Custom Baked Murder

by Liz Mugavero

  “How is the shop going? I’ve heard so many people talking about it. They can’t wait for you to open. It’s such a great idea. My Houdini already told me he wants to come for a cuppa.”

  Houdini, Betty’s indoor cat, loved escaping into the wild. When Stan first moved to town, Houdini showed up at her door repeatedly looking for treats after word got around that her house was the place to find them. Betty took a number of precautions to keep her wayward cat from taking off for good, including window and door screens with alarms on them so she could tell when he was trying to escape.

  “I hope you bring him,” Stan said. “I want it to be cat- and dog-friendly. Cats are harder to travel with, so we need someone to get the trend going.”

  “Well, we all know I’m a trendsetter,” Betty said gaily. “Count us in! Do you need help with your grand opening?”

  “I’m sure I will. Since you like to plan parties and all.”

  “Honey, I can plan a party like you’ve never seen,” Betty said, patting Stan’s arm. “You tell me when you need me. Now, make sure you come back for our stew.” She winked. “It darn well better win! Gotta go. I need some potatoes.” She dashed off toward the kitchen.

  Stan glanced over at Tony and Don. Still whispering to each other. She squared her shoulders and marched over to them. She realized too late she had no idea what to say until they’d seen her and let their conversation trail off.

  Don Miller’s eyes darted around, looking for an escape. He was less comfortable around people since his family’s involvement in a scandal earlier in the year. After a long leave of absence, he’d returned to his council position, but life had clearly changed him. His big, burly, karate-schoolteacher look was gone, replaced by a gaunt, drawn, less muscular version. He rarely spent time in the public eye anymore aside from council meetings.

  He nodded at her. “Hello.”

  “Hi, Don. Sorry to interrupt, but I need to talk to Tony for a second.”

  Tony pasted on his political smile. “I’ll speak with you later, Don.”

  Don nodded and slipped away to a table of folks Stan didn’t recognize.

  “Little League,” Tony said, by way of explanation. “His son is on the team and he’s worried that the schedule could cut into council meetings. But I told him, family first. Don’t you agree?”

  She nodded. “I do.”

  “So what can I do for you, Kristan? Are you cooking this morning?”

  Like nothing ever happened. What planet was this guy on? “No,” Stan said. “I saw your car and stopped in to see you.”

  “Me?” He tried to look surprised. “To what do I owe the honor?”

  “I wanted to make sure you were doing all right,” Stan said, fighting to keep her tone sincere. “You know, after last night.”

  “Yes. My goodness. What a tragic event.” He shook his head sadly. “We’re doing as well as can be expected.”

  Who’s we? According to Char, he hadn’t even been back to see her mother. “Tony. Where were you all night? I heard you didn’t go to Char’s with my mother.”

  “I was with the police. They had a lot of questions, understandably, about what happened. And I didn’t want to disrupt the B&B when they were done with me, so I just went to my office.”

  Plausible story, but why hadn’t he reached out this morning? Why had he just shown up at the pub like nothing had happened? “My mother is probably frantic,” she said.

  Tony looked away. “I called her this morning,” he said.

  Stan didn’t know if that was true or not. “So do the police know what happened last night? Like why they think Eleanor was killed?”

  “They wouldn’t share that with me even if they knew, I’m quite sure,” he said. “You might know better than I what would have prompted this tragedy.”

  “I would? Why’s that?” Her hands went to her hips.

  “You’re . . . acquainted with the suspect.”

  “So are you, apparently. He was at your party.”

  They stared at each other, a silent standoff. Tony didn’t move, but Stan could almost feel him squirm under her gaze. He didn’t speak.

  Which compelled her to push him. “He was at your party but you weren’t,” she said. “Why were you late?”

  Another stare-off.

  “Hey, Mayor?”

  They both turned to find one of the bartenders standing there awkwardly. “Sorry to interrupt, but we’re supposed to get a pre-competition photo of the judges.”

  Tony smiled. “Of course.” He looked at Stan. “I trust we’ll catch up later?”

  Stan didn’t return his smile. “Count on it,” she said.

  Chapter 20

  The competition didn’t start until one, so Stan had time to kill. She offered to help in the kitchen, but there were way too many people cooking and counter space was tight. After she almost sliced off her thumb peeling a potato, Jake took the peeler and steered her to the door.

  “You need to relax today, not work,” he told her. “Go grab some coffee and come back in a bit. I’ll save you a seat. Okay?” He kissed her and pushed her outside before she could protest.

  Jake was right. She felt useless. She got in her car and sat there for a minute, trying to figure out what to do next. Go talk to her mother? No. Then she’d have to tell her she saw Tony. Go talk to Char? No, because inevitably she’d bump into her mother. Go home? Then she’d have to tell Caitlyn that Kyle’d moved into Char’s. She picked up her phone and scrolled to Jessie’s number, but got her voice mail. She could talk to people who’d been at the party, find out if anyone heard or saw anything that would offer up some clue about Eleanor’s death. Preferably, a clue that didn’t point to Richard. Finding people who’d been there shouldn’t be hard given that her mother invited half the town.

  She decided to start with Izzy. That way she could refuel with coffee and whatever muffin was on special today. Sugar and caffeine seemed the best plan for getting through this day. Hopefully, by now the morning rush at the café had dispersed and she could grab her friend for a few minutes.

  She drove the short distance to Izzy’s and went inside, breathing in the scent of strong coffee and cinnamon. Izzy’s place was her other haven in town. The coffee and chocolate component put it in the running for first, but Jake’s presence at the pub won every time. Still, Izzy’s place was totally trendy and cool. Completely out of touch with the farming town around her. It felt like a shop you’d find in New York or San Francisco, with its retro purple walls and framed Coco Chanel quotes.

  Thankfully, it was quiet. A few people were scattered at tables around the café, alone and in pairs, but no one waited in line at the counter at this in-between time. Perfect. Izzy straightened from where she had been adding truffles to one of her shelves and waved.

  “Hey, girl. I was hoping you’d be in.” She leaned her elbows on the counter and waited for Stan to come over. “How’re you holding up?”

  “Me? How about you?” Stan asked sympathetically. Izzy opened the café at six a.m. weekdays, seven on the weekends. Which would mean she might have grabbed an hour of sleep early this morning, if she’d managed to get to sleep at all. The entire town would be cranky and sleep-deprived today.

  Izzy brushed off her concern. “I’m divine. I had help this morning, so I didn’t even come in until eight. What’re you having?” She glanced at her watch. “I can sit with you for a bit. Jana is out back.”

  “I was hoping.” Stan ordered a large mocha latte with a double shot of espresso and one of Izzy’s caramel chip muffins, warmed. She shoved the thoughts of Char’s beignets out of her mind. She’d do extra laps on the green tomorrow to make up for today’s sins.

  Two of Izzy’s dogs poked their heads out of the back room, wagging at the sound of her voice. Elvira the poodle and Bax the boxer realized the day Stan moved in that she’d be a welcome addition to town.

  “Hey, guys,” Stan said, crouching to pet the dogs. Scruffy would be jealous. She loved Izzy’s three dogs
. “Where’s Junior?” Junior was Izzy’s newest addition, adopted after he’d tragically become homeless. He was an old retriever, good-natured, lazy, and happy to be part of a family ruled by food.

  “He’s sound asleep upstairs.” Izzy sighed. “Poor guy is getting old. But he’s still happy. Grab the back booth while I get your coffee.” She moved to the espresso machine.

  Stan took a quick look around to see who else was in the café. In the next booth over, a girl with a long, red braid giggled with her boyfriend, a bearded guy wearing a T-shirt depicting an elephant carrying a hand grenade in his trunk. College students studied in small groups scattered around the room. An older couple—definitely not locals—munched on Danish while they people-watched. Abby from the general store took an early lunch break at a window seat. No one was talking about the murder as far as she could tell.

  Her cell phone rang. She pulled it out and saw Nikki Manning’s name pop up. She usually talked to her best friend at least once a week. She had to tell her what happened, but didn’t have time right now. She let it go to voice mail so she’d remember to call her later.

  Izzy brought her coffee and muffin over, along with a latte for herself. “They were all talking about it this morning,” she said, reading Stan’s mind. “Despite the fact that no one in town got any sleep, this place was packed and murder was the hot topic.” She sank into the booth facing the door. “Have you heard anything else? Did anyone find the mayor? He vanished into thin air after he went upstairs with the cops.”

  Boy, word did get around fast. “Yeah. He wasn’t missing, turns out. He slept in his office. Now he’s at the pub getting ready to judge the Irish stew cook-off.”

  “Huh?” Izzy cupped her hand over her ear as if she hadn’t heard right. “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. That’s what he told me. They questioned him so long he didn’t want to disturb my mother and Char by going to the B&B so late.” She rolled her eyes.

  “You talked to him?”

  Stan nodded. “I just left the pub.”

  “So where was he during his own party?”

  “No idea. He wouldn’t tell me.”

  “Curiouser and curiouser,” Izzy said, taking a swig of coffee. “So this woman who got killed. She worked for Tony?”

  “Yep. His ‘executive coach.’” Stan made air quotes around the words.

  “I get the sense you didn’t like her.”

  “No comment.”

  “What about your ex?”

  “What about him?”

  “He still locked up?”

  “As far as I know.”

  “You think he could’ve done it?” Izzy asked seriously.

  “No! I would’ve known if I was dating someone who could kill people.” Stan shuddered.

  “Hey, not necessarily,” Izzy said. “Look at all those serial killer wives who swear they had no idea their husbands were out at night luring unsuspecting victims to their deaths.”

  Stan stared at her. “So not helpful. And not the same thing, either.” She sipped her latte and broke off a piece of her still-steaming muffin. “I’m serious. He didn’t do it. It feels wrong. Which brings me to my visit. I need your help.”

  “Oooh! Sounds mysterious.” Izzy leaned in. “Tell me more.”

  “You got to the party on time, right?”

  Izzy nodded. “Six on the dot. Again, I’m so sorry I didn’t get to tell you Richard was there before you saw him.”

  “I don’t care about that. I want to know what was going on when you arrived. Did you see Eleanor with anyone? Arguing? Talking? Heck, making out?”

  Izzy laughed. “Now, see, that’s the interesting part. I wouldn’t have even known who she was if she hadn’t been in here before. But yes, I did see her at the party. With her daughter, mostly.”

  “Wait. She was here in your shop?” The thought of Eleanor in her friend’s place, sitting at tables she frequented, eating Izzy’s treats, bothered her. But again, it was a free country. “When?”

  “Last week.”

  “I guess that makes sense. She was working with Tony. I’m sure she came out here from time to time. I’m just glad I never bumped into her before.”

  But Izzy shook her head slowly. “She wasn’t with Tony. She was with one of the other council members.”

  Stan frowned. “She was? Which one?”

  “The short one who wears a bow tie to council meetings. With the annoying voice.”

  Stan searched her brain for his name. “Wallace. Curtis Wallace.”

  Izzy snapped her fingers. “That’s it.”

  “What was she doing with him?”

  “Fighting,” Izzy said matter-of-factly.

  Stan stared at her. “What?”

  “Yup. It was Monday, I think. Yeah, because I had a hair appointment.” She fingered one of her intricate braids. “They did a nice job, eh? New girl, next town over. Anyway, she came in alone—Eleanor—asked Jana if she could use my back room for an important meeting.” Izzy had a small room behind the main café she usually reserved for poetry slams, painting parties, or other private events. “Jana let her, since it was empty. When I got here I came in through the back hall. Heard arguing, so I knocked on the door. Last thing I wanted was some big problem, you know what I mean?”

  Stan nodded.

  “She opened it, said she was sorry, they were having a business disagreement. I told her to keep it down or find a new meeting spot. Wallace left a few minutes later. Apparently, she wasn’t done, because she followed him right out to the parking lot. Didn’t care who saw. He looked mortified.”

  Stan sat back in her chair, a million questions swirling. “How does she know Wallace?” Was she working with the whole council? Did the others know? “Did you tell anyone this last night?” she asked Izzy.

  “No. I just remembered this morning. I knew she looked familiar but I couldn’t place it.” She looked at Stan. “You think it means something?”

  “Depends on what they were fighting about,” Stan said. “And whether or not Curtis holds a grudge.” She didn’t say the obvious: that Curtis had been at the party last night. Had he seen Eleanor go upstairs and followed her to finish off their fight?

  Chapter 21

  Stan left her half-eaten muffin on the plate and hurried out of Izzy’s. Did Jessie know about this? If not, Wallace should at least be questioned. Which might give Richard some breathing room. Stan tried her cell, her office at town hall, her cell again, and Marty’s house. No one answered any of those numbers. She was probably still working. Which meant she’d be at the barracks.

  She checked the clock on her phone. If she drove out there, she wouldn’t make it back in time for the competition and Jake would wonder where she was. She’d better stop and let him know what was going on. As she drove over to the pub, she tried her mother’s cell. Straight to voice mail, too. Where was everyone today?

  Pulling back into the McSwigg’s parking lot, she hurried around to the kitchen entrance for the second time. The door stood ajar as someone emptied trash into the Dumpster behind the building. Stan hurried inside, scanning the room for Jake.

  “Hey, Stan!” Sean, one of Jake’s bartenders, waved at her with a handful of parsley. “Looking for the big guy? He’s out front.”

  Stan thanked him and pushed through the swinging doors into the bar area. The pace was even more frenzied now as cooks hauled batches of stew out in their warming pots and scrambled to add last-minute dashes of herbs and spices. The judges congregated in front of their table. Tony wasn’t among them. She spied Jake across the room and started toward him, but out of the corner of her eye she saw a flash of red ponytail. She stopped and looked again. Jessie stood across the room near one of the Irish stewpots. Why was she here at the bar? Unless she was following up a lead. Maybe she was questioning Tony after all.

  Stan made a beeline through the crowd, jostling a pot of stew in transit. She winced as she heard a splash and an indignant protest, but didn’t stop. When she re
ached Jessie, she skidded to a stop, her mouth falling open. She was already surprised to see Jessie here dressed in jeans and a T-shirt rather than toiling away at the barracks on a murder case, and that surprise was compounded by the beer in her hand. Not to mention, it was barely afternoon. But more important, Jessie didn’t drink.

  “Jessie?” Stan approached her cautiously. It had to be someone else. Everyone had a doppelgänger, right? As soon as this woman turned, she’d have a totally different face. And Stan wouldn’t have to feel like Alice plummeting down the rabbit hole.

  But it wasn’t someone else. Jessie most definitely stood in front of her, not working, not dressed in uniform, and though Stan hadn’t seen her raise the glass, a real beer in her hand. She looked like she hadn’t been to bed yet, either.

  Jessie turned at the sound of her name. “Yeah?” Despite her obvious exhaustion, her tone held a challenge.

  “What are you doing?”

  Jessie glanced around. “I’m waiting for the competition to start. What are you doing?”

  “Looking for you, actually.”

  “Well, you found me.”

  “Are you drinking?”

  Jessie lifted her chin, eyes flashing. “I’m having a beer. Why? Last I checked, I was over twenty-one.”

  Stan glanced around, certain she was being punked. Any minute now, someone with a video camera would leap out from under one of the tables holding the stewpots. She waited, but no one did.

  “Can I . . . talk to you upstairs?” Stan asked.

  “Right this minute? I’m kind of busy.”

  Busy doing what? “Yes, right this minute. Come on.” Stan grabbed the sleeve of Jessie’s long-sleeved T-shirt and pulled her away.

  Jessie heaved a sigh full of heavy burdens, but allowed Stan to drag her to the back of the pub. Stan pushed open the slightly hidden door leading to the upstairs apartment and used her key from when Jake lived there—thank goodness Brenna insisted she keep it—to open the apartment door at the top of the steps. Brenna took over the comfy three-room space when Jake moved in with Stan. Actually, she’d given them the nudge they needed to take the leap and move in together when she decided she wanted her own place but didn’t want to give up the location. Jake’d been all about the arrangement because someone would still be right upstairs in case there was a problem at the bar. And because then he could still keep an eye on her, especially now that she had a serious boyfriend.