Kneading to Die

by Liz Mugavero

  He nodded, puzzled, but Stan had already moved on to his wife. Andrea Morganwick had short, dark hair and a pointy nose. She looked bored beyond belief. She also looked like she needed a sandwich. Stan could see her hip bones jutting out of the dress she wore. Her handshake was limp and she didn’t make eye contact, just sighed a “thank you” as well-wishers passed by. Stan ducked out of line and found a black trench coat blocking her path. Cyril Pierce.

  “Can I have a word?” he asked.

  She sighed. “About what?”

  Cyril glanced around to see who was listening. “You may want to talk in private. Although I’m not sure how private this will be in a few minutes.”

  Stan snapped to attention. “What are you talking about?”

  Cyril motioned her to a quiet corner of the room. “I’ve had some accusations brought to me. I’d like your side.”

  “No comment. I already told you I didn’t kill Carole.”

  “This isn’t about Carole.” Cyril pulled his notebook out of his trench coat pocket and made a dramatic show of uncapping his pen. “It’s about Phineas Dobbins.”

  “Who?”

  “Phineas is a dog. He belongs to Myrna Dobbins.” He pointed across the crowd to a woman with Wednesday Addams hair and a sour expression. “Right now he’s ill. With possible food poisoning.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear that, but I don’t believe I’ve ever met Phineas. Or Myrna. What does this have to do with me?”

  Cyril watched her with a reproachful expression. “Myrna Dobbins bought some of your dog treats at the farmers’ market yesterday. It was the only deviation in Phineas’s diet.”

  Chapter 26

  Stan fled the funeral home without giving Cyril the benefit of a second “no comment.” She ignored Izzy and Char, who both called after her. She was sure that somewhere along her path to freedom, she also passed Jake. He was about to rethink the idea that she wasn’t to blame for Duncan’s illness.

  She made it to her car before the tears started, but she couldn’t give herself the luxury of having a good cry. People were coming and going at a steady clip, and she didn’t want to give the gossipers more fodder.

  Poison an animal? Even people who didn’t really know her should be able to tell how much she loved animals. She wanted to find who started that nasty rumor and beat them with her cake pan. She hoped Phineas would be okay, whatever had happened to him.

  This was when she needed Nikki. There wasn’t anyone else to whom she could cry. She dialed Nikki’s cell again as she pulled out of the parking lot and headed home. Straight to voice mail. She pulled into her driveway, feeling more alone than she’d ever felt in her life.

  The first thing she noticed about her house was the absence of her porch light. She distinctly remembered turning it on before she left. Already jittery, she went on instant alert. Fishing around inside her bag, she grabbed her old can of Mace, which Richard had given her for the nights she walked alone to her car in the parking garage. She had no idea if it was still functional, but it would have to do. And thank goodness she’d downloaded the flashlight app for her iPhone. She powered it up, grabbed her purse and keys and went up the front steps.

  No slashed bags of kibble. A positive sign. Shining the light up, she didn’t see anything out of whack with the light. Must be a faulty bulb. She stuck her key in the lock and started to twist, but the door gave under her hand.

  She knew she had locked the door. She debated calling the police, but she dismissed the thought. They were probably busy building an animal cruelty case against her. “Nutty? Scruffy?”

  Scruffy didn’t run to the door to greet her. This didn’t feel right. She hesitated; her brain was already screaming at her to leave, run, lock herself in the car and call the cops.

  Then she heard a yowling sound. It was Nutty’s upset voice—the voice he used when she tried to get him in the carrier for a vet visit. But still, he didn’t come.

  Nutty was in trouble. Stan whipped out her Mace, raced inside and down the hall, flicking lights on as she went. She grabbed her biggest butcher knife out of the holder on her kitchen counter and whipped around, trying to figure out where Nutty’s cries were coming from. Then the doorbell rang, almost sending her through the ceiling. Was the danger in the house or outside?

  Stan crept back down the hall and eased up to the side window to peek. Dark, but she could still make out Jake’s silhouette. She went to yank the door open; then her hand stilled. Odd timing for him just to show up. No, now she was getting paranoid. They had been at the wake together. He’d probably heard the new story. He couldn’t be a murderer, for God’s sake. He was the trooper’s brother. And there might still be someone in here, so she needed to move.

  She whipped open the door, realizing a second too late she still held the knife and the Mace.

  Jake raised an eyebrow. “You should just say you don’t want visitors.”

  “Oh, for …” Stan shoved the screen open and let him in. “Someone broke in. The light was out and the door was unlocked. I heard Nutty crying, but I can’t find him or Scruffy anywhere.”

  That snapped him into serious mode. “Did you call the police?”

  “Is that your response to everything? No, I didn’t call the police.”

  “It’s my response to threats and breakins, yes. Go call.”

  “I have to find the animals.”

  “I’ll go look.”

  “I’ll go with you.” She followed him. “I was about to check upstairs. I want to know my animals are safe.” Her throat prickled with tears. Scruffy would’ve come out by now. The dog wasn’t in the house, and Nutty had stopped crying. She hoped he wasn’t hurt.

  Jake went left at the top of the stairs. She followed. They went into the spare bedroom. As he bent to look under the bed, something crashed in the closet. She shrieked and spun around, knife at the ready. Jake jumped up and pulled the door open.

  Nutty bolted out and took off like he’d discovered the bogeyman was in there with him. “Oh, Nutty!” she called, and dashed after him. But he disappeared down the stairs.

  Jake stepped out into the hall. “He okay?”

  “Looks fine. But no Scruffy.” The tears came now, a culmination of what seemed like the longest week of her life. The adorable little schnoodle who had followed her around adoringly. She had told Nikki she couldn’t adopt the dog, and she had spent the last two days wondering when Nikki would come claim her. Now Stan would give anything to see her.

  Jake relieved her of the butcher knife and put his arm around her shoulder. “Don’t cry. We’ll find her. We need to call someone, though. You’re positive someone broke in? You didn’t leave the door open by accident and she got out?”

  “I’ve been religious about locking things up ever since …” She trailed off with a hiccup. “I don’t know. My porch light was out when I got home and the door was unlocked. How did they get in?”

  “Did you check the back door?”

  Stan shook her head.

  “Let’s do that. Does anything look out of place?”

  “I don’t know.” She glanced around, unsure. “I haven’t really looked at anything.”

  “Okay. Don’t worry about it right now. Stay here.” He checked out the rest of the rooms upstairs. “No one here, but you’ll have to see if anything’s gone. I’m going to check the back door.”

  She followed him downstairs. “The basement,” she said.

  “Wait for me,” he instructed.

  Wired, she paced around, looking for Nutty. She found him in the TV room, hiding under the coffee table. She scooped him up and nuzzled into his long fur, wiping her face. He licked her nose. “What happened here tonight?” she asked him.

  Nutty meowed.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you guys in danger. This is all my fault.” She felt the tears coming on again and tried to swallow them.

  “Hey, Stan.” Jake appeared in the doorway. “You’re gonna want to come out here.”

&
nbsp; Stan stood in her sunroom, still holding Nutty, observing her broken windows. She was over being upset. Now she was resigned. Once he figured out how they’d gotten in, Jake had investigated the front porch and found the lightbulb unscrewed. Whoever had left the kibble was back, and they wanted her to leave Carole’s murder alone.

  “So they broke in, took the dog and walked out my front door? Or did they break in to warn me, and the dog got out by chance?” She kicked at the scattered glass on her floor. “I’m sorry I ever came here.”

  They were waiting for the cops. Stan had finally given in and called. Jake looked troubled. He hadn’t said much, but he seemed deep in thought.

  Stan realized she had never even found out why he’d come over. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “I heard about Cyril’s stupid accusations and wanted to make sure you weren’t paying any attention to those idiots. I swear, I love this town, but sometimes the people in it drive me insane.”

  Her stomach clenched, remembering Cyril’s questions about poisoned dogs. He noticed.

  “No one with any sense thinks you got any dogs sick.”

  “I don’t know about that. They already did, because of what happened to Duncan.” Her eyes filled with tears again. She turned away and busied herself getting a glass of water. Nutty stuck close to her. She’d almost tripped over him twice now. She picked him up and hugged him.

  “Do you think he’s trying to tell me what happened? I wonder if I should call one of those pet psychics or something.” She was only half kidding, but Jake looked serious.

  “Did you want to call someone?”

  “I already called the police, remember?” The ice maker in her refrigerator had jammed. She opened the freezer door and shook the bin forcefully to clear it.

  “No. I mean, your boyfriend.”

  “Ha! Boyfriend.” She slammed the freezer door. A piece of ice flew out of the chute and hit the floor. She hurled it into the sink. “That’s funny.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t want to get into it. Enough things are wrong right now.”

  “Okay.” Jake emptied the dustpan and set the broom in the corner.

  “Why does Izzy hate you so much?”

  He opened his mouth to respond, but the doorbell rang. Of course.

  She sighed. “Be right back.”

  Trooper Lou waited at her front door.

  Lou. It figures. Here was the cop who had been on scene with Jessie at Carole’s murder. He cocked his head when he saw Stan. “You’re always in the middle of everything, aren’t you?”

  “Tell me about it.” Stan led him to the kitchen.

  Jake nodded at him. “Lou.”

  “Hey, McGee. How’s Jessie tonight?”

  “Doing better. Going stir-crazy in the hospital.”

  “I bet. So what happened, Ms. Connor?”

  Stan went through the whole story. Lou went through the rest of the house, checked out the basement, the front door and the porch light, made notes, dusted for fingerprints.

  “So nothing’s missing?” he asked when he returned to the kitchen.

  “Not that I can see. Nothing even looks out of place.”

  “I’ll file the report.”

  “So what happens next?”

  Lou slapped his notebook shut. “We look into it.”

  “What about Scruffy?”

  “The dog? She may have gotten out in the confusion. Did you go out and look?”

  “I was waiting for you,” Stan said, exasperated. “Making sure no one was still in here.”

  “Oh. Well, I would suggest starting there.”

  He said it so seriously, like she would have been too stupid to think of that. She resisted the urge to make a snarky comment.

  “What if the intruder took Scruffy? We need to find her. She isn’t even my dog!”

  Lou looked dubious. “I can’t put out a report on a missing dog.”

  Stan looked at Jake, willing him to step in before she assaulted a cop.

  “Lou. A little help here,” he said.

  Lou sighed. “We’ll send a press release to the paper. You should put up posters. Check with Diane, too. Maybe she really did get out. If she did, chances are good she’ll get picked up. Diane hates seeing dogs running around loose.”

  Chapter 27

  Stan found Amy Franchetti running a five-minute mile on the Frog Ledge High School track. Brenna had tipped Jake off that she would be there. Stan had prepared herself for some serious running in case Amy couldn’t stop to chat. She hoped she wouldn’t be too winded to have the conversation, though she doubted she could sustain any kind of activity long-term.

  After Lou left last night, she and Jake had searched for two hours for Scruffy, both on foot and in the car. They left a message at the pound. When they finally called it a night, she had to spend another half hour defending her decision to remain at her house and not spend the night on his couch or at Char’s B and B. When Jake finally gave up and left, she spent the rest of the night hovering between being asleep and awake. Stan jumped at every sound, her Mace and cell phone clutched in her hand. The one bright spot had been waking up to hammering and pounding, which initially freaked her out. Once she realized it was Ray fixing her windows in the sunroom, after Jake had called him, she had been so touched and grateful that she cried all over him.

  Now she had that darn job interview at Infinity in a few hours, and she needed to put up posters for Scruffy. Thank God she’d taken a couple of pictures on her phone. She was exhausted and unraveled. But if Amy, the former vet tech, could help shed some light on the possible killer, the two roads might converge. At this point she was grateful for Nikki’s silence. The last thing she wanted to do was tell her she’d lost one of her charges.

  Amy ran at a pretty good clip around the track. Stan wished she’d take a break, but since that didn’t seem likely, she jumped in and jogged along until she was close enough to call her name. Then Stan realized Amy wore headphones and couldn’t hear her. She picked up her pace enough to match strides with Amy, then tapped her on the arm.

  Amy yanked the earbuds out and slowed, apprehension all over her face. “Yeah?”

  “Amy? So sorry to bother you.” Stan explained who she was and what she needed. “I really want to be able to tell her brother everyone’s trying to help. Could I have five minutes?”

  The girl looked like she’d rather be asked to swim with alligators in a swamp. She glanced around, looking for some means of escape. “I don’t think I can offer you very much, but I guess so. I’ll meet you in the bleachers. I have to do one more lap.” She picked up speed again.

  Stan veered off the track and went to sit.

  Amy finished her lap in no time and joined Stan in the bleachers after grabbing her bag off the side of the field. She took out a hat and slipped it on, shielding her eyes from the sun.

  “So what do you wanna know about Carole? I already talked to the cops. I didn’t work there that long. She was pretty dysfunctional. And disorganized.”

  “How long did you work there?”

  “I started in February. So, not even half a year. She wasn’t that busy, so I didn’t work a lot of hours.”

  “Were any of her clients mad at her? Besides Betty Meany?”

  Amy cracked a tiny smile, the first friendly sign Stan had seen. “Betty was mad, definitely. I don’t remember anyone else being that outspoken. It’s funny, because Carole was weird enough that I could see her killing someone instead of the other way around.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Amy jerked one shoulder in a shrug. “She had a temper. And she was just weird. Like, everything was a conspiracy. I remember when that other vet came to talk to her about selling the practice. Sounded like she would’ve been smart to take her up on it, but she got all nuts and threw her out. Thought the townspeople had banded together and were trying to get rid of her.”

  “What other vet?”

  “That homeopath lady. I t
hink her boyfriend wanted it more. He’s a traditional vet. He teaches science at the college. I took his class last semester. Cool guy.”

  “Amara Leonard wanted to buy Carole’s practice? When was this? Did you tell the police?”

  Amy thought about that. “I don’t think so. I didn’t think it was important.”

  “Carole didn’t go for it.”

  Amy snorted. “She told them to get out before she sicced a rabid pit bull on them.” She shook her head in disgust. “She would say stupid things like that all the time. She really wasn’t that into animals, if that makes sense. I wanna be a vet ’cause I love animals, you know? But she didn’t get all excited about them or anything. I think she liked farm animals, though.”

  “Did she have a lot of clients?”

  “Not too many. Mrs. McCafferty, my gramma’s friend. And Mr. Holdcroft. He came all the time.”

  “With his dog?”

  Amy looked at her like she was an idiot. “Of course with his dog. He didn’t come for treatment.”

  “So she let you go.”

  Amy wrinkled her dainty nose. “She didn’t, like, fire me or anything. She just said she wasn’t getting enough business to support a staff. I was the only staff, though. So I’m not sure how she handled it when she needed two sets of hands.” She shrugged. “Maybe she was gonna close up shop and sell. Who knows? But listen, I gotta finish my training for today. You all set with questions?”

  “Sure,” Stan said, disappointed. Amy didn’t have any new insights.

  “Thanks.” Amy bounced to her feet; then she brightened. “Hey, since you’re friendly with her brother, will you bring something to the funeral for him later?”

  Since Amy had only deduced that, and Stan hadn’t actually said it, she ignored the white lie. “What is it?”

  “A bunch of stuff from the office. He knew I worked there. Carole must have been telling him stuff about the business. I wonder if he had a share in it or something. He tracked me down and called me at home. Wanted me to clean out her stuff from the office for him. Lucky I did it before the place burned to the ground. It’s in my car.”