Custom Baked Murder

by Liz Mugavero

  She stepped in front of him. “What’s up?”

  Resigned, Jake let go of her. “I’ll make you a plate,” he said, backing away. “And grab you another martini.” Blowing her a kiss, he followed Izzy.

  She watched him vanish into the crowd, then turned to her mother.

  “Girls, I need your help with something immediately,” Patricia said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

  Stan gave her mother her best ice-queen stare. “I wish you’d have asked for help with the guest list,” she said.

  Patricia rolled her eyes. “Another time, dear. You’re a big girl. Come with me.”

  The dismissal of her feelings stung. She should pull her arm away, go grab Jake, and march right out the door like she’d been about to. But Patricia’s hand was like a vise around her wrist, and fighting it wouldn’t benefit anyone.

  “I’d like for you girls to be part of the engagement ring ceremony,” Patricia said.

  “Engagement ring ceremony?” Stan asked. “What’s that?”

  Patricia’s scathing look was invisible to most innocent onlookers, but Stan knew it well. A miniscule narrowing of the eyelids, the tiniest clench of her jaw, eyes like flint. “It’s when Tony presents the engagement ring officially, of course,” she said. “That is, if he ever shows up. Anyway, Pastor Ellis is going to make the announcement and bless us. Francie will get everything ready for him—do you have the ring pillow, Francie?” She turned, and for the first time Stan realized Francie Tucker stood behind her.

  “Absolutely, Ms. Connor,” Francie said, offering Stan an apologetic smile.

  Poor thing, Stan thought. Maybe I should offer her full-time work so she can quit the church and not have to deal with this wedding.

  “Excellent. It would be lovely if my daughters were part of this.”

  “I thought you were already engaged,” Stan said.

  “We are, of course. This is making it official,” Patricia said.

  Stan glanced at her mother’s hand. The ginormous rock she’d been wearing was conspicuously absent. “So you got the ring, wore it, and gave it back so he can present it to you again?”

  “Yes,” Patricia said, her teeth now clenching. “That’s exactly right. Are you going to be difficult, Kristan, or are you going to be helpful?”

  Do I have a choice? “What do you need us to do, Mother?” Stan asked, hoping her impatience didn’t shine through. “And do you have any idea when Tony’s arriving?”

  From her mother’s expression, he’d be better off staying away. “He’ll be here any minute. That’s why I want to be prepared. We’re quite behind schedule as it is. Once he arrives, we’ll do this outside.” She waved toward the French doors. “The downstairs patio is lovely. One of you girls will offer the toast, then he’ll present the ring. You should be next to me when he does so. Then we’ll have cake. Please stay close so we can be ready.” Patricia walked away without waiting for them to agree.

  Francie clasped her hands in front of her. “I’m sorry you were put on the spot like that.” She glanced behind her. “I would’ve warned—er, mentioned it if I’d known. But you’re lovely for helping your mother.” Then she dashed off to complete her tasks.

  Stan looked at Caitlyn. “Did you volunteer me?”

  “Of course not,” Caitlyn said. “You know how she is.”

  Stan cocked her head. “Everything okay with you and Mom?” she asked, dropping her voice a little.

  Caitlyn shrugged, attempting blasé. “She’s being difficult about . . . my situation.”

  “With Michael?”

  Caitlyn nodded. “She blames me. Doesn’t want to hear anything about Michael’s part in it. She’s just focused on how I’m the one who got caught cheating.” The mask of indifference fell, and Stan could see it bothered her. She knew the feeling. She was usually the one on the receiving end of her mother’s criticism.

  “I’m sorry. That’s hard. At the moment I want to wring her neck myself. She invited a ton of my old coworkers to this shindig. Including my ex.”

  Caitlyn snorted. “Typical. Oh well. She is who she is.” She squared her shoulders as Eva ran up, her little gold straps sliding off her shoulders as she rubbed at her eyes. The little girl looked exhausted. A late and boring night for a little kid.

  “I wanna go back and play with the animals,” she demanded.

  “I have your snacks in my bag. We’re going to go upstairs and lie down for a bit, and you can have some. Come on.” Caitlyn hoisted her up. “Tony’s not here anyway. I want to let Eva take a nap. You think Mom’ll blow a gasket if I put her in one of the bedrooms?” she asked Stan.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it. I’ll go up with you.” Ignoring her mother’s mandate to stay nearby in favor of getting out of this crowd for a minute, Stan drained her martini glass, deposited it on a passing tray, and started toward the grand staircase at the back of the great room.

  Caitlyn followed Stan, Eva’s head nestled on her shoulder. “Really I just need a minute alone. And a bathroom,” she said, then bumped into Stan, who stopped short at the velvet rope strung across the steps, the kind you see at trendy clubs.

  “Guess they don’t want guests upstairs,” Stan said, unhooking the rope. Caitlyn followed her, and Stan reattached the clip so the stairs were once again blocked. Once they were up top, she reached for her niece. “I’ll find a room. And I won’t tell Mom you used the bathroom up here.” She winked and headed down the hall with Eva while Caitlyn started opening doors to find the bathroom.

  She’d just found a bedroom when she heard a strangled scream coming from where she’d left her sister. Alarmed, she turned. “Caitlyn?”

  No answer. She deposited Eva on the bed. “Wait here. I’ll be right back,” she promised.

  She went back down the hall, nudging open the bathroom door. Caitlyn stood still as a statue, staring in horrified silence. Stan followed her gaze to the floor and gasped.

  Eleanor Chang lay sprawled on her back, eyes wide open and cloudy. Her elegant, filmy scarf, once a decoration for her bare shoulder, was now wrapped around her neck. And protruding from between slightly parted red lips, a massive, familiar-looking diamond ring.

  Chapter 7

  “Oh. My. God.” Stan stood frozen, not sure whether to scream or run away.

  “Is she . . . dead?” Caitlyn gasped, holding on to the counter for support.

  Stan didn’t bother answering. She snapped into action, shuttering her mind to the horrific sight in front of her. And since Caitlyn seemed about to have an hysterical breakdown, someone needed to keep it together. She grabbed her sister and pulled her out of the room, yanking the door shut behind her. “I need to find Jessie. Go to Eva.”

  Caitlyn’s eyes widened. “Eva! What if there’s a murderer hiding up here?” Her voice rose, on its way to hysteria. “Someone . . . strangled her!”

  Stan grabbed her sister’s shoulders. “Listen to me. Go to that room”—she pointed to where she’d left her niece—“make sure you’re alone, then lock the door. And stay calm. Understand?” She waited until her sister nodded, eyes still bulging with fear, errant mascara and tears streaming down her cheeks. “Good. I’ll be right back.”

  Caitlyn grabbed her arm before she turned to walk away. “Who did this?” she whispered.

  Stan shook her head grimly. “I don’t know.” She raced down the stairs despite her heels, nearly twisting her ankle in her haste. This turn of events had already caused her martini to wear off. Her brain ping-ponged between random thoughts: Who-when-why-how? to a shameful version of She crossed the wrong person this time. Shoving that one away, Stan braced herself against the sick feeling, as well as the oh-dear-God-not-again feeling.

  An unfamiliar woman paused at the bottom of the stairs as Stan clattered down. “Is there an extra powder room up there?” she asked, her hand hovering near the clip holding the velvet rope to a stand.

  Stan froze. “No. Upstairs is off limits,” she said, giving the woman an unladylik
e shove away from the staircase. Ignoring the woman’s huff of displeasure, she cast about the room frantically looking for Jessie’s red hair, usually a crowd standout. Stan finally caught sight of her out on the deck, miserably adjusting her dress while Marty chatted with someone, their words punctuated by loud bursts of laughter and hand-waving.

  She wound her way through the guests until she could lean over and whisper into Jessie’s ear. “We need you.”

  Jessie turned and arched an eyebrow. “Who’s ‘we’ and what do you need?”

  “There’s a situation.” Stan stared at her, trying to telepathically convey what she refused to say out loud.

  Jessie’s face fell. “Don’t even joke about it.”

  “Just come with me.” Stan turned and threaded her way back through the crowd. Jessie said something to Marty and followed her. On the way back, Stan met Jake’s eyes across the great room. He held up her drink, an inquisitive look on his face. She shook her head and kept going.

  They hopped over the velvet ropes and made their way upstairs. When they reached the landing and the lull of the crowd dropped below them, Stan turned to her. “My sister went to use the ladies’ room. You need to see what’s in there.”

  “That’s never a good opening.” Jessie’s lips set in a grim line.

  Stan led her to the door. Jessie pushed it open slowly, eyes hardening when they landed on Eleanor’s still body. She observed the scene, her gaze slowly roaming over the spacious bathroom.

  Stan tried to talk herself out of throwing up now that someone else could take charge. Looking anywhere else but at Eleanor helped. The rest of the room looked like a normal bathroom, aside from the affluence. A deep, bowl-type sink made out of expensive-looking stone rested on top of the vanity. The surface was clear save for a gold soap dispenser, a matching bottle of hand lotion, and a half-full martini glass. Eleanor’s? Or had someone else—like her murderer—left it?

  Jessie moved into the room and knelt next to the dead woman. When she looked up, her face was in cop mode. “I need a phone,” she said. “I don’t have mine because there are no pockets in this godforsaken dress. And I need your help keeping people away—and keeping this quiet—until my backup arrives. Can you do that?”

  Stan nodded and handed her the cell phone out of her sparkly evening bag. Jessie glanced at the bag with the same curiosity one would reserve for a two-headed animal walking down Main Street. Definitely not a girly girl.

  “Did you see anything?” Jessie asked. “Or anyone? Was anyone else up here?”

  “No. I was already down the hall when Caitlyn . . . alerted me.”

  “Did you touch anything?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “Did Caitlyn?”

  “No.” At least she hoped not.

  “Where is Caitlyn now?”

  Stan pointed to the bedroom across the hall. “There. With Eva.”

  “Terrific. Did the kid see this?”

  Stan shook her head. “I had her with me.”

  “What’s with the ring?” Jessie asked, leaning in for a better look.

  Stan said nothing. She didn’t want to tell Jessie she suspected the ring was her mother’s. But if it was, how on earth had it ended up . . . there?

  Jessie sighed. She stood and pushed Stan out of the room, shutting the bathroom door behind them. She took Stan’s phone and walked away, turning her back and speaking softly. Stan slumped against the wall, her mind alternating between the Eleanor she’d conversed with less than an hour ago and the dead Eleanor on the floor. This would be a strange place for a random killing, so that meant someone had been really, really angry with her.

  Jessie finished her phone call and returned, handing the phone back to Stan. “Bring your niece downstairs before the troops show up. I need to speak with Caitlyn. And while you’re at it, tell Marty not to worry but that I’m on duty for the foreseeable future. Good thing Lily is with her dad this weekend,” she muttered. Jessie’s five-year-old daughter spent every other weekend with her dad.

  “What happens next?” Stan asked.

  “First, I need to make sure no one leaves. Can you have Jake or Marty cover the back door until back up arrives? And tell them to be discreet about it. The team is on their way. Given the amount of people here—talk about a massive headache—I had to call out the troops. They’re sending Major Crimes.” She made a face. “So I’ll have lots of company during this investigation. We’re going to need to do some preliminary questioning of everyone in this house.” Her face set into a grim line. “Which means a hell of a long night ahead. And get this. They’re sending the team in a bus instead of the van. Because it’s the mayor’s house.”

  Since Frog Ledge was too small to have its own police force, it was state police territory. As the resident state trooper, Jessie worked out of an office in town hall. Trooper Lou Sturgis was her official partner/backup, although he only worked in town three days a week. When she needed to do more traditional police work, like arrest someone, they traveled to the barracks twenty minutes and two towns away. Jessie’d led the investigations for the town’s recent murders entirely on her own, so the Major Crimes unit involvement seemed odd.

  Stan frowned. “Who made that call?”

  “My boss,” Jessie said. “Which makes me think Tony has some special pull. Last I checked, being the mayor of Frog Ledge didn’t get you that many perks.”

  Chapter 8

  Stan grabbed Eva and took her downstairs. Her niece, sensing something was wrong, had started to cry softly on Stan’s shoulder. Stan hugged her tighter as she moved through the crowd.

  “Don’t worry, honey,” she murmured. “Everything’s fine. But you have to wait with Auntie Char for a little bit, okay?”

  “We can’t go to your h-house?” Eva hiccuped.

  “In a little bit,” Stan promised. Where the heck was Char? For once in her life, she was nowhere in sight. Usually she was drawn to the site of gossip like a moth to a flame. If there was any to be found, she’d be waiting. But not tonight. Stan felt like crying herself.

  “Need some help?” Jake asked from behind her.

  She turned, knees almost buckling with relief. “Thank goodness. Yes. I need Char to watch Eva for a bit.”

  Jake glanced at the crying little girl. “Caitlyn okay?” Then his sharp eyes scanned her face. “Are you okay? You look really pale.”

  “I’m fine. Caitlyn’s . . . tied up right now,” Stan said, then cringed when she thought of the scarf. “Have you seen Char?”

  Jake shook his head. “Want me to take Eva?”

  “If you want to,” Stan said, uncertain. Jake reached for the little girl. Immediately, she quieted and rested her head on his shoulder, still sniffling and hiccuping. Stan leaned into his other ear and whispered, “There’s a situation upstairs.”

  He frowned. “What’s going on? What do you mean, a situation?”

  “I’ll explain later. The police are on their way. Jessie needs someone to watch the back door and make sure no one leaves. Can you and Eva do that? Please?” She sent him a pleading look, hoping he wouldn’t push the issue.

  He searched her face, then nodded. “I’ll be right outside,” he said, leaning down and brushing her lips with his. “Come on, sweetie. In a few minutes we’ll go home and see the dogs and cats,” he murmured to Eva. She nodded and buried her face in his shoulder.

  Stan watched him slip through the kitchen to the back door, wishing for all the world she could just take them home. But she couldn’t, so she focused on the tasks at hand. Next, she had to find her mother. The thought of telling Patricia—if she hadn’t heard already—made her want to crawl into a hole. Her mother would be livid that someone had dared to die during her engagement party. Even if they tried to keep this quiet, something would leak. Tony’s position would boost this to headline news. She hadn’t seen Cyril Pierce here, which made sense. Her mother wouldn’t have bothered with the quirky local journalist. But this was Frog Ledge. He’d hear about
it in no time. The larger papers would grab his report and blast it all over state channels. Her former coworkers would report back to their corporate inner circles in no time, and Stan’s name would once again be linked to murder. It brought back bad memories of her experience soon after she moved to Frog Ledge, even though the circumstances were completely different.

  And, there was a murderer in the house. Unless he or she had already slipped out the door. That reality had finally set in, sending waves of cold fear shooting through her nerve endings. She hoped she hadn’t sent Jake into danger by stationing him at the door, but chances were good that the culprit was already gone.

  As she rejoined the crowd, a couple holding champagne flutes glanced curiously at her. She probably looked green, on the verge of throwing up. She was. Suddenly, Marty was at her side. “Hey,” he said, worry clouding his usually bright eyes. “What’s going on?”

  “Marty. I was just about to come find you. Jessie . . . is on duty. There’s been an incident.” She raised her eyebrows, trying to convey the seriousness of the situation.

  “Is she okay?”

  “Jessie’s fine. But she’s going to be busy for a while.”

  “What happened?”

  Stan shook her head. “I can’t say.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” he asked anxiously.

  “Yes. Can you make sure no one takes off out the front door? And if you see my mother, please tell her to come find me. It’s very important.”

  Marty nodded, wide-eyed. Stan patted his arm, then moved on, continuing her search.

  Partygoers blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding directly above them floated around with their drinks and tiny plates of appetizers, talking and laughing about their important minutia. Stan moved through them robotically, hoping to catch a glimpse of her mother. No sign of Patricia throughout the entire first-floor party area. She resisted the urge to pound on the wall in frustration. Her head ached and tears filled her eyes. She slipped through the nearest door, finding herself in the back hallway near the kitchen. Taking advantage of the quiet, she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.