by Liz Mugavero
“Great, there are rumors? And how have you heard?”
“Hey, I have friends here,” Caitlyn said indignantly. “And people saw the cops over at the museum last night. At Santa’s headquarters. But you’re right. We can’t speculate until they say more.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “You have an in. What’s she saying?”
Stan narrowed her eyes and folded her arms across her chest.
Caitlyn sighed. “Fine.”
“Fine,” Stan agreed. She looked around. “So what do I need to do?”
“You should go check out the case. Make sure it’s got enough stuff in it and that Kyle’s setting it up the way you want.”
“Good idea.” Stan went out into the main room. Kyle had done a remarkable job with the case, masterfully balancing colors and sizes of treats to create an enticing, but not overwhelming, selection.
“You’ve got a good eye,” Stan said, admiring his work. The pastry cases themselves were stunning. One was shaped like a dog, the other like a cat, and their tails entwined in the middle, connecting them. Her mother had been right, pushing her to have a professional do these. They were way too important to leave to chance.
“Thanks.” Kyle beamed. “This is fun. I can’t wait to have my own place.”
His own place. She’d nearly forgotten the conversation with Cyril. “That’s right! I heard you have a prospect. Tell me about it. And I’m sorry I haven’t asked. I’ve been so wrapped up in trying to get this place ready.” Stan took out her phone and jotted down a few notes for things to add to the bakery selection while she waited for him to talk.
“No worries. I get it, believe me. I found a storefront down by the town line heading that way,” he said, pointing east. “There’s an empty spot that I think will be perfect.”
“That’s wonderful!” She gave him a hug.
“Don’t get too excited.” Kyle laughed. “I have to jump through all the town hoops. Some people don’t like the idea. And the zoning people are, well, you know. Then if it goes through I have to create my experience, hire staff, decide on a menu …”
“Tell me about it,” Stan said. “I agonized over the way I wanted to set this place up, how I wanted to work the menu, what I wanted to offer. But you’re a pro, Kyle. It will be great.” She hesitated. “Just don’t let Sheldon catch wind of it.”
Sheldon Allyn, the formerly much-revered pastry chef of the New England area, had introduced Stan and Kyle during an ill-fated chef’s weekend. Allyn had been intent on getting the best and brightest chefs on board for a new project he was working on. Unfortunately, the whole thing backfired when one of his prized chefs was murdered. Allyn had since lost some of his stature in the community and was making grabs for anything that might propel him back to the top. Stan had washed her hands of him once and for all when Jake and her mother stepped in as investors in her pet patisserie, but Kyle had held on for a lot longer due to his own financial circumstances.
Now he grimaced. “Yeah. That parting didn’t go so well. But it’s fine. We’re all adults here. Sheldon will find some newbie to latch onto. Someone he can mold into thinking just like him. Now,” he said, glancing at his watch, “we better get the rest of the goodies in the oven before it’s time to open.”
Stan followed him into the kitchen, thinking again about how lucky she was to have her family here—a thought that, one year ago, would never have crossed her mind. Which made her think of Char, and how sad her friend likely was today. She watched the dogs get settled on the beds she’d set up for them. They knew if they waited patiently and stayed out of the way, they’d get some treats as soon as the goodies came out of the ovens and cooled. “Can you give me a couple minutes before I jump in?” she asked. “I have to make a quick call.”
“Of course. Take your time.” Kyle waved her off.
Stan pulled out her cell and dialed Char’s number. She was caught off guard when her mother answered the phone. “Mom?”
“Kristan? Hello. Are you looking for Char?”
“Yeah. How is she?”
Patricia blew out a breath and lowered her voice. “Not good. She’s still in bed.”
“In bed?” Char was never in bed past six a.m. Especially when she had an inn full of guests.
“Yes. I’m afraid so. I came over to help with breakfast.”
“Wait.” Stan shook her head, trying to process both these facts. Char still in bed, and her mother helping with breakfast. Add in Caitlyn’s newfound baking prowess and she may as well have entered the twilight zone. “You’re helping with breakfast?”
“Well, yes. I called and one of the guests—Jake’s aunt, I think—said Char was still in bed. So I brought my cook over.”
That was more like her mother. The fact that she had a cook was both disturbing and familiar to Stan.
“I’m not sure what to do about the farm,” Patricia went on. “Doesn’t Ray have any helpers?”
“I know he hired someone for the morning he was supposed to be gone, but I’m not sure who it was. I thought he had a couple of regular people, at least part-time. Can you ask Char?”
“I’ll try. Did you need her for something?”
“No. Just checking in. I wish there was something I could do for her.”
“I wish there was too.” Patricia sounded troubled. “At the very least, I wish someone could just tell her that Ray’s okay.”
Chapter Fifteen
After Stan hung up with her mother, she worked mostly in silence with Caitlyn and Kyle for the next hour until they had enough treats to fill the pastry cases. Once they were done with that, Stan set to work heating up the rest of the hot food they’d ordered for the grand opening, while Caitlyn set up the salads. The new Italian place she’d ordered it from had gotten fabulous reviews. Too bad no one had gotten to eat any of it properly yet.
“Should I get some coffee from Izzy’s?” she asked her sister.
“Yeah. I can go get it,” Caitlyn said. “I’ll get two to-gos of regular, one decaf, and one hot cider.” She jotted down a note. “Anything else?”
“That sounds perfect. Thanks.”
“I’ll be right back.” She grabbed her coat and slipped out the back door. When Stan went out front, Kyle was still admiring the pastry cases, rearranging trays based on treat color and shape until he had them just right.
“You’re hilarious,” Stan said, watching him.
“No way. The setup is important,” he insisted. “People’s eyes are drawn based on certain things. I’m telling you. This stuff will sell out today.”
“I hope so.” Stan clasped her hands together and looked around. The doggie beds she’d set up strategically around the room were in place. Water bowls were full, and menus were out on each of the café tables, listing all today’s special doggie and kitty treats. She’d had them made specially for the grand opening, and wondered if she’d have to come up with a whole new idea for the “real” grand opening once it was rescheduled.
“Stan. The place looks amazing. Quit worrying.” Kyle squeezed her hand. “You’re going to be an amazing success. Truly.”
“Thanks, Kyle. Really. I don’t know what I’d have done without you and Caitlyn these last few months.”
“That’s what family’s for. Now. Should I flip the sign?” He motioned to her closed sign. Outside the door, she could see a few people and pups gathered on the sidewalk. Betty Meany was one of them. She’d taken up a position right next to the door and kept peering in, cupping her hands around her eyes to see.
“Are they waiting to come in here? God, I’m nervous!” Stan took a couple of deep breaths. “Okay. Go.”
Kyle went to the door and unlocked it, then flipped the sign to open.
“Thank goodness!” Betty swept in, tugging her friend Gail behind her. Gail held tight to her black Labrador retriever, Louie, who strained his leash, nose going a mile a minute. “We’ve been waiting so patiently!”
“Hey, Betty. I hope it’s worth it. Hi, Gail.”
“Hello,” Gail said, looking around with barely concealed glee. “This is so lovely! What a treat for the dogs.”
“Yes! We wanted to be the first ones on the official opening day,” Betty announced, hugging Stan. “I love what you’ve done! It’s gorgeous!”
Stan looked around proudly. It was gorgeous. Her mother, for all her faults, had great decorating taste. She’d gone with a moss green for the walls, and had stenciled paw prints along the tops and bottoms. Jake had made the red, bone-shaped sign she’d designed proclaiming STAN’S, which hung above the counter, a prominent position for everyone to see when they walked in. The mix of doggie and people furniture gave the place a living room feel. And of course, it smelled delightful—like a real bakery.
Caitlyn had actually been here most of last week decorating for Christmas. She’d strung the café area with multicolored lights, a mini (real!) tree from Lester Crookshank’s tree farm that they’d decorated with all cat and dog ornaments, and numerous themed tchotchkes around the café. Amazingly, she’d made it look homey without clutter.
“It does look good, right? Thanks for being here.” Stan motioned them in. “Have a seat. Hi, Louie.” She bent to the dog, who licked her nose. “Fresh treats in the case. Go ahead and pick some out. Hello, come on in, get comfortable,” she said, greeting the other patrons who’d filed in after Betty and Gail. One of them being Victoria O’Sullivan, Miss Viv’s sister, holding a little Pomeranian wearing a jeweled collar and a (hopefully fake) fur coat. Despite the well-dressed dog, Victoria wore a pair of jeans, snow boots, and a parka that had seen better days. She walked in, hesitating when she saw Kyle.
Curious, Stan looked at him. His face hadn’t changed. Instead, he nodded at her. “Ms. O’Sullivan,” he said, but Stan could hear strain in his voice.
Brenna rushed in behind them. “I’m so sorry I’m late,” she exclaimed, breathless. “I totally overslept and I swear I’ll bake fast—oh wow, the cases are full! Hi, Victoria! Hi, Betty! What happened?” she asked Stan, all in one whoosh of air.
Stan laughed. “Caitlyn and Kyle came over early and did a ton of the baking. They figured you and I were both exhausted.”
“That’s so sweet of them, and it looks amazing in here.” Brenna swept her knit cap off her head and went over to admire the treats. “Everything just seems to flow so well! Want me to take the counter? That way you can greet your customers and chat. And play with dogs,” Brenna added. “What do you think?”
“That sounds perfect. Thanks. Caitlyn ran over to Izzy’s to get coffees and cider. I think she and Kyle will head out when she gets back and it’ll just be us. But we shouldn’t need to do any baking for a while.”
“Great. I’m excited, Stan! It’s almost like your grand opening is happening after all, even if we’re not calling it that.” Brenna hurried out back to put her things away as the door banged open again and Caitlyn came in, juggling three boxes of coffee and a carafe of cider.
“Let me help you.” Stan hurried over and took a couple of the beverages. “Let’s set them up here.” She pointed to one of the tables housing the hot food. “Thanks for going to get this. Really.”
“No problem. I’m so glad this day came for you. Even though it isn’t official.” Caitlyn hugged her sister. “Now we have to go and do some things before the zoning board meeting. And plan out our Christmas decorations.” She grinned. “I want to win the contest, so we’re going all out.”
Stan laughed. “Good luck. There’s stiff competition out here.”
“I’m ready for it.” She looked at Kyle, who was making one last adjustment to a tray in the dog pastry case, and sighed. “I really hope Kyle can get his restaurant. He so wants to open something out here. Look at him. He’s dying to have his own place again.” Kyle had sold his restaurant in Florida when he’d moved up here full time.
“I hope so too. Let me know if I can do anything. Like talk to Tony,” Stan said. “I heard the O’Sullivans are giving him some trouble.”
Caitlyn wrinkled her nose. “They’re trying to block him. But they really don’t have a legal right to stop it. They sold the land. They’re just being contrary. So talking to Tony might be just what we need to happen.”
Stan started to ask another question, but turned when Betty called to her. “Stan. Can Gail and I get coffees? And can you come sit with us?”
Caitlyn gave her a little shove. “Go. We’ll talk later.” She winked at her, then went over to Kyle. He slipped an arm around her waist and the two of them went out to the kitchen.
“Sure,” Stan said, forcing a smile. She poured two coffees and carried them over, then returned and poured one for herself. She loaded a plate with a doggie cannoli for Louie, then headed over to humor her friends. On her way, she passed Victoria, who was playing with the dog, pointing things out to her from the menu.
“Hello!” she called. “I’ll be over to see you in a moment.”
Victoria waved. “We’re still deciding on a pastry,” she said.
“So how are you holding up with all the excitement?” Gail asked, breaking off a piece of Louie’s treat and handing it to him. He snarfed it down and waited expectantly for more.
“I’m okay,” Stan said. “I feel terrible about Harold, as I’m sure everyone does.”
“Is it true? What everyone’s saying?” Gail leaned closer. “That he was murdered?”
“I have no idea,” Stan lied. “You’d have to ask Jessie that.”
Betty tsked at her. “Come on, Stan. You’re practically Jessie’s family. I’m sure she’s told you what’s happening, especially given the scare that it was their own uncle who died? By the way, I had to recruit your boyfriend to go do some cleanup from last night. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. And you know Jessie,” Stan said. “She keeps things close to the vest.”
Betty narrowed her eyes. Stan could tell she didn’t believe one word of it. “So has anyone heard anything about Seamus? Or Raymond?”
Stan shook her head slowly. “No. Not that I know of, anyway.”
Gail shook her head sadly. “You know what they say about situations like these.”
“What do they say?”
“That when men of a certain age pull a vanishing act like this, it’s a crisis. I think this would be considered more of a late-life crisis than a midlife crisis, but still.”
“Oh, nonsense,” Betty said, waving aside Gail’s comment. “Ray Mackey is about the last person on earth who would have any kind of crisis, never mind that kind.”
“I don’t know,” Gail said. “It’s awfully strange. Anyway, if Harold was murdered, who do you think did it?” She propped her chin in her hand and looked at Stan, her eyes shining with anticipation. Louie nudged her leg with his chin, eyes still on the remaining cookie. “You know, he was married to my friend Mary many years ago. She went through hell with him. I can’t believe he lived this long, quite frankly. But about seven years ago he really went downhill. Lost his house. Went begging her to help him, can you believe the nerve? They’d been divorced for twenty-five years! She’s a kindhearted person so she did what she could, but he never wanted to help himself.”
Betty nodded. “So many people had problems with him. Starting with Lester.”
“Lester Crookshank?” Stan asked. “But he’s such a sweetheart.”
“Lester’s got a temper. Especially when his livelihood is in jeopardy. And having someone like Harold on the payroll, well, let’s just say he wasn’t the most dependable of workers. I could see him messing something up and invoking Lester’s wrath,” Betty said knowingly, draining her coffee cup. “This is delightful, Stan. Is there more?”
“Yes, I’ll get it,” Stan said, grateful to have a distraction from this conversation.
“I did hear,” Gail said, leaning in again, “that there was a fight out on Lester’s farm the other day. That Harold ended up with a black eye.” She leaned back, clicking her tongue against her teeth. “I wonder if they had ano
ther run-in, and this time Lester finished the job.”
Chapter Sixteen
Stan rose and went to fill up Betty’s coffee. After delivering it back to the table, she excused herself to check on her other customers. Which was true, but really she didn’t want to hear any more speculation from the townsfolk.
She knew from personal experience how easy it was to be blacklisted once rumors like this started flying. She felt sorry for Lester Crookshank, who would now be under scrutiny from not only the police, but the townspeople too. This time of year was critical for Lester’s business, and this kind of thing could have significant negative effects on his livelihood.
She pushed it out of her mind for the moment and focused on her customers, starting with Victoria O’Sullivan. “Who do we have here?” she asked, sliding into the empty chair at their table and holding out her hand so the Pom could sniff her.
“This is Daisy,” Victoria said. “It’s my sister’s dog. She’s supposed to be joining us here any minute.” Her lips tightened as she glanced at her watch. “Well, that was a while ago now, wasn’t it?”
“Oh. Do you think she’s okay?” Stan glanced at the door, as if she could conjure Miss Viv out of thin air.
“I hope so,” Victoria said. “She has been gone quite a while.” She nervously pushed her glasses up.
“Maybe she forgot you were coming here,” Stan suggested. “Should you call her?”
“I’ll give her a bit longer,” Victoria decided. “Sometimes she goes off and loses track of time.”
“Okay. What can we get Daisy in the meantime?” Stan asked.
“How about an apple puff?” Victoria said, carefully reading the menu. “Those are made with gluten-free flour, right?”
Stan nodded. “I try to make just as many gluten-free items as I do regular items,” she said. “I know a lot of animals don’t react well to it. Just like people.”
Victoria nodded. “Daisy has a sensitive tummy. Sometimes Vivian forgets that,” she said. “So I try to make sure the dog has the right types of foods.”
