going to be here every day. Everything looks amazing, Izzy. What do you recommend?”

  “One of everything.” Izzy winked. “Why don’t I get us some coffee and we can sit and chat for a while? It’s a quiet time of the day for me.” She glanced around to make sure her customers were satisfied for the moment; then she pointed at her specials board. “The chocolate chip iced latte is pretty damn good.” She leaned forward and gave Stan a conspiratorial wink. “Or, if you’re looking for something more, er, adult, I have a Godiva liqueur to die for.”

  “I think I’ll stick with the iced latte for now. Since it’s barely past breakfast. But I will definitely take you up on the adult version another time.”

  “Fair enough.” Izzy waved at the seating area. “Pull up a chair. I’ll be right with you.” She left to take care of a teenager who’d just entered, eyes huge at the candy display. Once she’d armed the girl with a giant peanut butter cup, Izzy went back to the two lattes.

  Stan chose a café table in the back, near a shelf filled with brightly colored coffee mugs and coffeemakers. Izzy came over a few minutes later with the two lattes on a tray. She also had a plate with assorted chocolates on it.

  “I figured you’d want to try something,” she said.

  Stan groaned. “I’ll have to start planning two runs every day.” But she reached over and plucked what looked to be a caramel-filled treat off the plate, taking a generous bite. “Mmm. There was nothing like this in my old neighborhood, and that was considered the height of civilization.”

  Izzy laughed. �
�Believe me, I took some crap setting up here. Some days I think I might be better off in civilization.”

  “What kind of crap? I can’t believe anyone wouldn’t want a place like this around.” And in Stan’s opinion, someone who didn’t like chocolate or coffee couldn’t be human.

  “Well, this used to be a diner. Real greasy spoon–type place. Eggcellent, or some kitschy name like that. The owner died. A typical relic here in town. His son put the place up for sale. I was puttering around the area one day and saw it. Decided it would be perfect for my shop. Had the apartment upstairs, so that worked for me. Property was cheap, too, since we’re out in the middle of nowhere.” Izzy fussed with the napkins on the table, straightening them in their holder. “The regulars were not happy when they realized what I wanted to do with the place.”

  “So how did you win them over?”

  “Short answer, I didn’t,” Izzy said. “The people who loved the old place haven’t set foot in here. I get a lot of college kids. Parents visiting. Cool people from surrounding towns. Don’t get me wrong, I have a following. I’m doing okay.” She smiled, but Stan could tell it hurt her feelings to feel less than accepted by the people closest to her. “And Char and Ray, of course. They’re phenomenal. Char’s an outsider, too, so she gets it.”

  “Huh.” Stan sat back. “How can people not love candy and coffee?”

  Izzy laughed out loud. “Oh, honey, Frog Ledge isn’t the gourmet candy and coffee crowd. So what are you doing in this hillbilly town?”

  “I think it’s adorable,” she said. “And I fell in love with the house.”

  Izzy sipped her drink. “But there’s more to that story.”

  Stan sipped hers. “Delicious. And, yes, there is more to that story. Maybe we’ll have time to talk about it, after you tell me about the neighborhood.”

  “Ah, the neighborhood.” Izzy sat back and propped her leg up on the opposite knee. “It’s an interesting one, it is. I’ve been here about a year, and one thing’s for sure. Always something going on.”

  That made Stan think of Carole, and she sobered. “I hope it’s usually something good and this past week isn’t the norm.”

  “Tell me about it.” Izzy pushed her cup from hand to hand, observing Stan as she did. “How are you holding up?”

  Stan shrugged. “It’s crazy. And then yesterday …” She trailed off, not sure if she should mention the cemetery incident. She wasn’t quite sure which people to trust.

  “What?” Izzy demanded when she didn’t finish.

  “Nothing. I had a weird experience when I was out bike riding.”

  “What kind of ‘weird experience’? Come on, girl. Give it up.”

  Stan took a long swallow of her drink. “I took a ride through the cemetery and this car dogged me the whole time. Tried to bump me off the path. I lucked out and found the other exit before there was a real problem.”

  “Holy smoke. Did you call the police?”

  “Ha. You’re funny. The police are looking for me, not the other way around. By the way, do you know anything about Paul Galveston?”

  “That’s a change in topic. What do I know about Paul Galveston? Let’s see. Comes in here sometimes and buys his momma some nonpareils. The milk chocolate kind. Oh, and he’s a heavy-duty druggie.” She lowered her voice. “Momma’s paid people off to keep him out of jail, what I’ve heard.”

  “And he drives a blue car.”

  “And he drives a blue car.” Izzy nodded. “A Lexus, I think. Why are you … Oh.” Her eyes widened as it dawned on her. “It was a blue car? Following you?”

  Stan nodded.

  “You think it was him?”

  “I have no idea who it was. I couldn’t see the driver. I just saw him driving a blue car and wondered.”

  “And you really didn’t call the police?”

  “Please. But I bumped into Jake when I was trying to get back. He gave me a ride.”

  That got Izzy’s back up. Stan figured it would. She was curious about why Jake was such a taboo subject for her.

  “Jake McGee. He’s got his sights on you, has he?” Izzy let out a low whistle, shaking her head. “That boy is a menace. You been to his bar yet?”

  “McSwigg’s?” Stan chuckled. “No, I haven’t. He invited me. Said drinks were free for newcomers.” She tried in vain to get another sip out of her cup.

  Izzy took pity on her and went behind the counter to make new drinks. “Well, kudos for not falling for that one,” she said.

  She’d thought about it, but she didn’t mention that. “Hey, what do you think of me bringing some treats to the farmers’ market to try and sell?”

  “I think it’s a great idea. Want to share my table? See how it goes?” Izzy carried the drinks over.

  “That’s so nice of you. I’d love to. That way if people ignore me, it won’t be as obvious.” She was only partially joking.

  Izzy shook her head. “Give yourself some credit, lady.” She pushed Stan’s new drink over and sat again. “And don’t be in a rush to hang out at McGee’s bar. The farther away you stay from that one, the better.”

  “Thank you. And why? He seemed nice enough. A little cocky, sure, but that’s an Irish thing.” She smiled. “I’m Irish, so, I can say that.” She chuckled. “Is his bar a bad place or something?”

  “Yeah, well, be careful. The bar is a nice place. No biker dive or anything. But he’s a dog. Hits on every woman in town, and then some. Besides, you’re tied up, anyway. Right? With that guy who was at your house?” Izzy finally gave in and picked up a chocolate. She nibbled at the corner.

  “Oh, I wasn’t saying I was interested.” Stan felt her cheeks heat up. “I just meant that he didn’t seem like a jerk or anything. Except he doesn’t have very good control over his dog. And, yes, I am. Well, not tied up. In a relationship. Richard and I have been together for four years.”

  Izzy couldn’t hide her disbelief. “You have? I can’t picture that. Sorry,” she said, holding up a hand. “I get myself in trouble. Too honest. I guess it’s better to be a stinkin’ liar. Anyway, I just meant, he didn’t seem like your type. Not that McGee does, either.”

  “You don’t know me,” Stan pointed out.

  “I’m a good judge of people. And a word of warning. McGee isn’t anyone’s type. He’s a charmer, but he’s got bad intentions. Period.”

  “Thanks for the warning. Are you going to tell me what exactly he did to you?”

  “Who says he did anything?”

  “You wouldn’t be so passionate about it, if he didn’t.”

  “I’m observant.” Izzy winked. “So, are you gonna tell me how you ended up here?”

  Stan hesitated. Oh, what the heck. “I lost my job. Decided it was time for a change. I was driving through here with a friend of mine and I saw the house.”

  “That’s it, huh?” Izzy nodded approvingly. “That’s the way to do things, girl. I knew I would like you.” She glanced up as the bell over her door dinged, signaling a new guest.

  Only it wasn’t a guest. Stan felt her stomach lurch when she recognized Trooper Pasquale, in full uniform. She knew there was about to be a problem when the other woman didn’t even give the chocolate counter a second glance. Pasquale’s gaze scanned the patrons, landing on Stan like a homing pigeon on its target. She strolled over and halted at their table.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” she said, not looking sorry at all. “I need you to come to the station with me, Ms. Connor. I have a few more questions about Carole Morganwick’s murder.”

  Chapter 11

  Stan couldn’t even think of a theme song suited to this level of humiliation. She knew it was the exact outcome Pasquale wanted, but it still made her want to crawl into a hole. This cop had her sights on Stan and couldn’t see farther than her nose. Well, that was fine. She hadn’t done anything wrong, and she certainly hadn’t killed anyone.

  Stan held her head high as she went with Trooper Pasquale out the door. Izzy had even tried reasoning with her,
to no avail. The rest of the local coffee drinkers just gaped. The other trooper, Lou from the murder scene, waited outside the front door. In case she got unruly, she guessed. It would have been funny, if it weren’t happening to her.

  She didn’t speak as they drove west out of Frog Ledge. She had no idea where they were going, but she figured to the barracks. Trooper Pasquale’s office in the town hall probably wasn’t the best place to interrogate people she wanted to intimidate.

  Twenty minutes later they pulled into a police barracks parking lot. Pasquale parked and Lou reached in to give her a hand out. She ignored him and climbed out by herself. They went in the back door, down an ugly hall and up a set of stairs. Turned left and entered a small room, which had a table and a few chairs. It looked nothing like what Stan had seen on TV, not that she’d expected it to. More worn-down. Grungy. Tired.

  “Have a seat,” Pasquale said, motioning to the table.

  Stan did. She crossed her legs and folded her hands together. “Well, am I under arrest? Because if not, I have nothing else to say. I have no idea who killed Carole Morganwick, but it certainly wasn’t me. If I need to call a lawyer, I’d like to do that.”

  Pasquale’s expression didn’t change. She pulled out a notebook, opened to a clean sheet of paper and uncapped her pen. She sat back and tapped the tip of it to her lips. She still wore no makeup, and today her red hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail. Her neutral expression made her look like she was auditioning for a cop show.

  “You’re not under arrest,” she said. “Yet. But you’d be doing yourself a favor if you answered one or two questions for me.”

  “And you couldn’t ask me at the café?”

  “I wouldn’t get too cocky,” Pasquale said. “Truth be told, I would arrest you if I had just a smidge more evidence. But I’m giving you a chance to answer me and maybe change my mind.”

  Stan spread her palms wide. “What are the questions?” Despite her outward cool, she could feel bile rising in her throat. She prayed to whomever was listening that she wouldn’t throw up.