Custom Baked Murder

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Custom Baked Murder Page 12

by Liz Mugavero


  “Want some?” he asked, noticing Stan watching him. “Mine’s got just the right amount of Guinness,” he added with a wink.

  Stan moved closer and peered into the pot. “Does yours have meat?”

  “Of course!”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Then no. I don’t eat meat.”

  He laughed. “I hope you’re not a judge. Garrett Colby.” He held out his hand. “We met . . . last night. I’m new to this town, on assignment.”

  “Stan Connor.” She sniffed the stew. It smelled delicious, anyway. She told him as much.

  “Thanks.” He beamed. “I hope I win. My partner—my dog, Rosie—needs a vest for work.”

  “A vest? Like, a bulletproof vest?”

  He nodded.

  Stan understood the work police dogs did, but that didn’t stop her from worrying about them. She didn’t like to think of dogs getting shot at. “She doesn’t have one?”

  “No, ma’am. Not yet.” Garrett stirred his stew. “She’s the newest dog on the force, and there’s no budget left for this year. So I have to raise the funds, or wait for her number to come up next year.”

  “How much is the vest?”

  “About fourteen hundred dollars. If I win, though, we can have some in the fund for the next few dogs. It’s all about keeping them safe, right?”

  “Okay, folks,” a woman’s voice boomed over the speaker system. “It’s time for the judges to do their thing. If everyone could step back, they’ll be making their way around the tables.”

  “Good luck,” Stan said to Trooper Colby. He flashed her a thumbs-up.

  She retreated to the corner of the room and watched the five judges. Tony led the group. She wondered if he’d recused himself from the council table. The second judge was Emmalee Hoffman, the owner of the Happy Cow Dairy Farm. The owner of Crystal’s Country Kitchen restaurant, the postmaster, and the principal of Frog Ledge Elementary rounded out the group. They ate their way through all the stations while taking notes, then sat at their judging table and compared comments.

  “Did you try any?” Jake appeared seemingly out of nowhere and slipped an arm around her waist, kissing the top of her head. Even at her decent height of five foot seven, he stood a head taller than her.

  “No way.” She leaned into him, thinking again how nice it was to have someone to lean on. Literally. “Haven’t stumbled on the vegetarian ones yet. Plus I’m holding out for the French fries.”

  “I have a fresh batch going as we speak.”

  “Sweet. Have you seen your sister?”

  He shook his head slowly. “No, but someone told me they saw her with a beer. I told them they were nuts. Must be someone sleep-deprived from last night and seeing things.”

  Stan swallowed, but luckily was saved from answering as the microphone boomed to life again and Sean the bartender hopped onto the stage in front of the pots of stew.

  “I think we’re just about ready to announce our winners,” he said. “Can I have the mayor come up, please?”

  Chapter 24

  All eyes turned to Tony, who emerged from the crowd and walked up the two steps to the stage. He’d changed into a suit since this morning, and he wore a solemn expression that looked like he’d practiced it in the mirror.

  “Thank you,” Tony said when he’d accepted the microphone. He paused for a moment, looking out over the crowd. “Welcome, everyone, to the annual charity stew cook-off. And a special thanks to Jake McGee and his staff at McSwigg’s for hosting and opening up their kitchen to all the cooks.” He cleared his throat as everyone clapped. “I’ll announce the winners in a moment, but first I want to take a moment of silence in memory of my colleague, Eleanor Chang, who you might have heard was killed last night.” He paused and bowed his head.

  Smart move on his part. Stan halfway bowed her head, glancing around to see what people were doing. Many of them were pretending to pay attention but stealing sips of their beer or sneaking a French fry. People who hadn’t been at the party wouldn’t have a clue anyway.

  Tony lifted his head and continued. “I’d like to reassure you all that the police have this handled and have made an arrest. While this won’t bring Ms. Chang back, it will give her family some peace of mind.”

  Stan could imagine Jessie’s blood boiling at this little speech. She felt her own blood pressure rise considerably. As if he could read her mind, Jake squeezed her hand.

  “Ms. Chang had three young daughters who’ll now face life without their mother,” Tony went on. “And while I know we can’t control the vicious actions of unstable people or bring back what was taken from them, we can at least try to help in the aftermath.” He nodded, as if agreeing with himself. “So I’m starting a fund for the victim’s children. If anyone wishes to donate, please see me. And perhaps our stew winner will choose to donate some of their proceeds as well, although I understand each already selected a charity. In some cases, that charity is their own nonprofit, so we’ll leave it up to them where they’d like to share the funds.”

  The crowd clapped obediently. Tony smiled and nodded. Stan felt a rush of disgust, but grudgingly acknowledged the strategy. Eleanor must’ve taught him well during her tenure. First he used his so-called power to thwart justice, and now he expected kudos for standing up and proclaiming his own generosity. Stan wanted to grab the mic and ask him how much he’d donated to the fund to get it started. Jake squeezed her hand again, a warning. He knew her well.

  “So are you ready for the winners?” Tony asked, holding his hands wide.

  The crowd cheered a loud “Yes!”

  “All right! Can we have the envelopes, please!” Tony looked expectantly to the left where Sean the bartender waited. Grinning like Vanna White, he performed an exaggerated strut onto the stage to hand Tony the envelopes. He faced the crowd, took a bow, then leaped down.

  Jake shook his head. “What a ham.”

  Tony announced the fun prizes first: most unique use of spices, most creative, best unexpected ingredient. Then it was time for the best stews. He announced the best vegetarian, then made a big deal about opening the second-place envelope and shaking out the paper. “And our second-place stew award goes to the Frog Ledge Library staff! Betty, please come up. The library will receive a donation of one hundred dollars, along with your portion of the entry fees, because of your cooking.”

  Cheers erupted as Betty Meany hurried to the stage to collect the certificate. Stan knew she’d be seething a bit. She did love to win. Tony looked like he wanted to ask her to donate the money to the Chang kids’ fund, but changed his mind.

  “And in first place”—Tony held out his hand for the next envelope as the crowd held their breath—“is . . . Amara Leonard and Vincent DiMauro of the Frog Ledge Veterinary Clinic! The proceeds from tonight’s event will go to the Frog Ledge Animal Control and Shelter. And perhaps to the Chang Fund,” he added with a meaningful look at Amara as she made her way to the stage. “Congratulations!”

  Stan clapped along with the rest of the audience as Amara joined him at the podium, happy for her friend and the town’s stray animals. Their vet clinic had a separate area for sheltering some of the town strays that the animal control officer oversaw. They’d included that in their clinic to help more animals and also draw attention to the condition of the old town pound, where the majority of the animals were housed. The original space was in dire need of upgrades, but the town hadn’t been able to pass a budget allowing for substantial improvements.

  She felt bad for Trooper Colby and his dog, though, out protecting and serving without a bulletproof vest. Maybe she could use her treats to fundraise for them.

  “What are you in such deep thought about?” Jake asked, squeezing her around the waist.

  “I’m thinking about what I can do to help Trooper Colby. He needs to raise funds to get his dog a bulletproof vest since he didn’t win the competition.”

  “Aww. And that’s why I love you.” He kissed her nose. “Be right back. I have to go
make an announcement.” He went up to the stage, picked up the mic Tony’d abandoned, and turned it back on.

  “Hey, McSwiggers! You having fun?” he asked, his voice booming off the walls.

  The crowd cheered.

  “Cool. So congrats to Amara and Vincent, and the Frog Ledge Library,” he said, leading another round of applause. “In keeping with the spirit of fundraising, McSwigg’s will donate five dollars for every Guinness purchased tonight to one of the three charities we heard about today: the library, the animal shelter, or the Chang Fund. So drink up.”

  He left the stage to more applause. It didn’t take much for people to descend on the bar. They were even more inclined if they could say it helped a good cause. Justifiable drunkenness.

  Chapter 25

  Drinks in hands and good deeds done, the crowd lined up once again to polish off the stews. People still streamed in the doors, a testament to the community of McSwigg’s. As the only bar in town it got a lot of traffic anyway, but Jake’s place was welcoming and safe. A lot of people thought of it as their home away from home. Kind of like Cheers, but with even quirkier characters. And after what happened last night, it made even more sense people would seek out companionship.

  She made her way to the stew station where Garrett Colby frantically spooned stew into cups to keep his line moving. “I’m sorry you didn’t win,” she said when she reached the front.

  Garrett shrugged. “Hey, it happens. We’ll get the money, I’m sure of it. Rosie’s worth it.”

  “Of course.” Stan reached into her bag and pulled out a business card. “Why don’t you call me this week. I want to help you raise the money.”

  His eyes widened. “You do?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wow. How come? I mean, that would be amazing, but you don’t even know me.”

  “My work is all about taking care of animals,” she said with a smile. “This is a different opportunity to help.”

  Garrett slipped her card into his pocket. “I like this town already,” he said with a grin. “Now I just need to get my new colleague to like me.”

  “Jessie? I mean, Trooper Pasquale?”

  “You got it.”

  “It takes her a while to open up, but when she does you’ll have a friend for life. And last night was pretty stressful,” Stan said.

  Garrett suddenly became intent on stirring his stew. “Yeah,” he said. “But the case went to another division. Not our problem anymore.” He feigned indifference, but she saw the same look on his face she’d seen on Jessie’s. A cool outrage. “Hey, at least I didn’t have to work today. Otherwise I would’ve had no money raised. At least I got a little for being here.”

  “What do you mean?” Stan asked, playing dumb. “What other division?”

  “It’s a Major Crimes case,” Garrett said. “Apparently, they’re a lot smarter than us. Stew, sir?” He held out a cup to the man behind her, clearly not wanting to discuss it anymore.

  “I’ll let you get back to your customers,” she said. “But let’s plan on something at the end of the week. Would that work for you?”

  He nodded, his face brightening. “I’ll call you.”

  As she walked away, she felt a hand on her arm. “You look exhausted,” a voice said next to her ear.

  Stan whirled around and found Francie Tucker, smiling sympathetically at her. “Hey, Francie. Yeah, it’s been a long weekend,” she said wryly. “What time did you end up getting home this morning?”

  “Not until nearly three. Too much for me. I can’t handle late nights anymore at my age. But I couldn’t sit alone in my house all day.” She glanced around at the crowd. “I needed to be near people.”

  “I hear you,” Stan said.

  “I must admit, I’m breathing a bit easier to hear they’ve arrested someone,” Francie said. “How is your mother doing? The poor dear was so distraught yesterday.”

  “I haven’t spoken to her,” Stan said. “But I’m sure she’s hoping to get back to normal.”

  “I can’t imagine how they could ever get back to normal after a murder in their house.” Francie shuddered. “I hope the stress doesn’t affect their upcoming wedding. They’re such a dear couple.”

  “Mmmm,” Stan said noncommittally.

  “Hello, ladies.” Mona Galveston, former Frog Ledge mayor, paused on her way by and gave Stan’s arm a squeeze. “How are you both doing?”

  Stan didn’t know Mona well, but she’d always liked her. When Stan first moved to town and was under suspicion for a murder, Mona hadn’t passed judgment like some. Instead, she welcomed her as a new resident. Stan never forgot it. Tony’d interrupted Mona’s eight-year stint as mayor, which was a shame. She’d worked hard to make positive changes in town.

  “So nice to see you, Mona,” Francie said, giving the other woman a hug.

  “You too, darling.” Mona air-kissed her and turned to Stan. “How are you holding up? And your poor mother? What a crazy night. Although I’m sure you’re tired of people coming up to talk to you about it.”

  Stan smiled. “It hasn’t been too bad.”

  “Sounds like they’ve found the culprit, though,” Mona said. “That was fast work.”

  Stan worked to keep her face neutral. “Sure was.”

  “Will we hear more about why he did it?” Francie chimed in.

  “I have no idea,” Stan said. “You’d have to ask the police.”

  Mona smiled. “Come now. You have to have some clout.”

  “Mona!”

  They all turned at the loud, belligerent voice barreling toward them. Stan did a double take when she recognized Councilman Curtis Wallace III, of the prim and proper bow ties and condescending demeanor. Just who she’d been hoping to run into. But what would she say, especially with all these people standing around them?

  He worked his way over to their circle, sloshing beer over the side of his mug in an equally astonishing show of sloppiness. He had the trim body of a tennis player or some other country club sport. Stan could never figure out how old he was, although she’d guess early sixties. He obviously took pride in his appearance. Even though it was Sunday, he still wore his bow tie and dress pants, though no jacket. But beer foam glistened in his short brown beard, and his eyes had the glaze of a man who’d been working on his buzz for a while. On second thought, it didn’t look like the best time to talk to him.

  Mona sighed, keeping her smile pasted on. “Hello, Curtis.”

  Wallace leaned in and gave her a loud, wet kiss on the cheek. Stan could almost see Mona fighting the urge to wipe her face with her sleeve. “Your old job might be up for grabs again,” Wallace said. “Have you heard?” His voice sounded odd. Instead of the clipped tone he used at council meetings, today it was deep and full, like he’d finally learned how to use it.

  “What?” Mona asked, looking confused.

  Wallace snorted. “The mayor job! What else? I’m sure we can get that travesty of a mayor impeached now.” He took a swig of his beer. Half of it missed his mouth and dripped down his shirt. “Although you’ve had your run. May be time for someone else to take the gavel.”

  “Impeached?” Mona repeated, glancing around to see if anyone listened. “I’m not sure that’s possible. There are a limited number of towns in our state that ever successfully recalled a mayor. And for what reason would we attempt that?”

  Another snort. “Come on. That woman died in his bathroom while he was conveniently otherwise occupied. That man they’ve locked up is just a scapegoat. There’s something wrong with all of us if we don’t get him out of office this minute.” He gestured with his mug to accentuate his point. More beer sloshed over the side and dripped onto his sleeve. He muttered something that sounded like, “Drat.”

  People around them started to stare. Stan glanced around, hoping Jessie was nearby. She had no idea what Wallace was up to, but his words rang in her ears: That poor jerk is just a scapegoat. Basically echoing her and Jessie’s thoughts from a few moments ago. Did
he know something about Tony? Or was he trying to divert the blame from himself?

  “Curtis, I think we’d better talk about this somewhere else,” Mona said tightly, taking his arm.

  “Why?” Curtis protested, yanking free. “These ladies should hear what I have to say, too. In case they voted for Mayor Falco last time around.” He sneered the words. “Ladies, please. Who did you vote for?”

  Jessie popped up over Stan’s shoulder. Her sixth sense must have been hard at work. “Problems?” she asked.

  “No, Trooper. No problems here,” Wallace said. “I’m simply telling some of our constituents that this murder case smells funny.”

  Jessie’s face paled, but she kept her voice stern. “This isn’t the place to discuss it. It’s technically closed, Councilman.”

  He opened his mouth to respond, but Mona grabbed his arm again. “Curtis. Your wife’s looking for you.” She pointed to a slight, silver-haired woman moving toward them looking like she was on the warpath.

  Wallace glanced at his wife and his bravado drained away. “Fine,” he muttered, then let Mona lead him away.

  Mona glanced at them and shook her head. “Lovely to see you ladies,” she said, and melted into the crowd.

  Francie watched them go, wide-eyed. “Goodness. Curtis doesn’t typically drink, so I guess this is a good example of what happens when people act out. He should be careful what he says, though. I certainly don’t think what happened to that poor woman is Tony’s fault.” She turned to Jessie. “Especially since your colleagues found the perpetrator.”

  Stan and Jessie looked at each other. Jessie broke eye contact first. “I’ll go talk to Curtis.” She walked away.

  “Anyway,” Francie said brightly, turning to Stan. “I know you said to call on Monday. About the job. I hope you don’t mind, but I’m so excited I thought I’d ask you now. When can I start?”

  Stan forced her brain to shift gears from murder to hiring employees. “Right. No problem. How about tomorrow? Brenna and I have a to-do list that could wrap around town twice, and it keeps growing. We would love the help.” That way she could skip the baking and work on the website, the pastry cases, and proving Richard’s innocence. Having staff could be a great thing.

 

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