by Liz Mugavero
She was on her way down the stairs to make coffee when the front door burst open and Liam raced in.
“Oh. Sorry,” he said, halting abruptly when he saw her.
“Hi,” Stan said. “You’re up early. Everything okay?”
“Fine. Great,” he said. “I, uh, needed a paper.”
Stan noticed his hands were empty. “I get the Sunday Times delivered,” she said. “Plus the Frog Ledge Holler. Well, everyone gets that, whether they like it or not. Did they not come?”
“Oh. I didn’t know.” He raked his hand through his already messy hair with a sheepish smile.
“So which one did you get?”
“Which what?”
Stan cocked her head at him. “Which paper?” She took a closer look. Liam didn’t look great. He had on the same clothes he’d worn last night. His eyes were bloodshot, and he hadn’t shaved.
“Ah, none. The general store was closed.”
He was right. Abby didn’t open until eight on Sundays. But didn’t he know that? He came to Frog Ledge every year. “Liam. What’s going on? Is everything okay?”
“Fine. Everything’s fine, not to worry. Are you heading to the café? Need help with anything?” He fidgeted, shuffling from one foot to the other. His olive-green canvas sneakers were not the best choice for the weather.
“I am going over to the café. I sold most of my treats yesterday, which is awesome. But I need to bake a bunch more to replace them.”
“Well,” Liam said, “good for you. I’ll see you later.” He offered a distracted smile, then headed past her up the stairs.
“Hey,” Stan said before he could vanish. “Can I ask you something?”
He looked at her warily. “Sure.”
“The other night. Of the Christmas celebration. Did you go over to the museum late that afternoon for something? To the headquarters?”
A range of looks flitted across his face before he settled on puzzled. “Me? I don’t believe so. Not on purpose, anyway. I did walk up that way from the house, but that’s it.” He flashed her that killer smile. “Why d’ya ask?”
Stan couldn’t tell if he was lying or not, and it bugged her. “Just wondering,” she said. “Trying to figure out who was around that day.”
“Ah. Well, like I said, if I was, I was passing through.” He turned and hurried the rest of the way up the steps.
Stan watched him go, then detoured from her path to the kitchen and went to the front door instead. She opened it and peered out. Both her papers were sitting on her porch. Liam would’ve had to step right over them to get back into the house.
Why would he lie about getting a newspaper? Maybe he’d found Abby’s closed and came back, too distracted by all the drama to even notice that what he wanted was right in front of him. Or maybe the newspaper was an excuse for going somewhere else.
And worse, was he lying about not being near the museum the other night? Or not being able to recall? His answer had sounded weak. Then again, he could’ve been walking along, distracted by something, and not really noticed that he was in the general area. Lord knew it had happened to her many times when she had something on her mind. Of course, that was before anyone knew Seamus and Ray were missing, and before Harold died. That wasn’t to say he didn’t have other things on his mind, but the big things hadn’t happened yet.
Still puzzling it over, she scooped up the papers and headed into the kitchen, flipping the Holler over first to read the headlines. Of course, Cyril had an update on Harold’s death that didn’t say anything. And true to his word, he’d also printed the first piece of the essay collection his father had written about the famous Book of Kells.
Reading as she walked, she came around the corner into the kitchen. And nearly jumped a foot. She hadn’t expected to see Kevin sitting in her kitchen with coffee brewing. But the smell of a strong, full pot of coffee was heaven.
“Mornin’! Did I startle you? I hope it’s okay I made coffee.” He jumped up and pulled out a chair for her. “Here you go. Let me pour you a cup. How do you take it?”
“Yes, you startled me. I wasn’t expecting you. But the coffee smells so good.” She smiled, disarmed in the face of her favorite weakness. “Black is fine.” She accepted the mug gratefully. “This is wonderful. And saves me time, so thank you.”
“Thank you for letting me stay here,” Kevin said. “The couch was comfy, the blankets were warm, and I am forever in your debt.”
“Are you kidding? Anyone who makes me coffee this good is welcome here anytime.” She sipped and smiled, feeling the caffeine hit her system. “Much better. Where is everyone?”
“I don’t know,” Kevin said. “Haven’t seen anyone but you and the cats.”
Stan looked around. “Where are the cats?”
“They weren’t very interested in me once I told them I didn’t know where their snacks were.”
“Sounds like them. So what are your plans for the day? Are you heading back to Boston?”
Kevin shrugged and stretched. “I’m going to scope out the town. I’d love to meet Seamus’s lady friend. Veronica, is it?”
“Vivian. Miss Viv,” Stan said. She hoped Jake talked about her enough to his friends that they knew her name when they met her.
“Ah yes. My mistake.” He smiled and held up the mug. “Looks like I need a bit more of the elixir.”
Jake poked his head into the room, nodded at Kevin, then looked at Stan. “What are you up to, babe?”
“I’m going to see if Char needs any help before I go over to the bakery,” she said. “She was in bad shape yesterday morning. Want to come?”
“Sure. That’s a good idea. Did they find anyone to take care of the alpacas?” Jake asked.
Stan shook her head. “Not sure.”
“I wonder if we can get someone over to help her? Maybe Ted?”
“That’s a great idea. I can stop by the Hoffmans’ later and ask.” Stan glanced at the clock, then drained her cup. “I’m going to get ready. I have a lot of baking to do today.”
“Bakery, eh?” Kevin had been listening intently to the exchange. “I do love a good bakery.”
“Well, this one is for dogs and cats,” Stan said with a smile.
He gave her a funny look. “Dogs and cats?”
“Yes. That’s my business. I bake for dogs and cats.”
His face remained blank. She sighed. “But there’s a café in town. Izzy Sweet’s Sweets. She has some of the best pastries you’ll ever eat, and she opens early on Sundays.”
“Well now. That sounds like a plan to me.” Kevin stood. “Just down the street?”
Stan gave him directions and offered to drop him off, but he said he’d rather walk. When he left, Jake looked at Stan. “Did he say when he’s heading out of town?”
Stan shook her head. “No. He said he wants to go see Miss Viv. He’ll probably leave tonight, though. Not much for anyone to do down here, right? Especially someone who’s used to the Boston scene.” She smiled. “I’d guess there aren’t very many illegal poker games here in Frog Ledge.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Stan and Jake both skipped showers in case they needed to do alpaca duty. It was barely eight when they pulled into the B and B driveway. Stan gave a quick knock on the front door, then stepped inside. She could feel how somber the mood was before she even got all the way inside.
Char’s kitchen, dining room, and living room were all basically one large room on the first floor. They’d remodeled years ago to get that open floor-plan feel, and it was perfect. That way, she could cook and still be interacting with her guests at all times, and it made the B and B seem much larger.
Jake’s aunt Margaret was at the stove. Char’s stove. Char never let anyone near her stove, yet Patricia had made breakfast yesterday and Margaret appeared to be making breakfast today. Stan wondered if her friend was in bed again.
“Hey, Auntie.” Jake went over and kissed her. “Char around?”
“Hello, my gorge
ous nephew. She’s outside,” Margaret said, hugging Jake and turning to smile at Stan. “Showing my husband how to feed the alpacas.”
Jake laughed. “Uncle Frank is feeding the alpacas?”
Margaret shrugged. “We want to help out. Poor woman seems so sad. And I’m mortified that my brother may have caused this.” She wrinkled her nose. “Some days I want to shake that man so hard his brain resettles in a better position.” She nodded to the dining room table full of other guests, a mix of Jake’s family and some other visitors to town. “Anyway, we wanted to help out any way we could. So we’re cooking our own meals today.”
“You guys are the best. We’re going to try to find someone to help her out, but in the meantime, thank you,” Jake said. “We’ll go talk to her.”
Stan and Jake headed to the back door and out onto the patio, scanning the grounds for Char. Stan spotted her friend shepherding Jake’s uncle Frank, who hauled a bucket of something through the snow. She wore a shiny purple parka. Her orangey-red hair was held back by a headband that made it stand almost straight out from her head.
“Oh boy.” She sighed. “This can’t be good. Char is not the best at these outdoor chores.”
“We need to get Ted. I’ll pay him if I have to,” Jake said grimly. “What in God’s name is she wearing for shoes?”
Stan squinted. She could just barely make out Char’s boots in the distance, but they looked to be some kind of platform heel. “She’s going to kill herself. Hey, Char!” She waved, picking her way over the mounds of snow to the fence.
Char turned, wiping her eyes, and waved unenthusiastically. “Hi, honey. And Jake. You’re both such darlings to come. Jake, your lovely uncle is such a godsend.”
Frank waved at them. “Morning!”
“Oh, Char.” Stan rushed over. “Are you crying?”
Char snorted. “Of course I’m crying. Wouldn’t you?”
If Jake vanished, she’d be devastated. “God. Of course I would cry. What a silly question. Look, don’t you have anyone else who does this? I thought you guys had hired some people.”
Char looked at the alpacas strolling around their fenced-in area. “We did, but they’re college kids and they’re home on break. I don’t even know what I’m doing. I just want to make sure my babies don’t s-starve.” She sniffled, wiping her face with her fuzzy mitten. “I’m showing Frank how to put out food and water.”
“I’ll help him,” Jake said. “Why don’t you two go inside.”
Stan put her arm around Char and led her away. “I’m going to talk to Emmalee and Ted to see if they can help out with the farm for now. While we figure this out,” she added as Char began to protest. “You can’t handle the B and B and the animals.”
The situation was pretty dire, because Char gave in immediately. “I guess that’s probably the smartest thing. You and Jake are such darlings. And his family too. Oh, Stan, I just don’t know what to do,” she said, letting her face drop into her hands and beginning to cry again.
Stan clasped her friend’s hand. “I know,” she said. “But you have to hang in there, Char. Trust me.”
“But, Stan? I don’t know if I can forgive myself. I feel like this is all my fault.”
“What on earth do you mean?” Stan asked.
Char opened her mouth, but she was interrupted by a shout, followed by barking. Savannah, their farm dog, announcing the arrival of more guests. Stan turned and her jaw dropped, forgetting all about what Char was going to say.
Her mother and Tony Falco were walking down to the farm. Which in and of itself was a bit shocking, since the most contact her mother had ever had with a farm was driving past the ones in Frog Ledge. The farthest outside she’d ever gone when visiting Char’s had been the patio. So to see her making her way down through the muck and snow was … interesting.
But even more shocking? Her mother wore jeans. And some kind of outdoorsy boot. Which brand Stan couldn’t identify at the moment, but she’d wager the profits from her new business they were some kind of designer brand she’d bought specifically for this moment. Whatever this moment was.
Stan and Char looked at each other, speechless.
“Um,” Stan said, “what are they doing here?”
“Well, I have no idea,” Char said. A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “But do you think they took a wrong turn?”
Tony waved when he noticed they were watching. His other hand held on to Patricia as she stepped gingerly through the field, a grimace she no doubt imagined appeared as a smile on her face.
“Good morning,” Tony called. “Char, sweetie, your guests need you inside. Patricia and I are going to take care of the alpacas.”
Stan barely covered her giggle with a cough. Helping with breakfast was one thing, but helping on the farm? She slapped her mittened hand to her mouth and forced out a few violent coughs for effect.
“Kristan, you’re not feeling well?” Tony asked, concerned. “You’ve been out in the cold too much. Come on, you both should go inside. We’ve got this covered.” He beamed, looking quite proud of himself. He looked a bit more dressed for the part than her mother, with boots that actually appeared to have been worn outside before. And Stan knew that despite his many years in politics and suits, he’d worked on farms here in Connecticut as a kid. So he likely did know what he was doing.
“Oh no,” Char protested. “I can’t let y’all do this. Especially not Patricia,” she said, looking at Stan’s mother warily.
A glimmer of relief crossed Patricia’s face, but Tony waved Char’s comment off. “Nonsense, Char. That’s what friends and neighbors do. Patricia has been waiting all morning to help out, haven’t you, darling?”
“Well, y’all are loves,” Char declared, sparing Patricia the pain of answering through gritted teeth. “But Jake and his uncle are already taking care of it. Tony, why don’t you go help him and we ladies will go inside and get some grub ready. What do you say?”
“I think that’s a grand idea,” Patricia said, linking her arm through Char’s. “And you need moral support anyway, don’t you, Char?”
“Sure do. Come on in for breakfast soon, okay?” Char asked Tony, then fell into step with Patricia back to the house. Stan followed, wishing she could get Char alone again for a few minutes so she could hear whatever she’d been about to tell her when her mother showed up. She had to assume she’d been talking about Ray’s disappearance. Why would she think this was her fault?
They stepped inside through the patio door, Savannah circling around Stan, always looking for a snack. The chatter from the kitchen area had elevated a notch or two, and they made their way into the fray, curious.
Margaret and the rest of the guests huddled around the food—which didn’t smell nearly as good as Char’s, in Stan’s opinion—but no one ate. Instead, they all talked over each other, voices rising higher in competition.
Char frowned. “Well, it’s lively in here,” she said, her booming voice halting the conversation. “What on earth has everyone all in a tizzy?”
A short, plump woman—not a McGee—wearing a velour running suit turned around, eyes glinting with the promise of gossip. “My word, if I’d known this little town was so action packed I would’ve visited years ago! We just had the most exciting visit from the lady who runs that lovely little general store down the street.”
Abby. Stan grimaced, already dreading what news she’d brought along.
“She was looking for you,” Velour Suit’s friend said, pointing at Char. “But she told us anyway, because she knew we were all at the tree lighting. She said that makes us practically part of the town!”
“Get to the point,” Stan muttered.
Char elbowed her. “What is it, honey? Spill it,” she said. “We’re all dying here.”
“Well.” The two women exchanged a look that Stan figured was supposed to be somber but held an inkling of excitement. “Funny you should mention dying. Well, not funny of course. Oh heck. She told us that she heard—offi
cially, mind you—that poor man was murdered!”
Patricia gasped. Stan’s heart sank. Had Jessie put out official word? Or was this just another cog in the rumor wheel at work?
Char wasn’t taking the news well. Her face had gone white, and she fanned herself with her mitten. “Come again?” she asked, her voice doing a strange wobbly thing.
“Someone killed him,” Velour Suit offered helpfully. “Poison. And she said the culprit probably thought he was the other man—the one who was supposed to be Santa—and that’s why they did it!” The little crowd tittered. “Who was the other man? Why would someone want to kill him?” she asked eagerly.
Char looked at Stan. “I feel faint,” she whispered.
Stan and Patricia each grabbed an arm and helped her to the couch in the adjacent living room. Char sank down, still fanning herself. The little crowd of guests watched with concern.
“Is she okay?” Velour Suit asked no one in particular.
“Of course she’s not okay! Lord’s sake.” Patricia turned to Stan. “Can we kick these nattering women out?”
“Would you all mind giving us a few minutes?” Stan asked. “That’d be great.” She waited until the guests reluctantly filed out of the room and headed upstairs. She figured at least one of them would find a way to linger in the hallway and listen in.
Margaret helped usher everyone out. Once everyone else was relatively out of earshot, Stan leaned over Char. “Water?”
Char nodded. Stan grabbed a bottle out of the fridge. “Listen. You know Abby. She’ll say anything to get attention.”
“But what if it’s true?” Char whispered. “What if someone thought it was Seamus? What if they realized their mistake and then …” She trailed off, choking back a sob. “What does that mean for my Raymond?”
Chapter Twenty-five
