by Liz Mugavero
“Perfect,” Stan said. “Hopefully this will be the last time we have to plan this grand opening.”
Chapter Thirty-one
After Emmalee and Ted placed their order and left to pick up their new family member, Stan went back to filling her pastry cases. But despite her vows to forget about this whole Seamus/Harold mess, her mind was on the information she’d just learned. Harold and Seamus had a history, sure. She’d already known that. But what she hadn’t realized was they had this other connection point—Miss Viv.
If Miss Viv and her sister had a beef with Harold, and Seamus knew about it, he could’ve done something to retaliate. The McGees were loyal—that much Stan knew. Had Miss Viv put him up to it?
And would that revenge consist of setting Harold up to be killed?
What if she had been wrong about Seamus—what if he hadn’t been the target, but the orchestrator? Could Jake’s favorite uncle really be that cold-blooded? She didn’t want to think so, but who knew. After hearing some of the stories about Seamus, she had to assume he had a whole other life that probably most of his family members knew nothing about. If the whole freight-yard story was true, for one, it certainly seemed like he could run with a rough crowd. And men who ran with rough crowds had to know how to take care of themselves—and their loved ones—to survive. So if Seamus thought Harold had hurt Miss Viv, maybe he’d feel like he had to do something about it in her honor, like he had all those years ago in grade school.
Brenna came out with another tray of cookies. “Here’s the last batch. I think we’ve got enough for today, don’t we?” She surveyed the case, hands on hips. “Looking good.”
“It sure is,” Stan said. “Hey. Were you planning on being here for the day?”
“Of course.” Brenna grinned. “Where else would I be?”
“Great. Can you cover the counter for a bit? I need to run a quick errand.”
“Of course. Take your time.”
Stan headed down the street to the pub, hoping Jake was there already. He was. She caught him on a trash run to the dumpster outside.
“Hey,” he said. “What are you doing here? I thought you were at the store all day.”
“I am. But I need to talk to you.”
He tossed the trash into the dumpster and wiped his hands on his jeans. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“Yeah. No. I don’t know. Can we go sit for a few minutes?”
“Come on.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders and led her inside, calling to Scott that they were going upstairs for a few minutes. Scott waved his agreement.
“Does he think it’s weird that we just use their apartment whenever we feel like it?” Stan asked as they climbed the stairs. “I probably would.”
“Nah. Brenna doesn’t care. I don’t think Scott cares. I think he’s worried I’ll throw him out if he doesn’t agree.” Jake grinned. His overprotection toward his little sister kept Scott on his toes. He unlocked the door and pulled out a chair for Stan at the little kitchen table. “Now what’s going on?”
Stan took a deep breath, saying a silent prayer that she hadn’t made a bad decision to raise this with him. “I just had a conversation with Emmalee Hoffman. Unsolicited. She mentioned it to me, but I feel like it’s another piece of the puzzle. And I know Jessie is mad at me and thinks I’m poking my nose where it doesn’t belong, but I’m not. I just want to make sure everyone’s thinking through this the right way.”
She saw his whole body go still. “Thinking through what? What do you mean? Stan, you’re not still worrying about Harold, are you? You need to leave that to Jessie. You heard her loud and clear last night.”
“Emmalee just told me that Harold and Miss Viv are related.”
“Cousins,” Jake said. “So?”
“You knew that? And never thought to mention it?”
Jake shrugged. “I didn’t know it was a big deal.”
“It sounds like Miss Viv and her sister lost out when some property they felt should’ve been theirs partly went to Harold, and he made them sell it.”
“It was a bunch of farmland,” Jake said. “They actually profited from the sale. Otherwise they were just going to let it sit there. I don’t see the connection, Stan.”
She caught the slightest hint of defensiveness in his tone and tried to figure out how to approach this differently. She didn’t want to upset him, but at the same time, she felt like everyone was sticking their heads in the sand over Seamus for varying reasons.
“Look. I’m just saying. If Harold really was the target, like Jessie insists, was this why? Because, Jake, it’s either that or Seamus was the target here. Izzy didn’t kill anyone. I’d stake my life on it. And Lester Crookshank may have had his problems with Harold, but at the heart of it he’s a good man. I know he is. And those are the two people the investigation is focused on right now. If not them, it begs the question, is everyone looking in the right place? And if Seamus’s girlfriend felt wronged by Harold, would Seamus have come to her defense? And maybe made a bad decision on how to do that?”
She held her breath. Jake didn’t say anything for a long moment. She could see the clock on the microwave behind him flash to 12:01, then 12:02. Finally he spoke.
“I’m not really sure why you think my uncle is such a bad person, Stan, but I assure you he’s not. He certainly didn’t set Harold Dewey up to be killed, not even out of love for his girlfriend. And as for your other theory, that someone was trying to kill him—I won’t even pretend to understand where that came from.”
“Jake,” Stan said, incredulous. “You heard the story with your own ears about the cargo ship. That had to raise a red flag. I’m not saying he’s a bad person. I’m just saying, maybe he made some bad decisions.”
“If you’re saying my uncle set somebody up to be killed, that sounds to me like something a bad person would do. And if you think he did something worthy of being killed for, that’s not much better. So I guess I don’t understand how you can’t think that. Listen, I really have to get back to work.”
“Wait. Please.” She rose, reaching out for his hand, but he stepped away from her touch. Hurt, she yanked her hand back. “I wanted to talk this through with you because I thought we could put our heads together and figure something out,” she said desperately. “I know how much he means to you and I want to help you find him. And I know how much Ray means to Char and I want to help her find him. If we keep ignoring the idea that this has anything to do with Seamus, we’re never going to get there. And two innocent people are getting their names dragged through the mud. The whole thing is a mess.”
“Billing my uncle as a criminal isn’t going to help find them either,” Jake said. “And it’s certainly not going to make him want to come back. You know, Stan, just because your family isn’t super loyal to each other doesn’t mean that’s the right way to be. And it’s definitely not the way everyone’s family is.” He turned and walked out the door, back down the steps into the pub.
Stan watched him go, tears pricking at the backs of her eyelids. He’d never walked away from her like that before. And the family comparison was kind of a low blow. She felt terrible about hurting his feelings enough that he’d felt the need to lash out, but she also felt a twinge of anger that he was so willing to brush off her concerns. Her gut continued the drumbeat that something was off with Uncle Seamus. Her gut was hardly ever wrong. In fact, the times when she’d gotten in the most trouble had been when she’d ignored her gut completely.
Whether Jake or anyone in his family wanted to believe it or not, Uncle Seamus had more to do with this than anyone realized. But no one seemed invested in figuring out how.
Chapter Thirty-two
Stan left the pub through the back door. By the time she’d walked back to the patisserie, she was more angry than upset. It wasn’t like her whole life hadn’t been disrupted here too. From the extra committee time she’d be serving to get the holidays back on track, to having to reschedule her grand opening and
double her expenses by buying everything again, to having not only Jake’s cousins living at her house but now Seamus’s friend Kevin, who’d obviously decided he liked Frog Ledge so much he was never going to leave. She’d heard him snoring on her living room sofa again this morning.
Of course, that was her own fault. She laughed a bit ruefully. It had only been two nights that he’d been there, and she’d done the inviting. She was letting everything get to her.
But add to that a friend under suspicion for murder and another friend paralyzed by the temporary loss of her husband, and the whole holiday season was simply not turning out the way she’d envisioned. And she hadn’t even added poor Harold to that list of bad turns.
She shoved open the front door, certain steam was now coming out of her ears. Brenna noticed right away that something was up.
“Uh-oh,” she said. “What’s happened?”
“Nothing,” Stan said.
Brenna shot her a skeptical look. “Right. Last time you looked like that, your mother was trying to tell you how to design this place and you were ready to gag her and stuff her in a closet.”
Despite herself, Stan had to laugh. This was much more serious, but she remembered that day well. “Yeah, well, my mother and I have had a few of those days. Honest, Bren, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” The last thing she wanted was to alienate another McGee.
Brenna looked around. There were two customers in the patisserie—a young couple with their two dogs. They were snuggling together on a bench in the dog area while the dogs, two Labs, contentedly munched on treats on the floor next to them. “Let’s go out to the kitchen,” she said.
Stan reluctantly followed her. “What if someone comes in?”
“We’ll hear the bell. Now what’s up? Does this have to do with my brother? ’Cause he called here before you got back.”
“He did?”
“Yeah. To see if you’d gotten here yet.”
“Great. How nice of him. I’m not calling him back.” Stan resisted the urge to cross her arms and pout.
Brenna stifled a smile. “Why are you two arguing? You never argue.”
“I can’t tell you. You’ll be mad at me too.” Stan grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge and leaned against the counter. “We need a table back here in case we want to sit,” she grumbled. “Why don’t we have a table?”
“It wasn’t in your mother’s design. Of course you can tell me. I won’t be mad, Stan. I promise.”
“You don’t know that,” Stan pointed out. “You have no idea what I’m going to tell you.”
“Oh, I think I do,” Brenna said.
Stan paused, surprised. “You do?”
Brenna nodded. “It’s about my uncle, right?”
“Yeah, actually.”
“Let me guess—Jake doesn’t want to talk about what’s going on with him.”
“How’d you know that?”
Brenna rolled her eyes. “Really? It’s my family. I know them like the back of my hand. They can all be ridiculous at times. This is one of Jake’s times. He thinks Uncle Seamus is out having fun and forgot to come home.”
Interested now, Stan took a swig of her water and set it down. “So what do you think’s going on?”
“I think my uncle was up to something,” Brenna said. “I have no idea what, but the way he was behaving before he left for Boston was totally sketchy.”
“Really? How so?”
“He was antsy. Disappearing a lot to make phone calls. I spent that night with him and Miss Viv. The night before he left? He was having massive mood swings. Alternated between super happy to crazy nervous. Whispering a lot to Miss Viv and making her giggle. Victoria was getting so annoyed with them. I thought it was kind of funny at the time, but now I’m guessing something serious was going on.”
“Do you have any idea what he was telling Miss Viv?”
Brenna shook her head. “I heard her say she couldn’t wait to pack, but I didn’t know what she meant and I didn’t feel like I should ask. I thought they were just being silly, you know? But then …” She hesitated.
“What?” Stan prompted.
“When I was going to the bathroom, I heard him on the phone in one of the bedrooms. I swear he said something like what do I do if something goes wrong? I tried to listen, but I think he was walking around and he got too far away.”
Stan felt a rush of excitement. Maybe she’d been right after all. “Did you tell anyone?”
Brenna nodded. “My sister.”
“What did she say? Did she believe you?”
“I’m sure she believed me. She just doesn’t care,” Brenna said, her tone more amused than bitter. “She said whatever foolish thing Seamus is involved with is not her problem unless it’s illegal and happens in this town. And since he’s clearly not in town, she’s washed her hands of it. We actually had a fight about it. I was upset at myself for not paying more attention before everything happened.”
“Did he mention Ray at all?” Stan asked.
“Not that I heard. So what was your fight with Jake about?”
“I merely raised the question that this Harold thing was tied to Seamus somehow.”
Brenna’s thought process clearly hadn’t gotten that far. She paled. “What do you mean?”
Stan explained her theory about Lester and Izzy being weak suspects in Harold’s death. “If you think about it, no one really knew Seamus had passed the Santa hat to Harold, right? So what if he was the target?” She left out the part where she’d wondered if Seamus had orchestrated Harold’s death. That might be going too far right now.
“Jeez.” Brenna paced the kitchen. “I didn’t even think of that. You think whatever he was into was that serious?”
“I have no idea what he was into,” Stan said. “But I don’t believe they’re just up there having fun and avoiding coming home. Ray wouldn’t do that to Char, no matter what Seamus wanted.”
The bell on the door tinkled. Brenna jumped up. “I’ll take care of it. Just breathe.” She hurried out front, but was back in less than a minute. “You’re going to want to come out here,” she said.
Chapter Thirty-three
“Oh God. What now?” Stan groaned.
“No, this is good. Trust me,” Brenna said. “Bad timing, but this is really good.”
Curious now, Stan followed her out to the store. A woman stood at the pastry cases, admiring them and their contents. She had short, curly blond hair. Her black wool coat and high-heeled boots looked expensive. When she turned to smile at Stan and offer her hand, her grip was firm.
“Stan Connor. It’s so great to meet you in person. I’m Megan Flynn from Foodie magazine. We spoke over the phone about the feature we ran on you a few months back?”
“Ms. Flynn! Yes, of course,” Stan said, wishing she’d dressed a little better this morning. “What brings you here?”
“Please, call me Megan. I’ve been dying to come and see this place. I heard your grand opening was this weekend and I really wanted to get here then, but I was called away on something else.”
That was a blessing in disguise. “Actually, it’s been postponed. I did more of a … soft opening this weekend, since I still wanted to stay on track. But my official grand opening will be next Saturday.”
“So I didn’t miss it! That’s wonderful. I’ll see if I can make it. Listen, I came down on behalf of our editor. He wanted me to scope out the place for a follow-up, but he also wanted me to gauge your interest in something else. An ongoing feature we’re thinking of piloting.” She looked around. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”
“Of course.” Stan led her to a table on the people side of the shop, her mind racing. An ongoing feature? For Foodie magazine? What on earth could they want from her?
Brenna raised her eyebrows from behind the counter. Stan grinned, knowing her assistant would be eavesdropping hard on this conversation.
She sat down across from Megan Flynn. The other woman didn’t waste any
time jumping in.
“Pet food is serious business these days, as you know,” she said. “People are way more interested in it than they’ve ever been. The article we did on you and Nutty got a ton of attention. Where is that little darling, anyway?” She craned her neck, looking around the store.
“He’s at home,” Stan said. “With all the dogs that come in, I’m still trying to decide if it’s a good idea to have him here.”
“Understandable.” Megan nodded. “Anyway, we’re thinking of running a monthly column on pet food and nutrition. Each column would include a recipe for some yummy treat or meal. And we’d like you to be our contributing editor for that column. What do you think? Of course, it’s a paid position.”
“Contributing editor?” Stan repeated. “Paid position? Me?”
Megan Flynn laughed. “Yes, you. Why not? Look at what you’ve done here!” She waved a hand at the shop. “And we interviewed some of your customers when we did that story. They say you’re the real deal. Plus, we don’t know of any other people who’ve taken pet food to this level and been successful. And I should also mention—if this is successful, we’re considering a Foodie spinoff focused entirely on pets. Very much down the road, of course, but wanted to make sure you knew that as well. So what do you think?”
“Um,” Stan said. Megan cocked her head, clearly impressed with Stan’s articulate nature. “I mean, I think it sounds really great. What would you want the focus of each column to be?”
Megan beamed. “Our editor, Carol, will discuss all of that with you. She’s great. She’ll be calling you. I think they’re really looking for a variety of insights into why people should put more into feeding their animals than buying some canned food online and tossing it in a bowl. Make sense?”
