by Liz Mugavero
Jake shot her a look. “Hal didn’t spend a lot of time at home,” he said to Stan.
“He didn’t spend any time at home. He let Em deal with everything—the farm, the kids, the bills—and all he did was go out and play. We all know what he was like. Why are you defending him?” Brenna shoved her plate away, rose, and stomped off. Stan watched her disappear through the entrance to the apartment she shared with Jake. She hoped Brenna came back, because they were supposed to have a planning session on upcoming batches of treats that needed baking.
Stan looked back at Jake. He met her gaze steadily, still slicing the lemons.
“So Hal Hoffman was . . . not a family man,” she said.
“None of my business. Or Brenna’s.”
“She seems to think otherwise,” Stan said.
“Well, she’s wrong.”
“She’s close to the family.”
“We’re all close to the family. I told you, our mother is one of Em’s closest friends. She was there at the crack of dawn this morning, before everyone else showed up with their casseroles. Probably beating pillows with her in Hal’s name or something.”
Stan had seen Jake’s mother around town but never officially met her. Jessie looked a lot like her, so Stan had shied away, wondering if the personalities were the same, too. But she thought she might like a woman who beat pillows in her friend’s dead husband’s name. “So why shouldn’t Brenna have an opinion? If someone was hurting my friend I’d be angry at them, too. What was he doing, anyway?”
Jake used the edge of his knife to push the lemon slices into his tray. His exquisite green-brown eyes were troubled. “Nobody should be judging anyone else’s life, even if they think they know what it’s like. Brenna cares about them, of course. But she doesn’t know the whole story. Neither do I, before you ask,” he said as Stan opened her mouth.
Reluctantly, she closed it again. “But he used to hang out here a lot.”
“Course he did. It’s the coolest place in town.” He winked. “Part of being cool means not asking a lot of questions.”
Stan didn’t agree. In fact, she wanted to ask more questions, but the front door opened. Jake glanced up to see who it was, and his whole face changed—eyebrows drawing together in a slight frown, lips narrowed. She turned to look, too. His sister, Trooper Jessie Pasquale, stood in the doorway, in full uniform. Her eyes roamed the room, assessing her surroundings, before stopping on Jake and Stan. The other patrons watched her entrance with interest.
Great. Just what she needed. Stan sighed inwardly, watched as Pasquale moved to the bar, no nonsense as usual. “I should probably go,” she said, but Jake shook his head.
“No need. Jess,” he said with a nod as his sister reached them. “I can’t say I remember the last time you set foot in McSwigg’s. Welcome.”
Pasquale’s face remained impassive. She didn’t acknowledge her brother’s comment, probably recognizing it as sarcasm. She nodded at Stan, then turned back to her brother. “Got a minute?”
He shrugged. “Sure. I’m setting up for tonight, but we can talk.”
She hesitated. “I meant in private. It’s about Hal Hoffman.”
Stan saw the annoyance flicker across his face. “I’m busy, but I’m happy to talk here while I’m working.”
Stan started to rise, hoping to fade away without them noticing, but Jake turned to her. “No need to leave. We were in the middle of a conversation.”
Her face heated. She perched back on the edge of the stool. “I don’t want to interrupt.”
“You were already here,” Jake pointed out.
Pasquale sighed. “Don’t worry about leaving, Ms. Connor. I won’t be long. It’s nothing you won’t hear about anyway.”
“Okay, but can you please call me Stan? I mean, now that you don’t think I killed anyone anymore. I hope. Oh, God, you don’t think I killed Hoffman, do you?” A vicious wave of déjà vu washed over her. It hadn’t been that long ago that Pasquale had considered her at the top of the suspect pool for the unfortunate murder of the local veterinarian.
Now Pasquale looked annoyed. She gave Stan the stink-eye for a minute as if to say, Are you done? Then turned back to her brother. “I need to know if Hoffman was here yesterday.”
“Not sure. I wasn’t working. I was bringing Duncan to the birthday party.”
“The dog party? At the Hoffmans’?”
Jake nodded.
“You didn’t come down at all?”
“For a few minutes, but I was mostly in the kitchen making sure everything was good with the menu. We’ve got a new dish. Bangers and mash. You should try it.”
Stan wrinkled her nose. Her dad’s family had been a fan of the traditional Irish sausage dish, loaded with mashed potatoes, Irish beans, and thick gravy. Her mother had never touched it with a ten-foot pole. It was one of those rare instances where she and her mother were completely on the same page.
“Who was on? Was Brenna here?” Pasquale didn’t care about the new dish either.
“No. She was helping Stan with the party.”
Pasquale shot another sidelong glance at Stan. She seemed to want to ask a question, then changed her mind. “Can you ask your staff if they saw him? I really need to know.”
“You can ask them. The waitresses are here already. Travis and Desiree were on the bar. Des is in tonight. Travis is here tomorrow. Do you need an official statement?”
“Don’t be a jerk.”
“I’m not. I’m just going by what you’ve told me a hundred times about your work.”
“Jake, seriously. I’m not in the mood.” Pasquale sounded tired all of a sudden.
“Me either, Jess,” he said. “Me either.”
Pasquale looked at Stan again, then back at her brother. Stan couldn’t help but feel she was intruding.
“I can go,” she offered again.
“No. Maybe you can help, too.” Pasquale took a deep breath and dropped her voice. “This stays between us. I need to place Hal Hoffman with someone yesterday. It shouldn’t be that hard, considering the man’s habits. But Emmalee Hoffman wasn’t where she was supposed to be yesterday afternoon—her kid’s parent-teacher conference—and I have no sightings of her husband after noon. He didn’t seem to see anyone, which isn’t like him.”
“What are you getting at, Jess?” Jake asked.
Jessie leveled him with her most piercing stare. “If Hoffman can’t be accounted for, his wife could be in big trouble. Since she can’t be accounted for either.”
Chapter 9
Jake was used to his sister, and Stan could tell even he was caught off guard. “Wait—what? Em? Jess, stop it. That’s going too far.”
Jessie shook her head slowly. “It’s not me, Jake. My boss is very interested in this case. Probably because he knows my history with the family. He immediately pounced on Em. I’ve been tracking her day, and . . .” She trailed off. “There are some missing pieces.”
“Did you ask her?”
“Of course I asked her. She swears she was at the farm. Forgot about the conference and was running late when she remembered it, so she drove over there but allegedly couldn’t locate the teacher. Said after that she returned to the farm, but none of the workers remember seeing her. The ones we’ve been able to talk to, that is. But the teacher says she was there until at least three-thirty, waiting for the Hoffmans.”
“Did you talk to the worker who was at the farm last night?” Stan asked.
Pasquale grimaced. “Sort of. He spoke enough English that we didn’t get the translator out of bed, but I think we’re going to need a longer conversation with him. Basically he didn’t see Hal at all yesterday, because his shift starts in the afternoon. But he didn’t see Em either. So you see what I mean. It’s not going well.” She sat on the stool, a movement that, to Stan, signified defeat.
Jake sensed it, too. He paused from arranging his garnish trays and grabbed a beer mug, filled it with ice and water, and placed it in front of his sister.
“Did you eat?”
She shook her head.
“Veggie wrap?”
A nod.
“Chips?”
She hesitated. Jake took that for a yes. “Be right back.” He left the bar and disappeared around the same corner Brenna had a few minutes earlier.
Stan was left with Pasquale. Well, this is awesome. She picked up her water glass and swirled the remaining ice around for something to do. Pasquale hadn’t touched her water. Instead, she observed her surroundings as one would a sleazy alley they’d been forced to walk down in the dark. Either she wasn’t a drinker and thought bars were a waste of time, or she had a particular aversion to her brother’s place. Stan wanted to ask.
“Do you have any thoughts on who killed him? Aside from Emmalee?” she asked instead.
Pasquale frowned. “I can’t discuss the case.”
“You were just discussing it,” Stan pointed out.
Before Pasquale could respond, Jake came out of the kitchen. “Order’s in. You really should eat more than once a week, you know,” he told his sister.
She ignored him. “I’m going to talk to the waitresses now.”
“Fine. Let me go tell them first.” He waited until the two girls had left their customers’ tables, then beckoned them over. “Caroline, Maddy. Can I borrow you two for a minute?”
The girls approached, curiosity apparent on each face. They were both twentysomethings, but on the young end of twenty. “What’s up, boss?” the blonde one with the long ponytail asked.
“This is my sister—Trooper Pasquale. She’s a state police officer. She needs to ask you two a question about a customer. That okay?”
“Sure,” the blonde said. “I’m Caroline.” She turned to look at her coworker, a curvy brunette with a tattoo covering her entire forearm.
The girl hung back, apparently wary of this whole exercise. “I’m Maddy.”
“What’s going on? Is someone in trouble?” Caroline asked.
“Thanks for taking the time, ladies. I just need you to look at a photo.” All business again, Pasquale pulled a photo out of her pocket and showed them. “Was this man in here yesterday at all?”
Caroline and Maddy bent their heads together over the photo. Neither of the girls looked disturbed. They must not read the Frog Ledge Holler, Stan figured.
Maddy looked up first, shook her head. “I didn’t see him.”
Caroline lingered over the photo a bit longer. “That’s Hal, right? Hoffman?” At Pasquale’s nod, she continued. “Sure, he’s a regular. Decent tipper, too. He doesn’t always sit at the tables. Mostly the bar. But he wasn’t in here yesterday. At least not while I was here, and I came in at two. I worked an extra shift yesterday.” She tapped her index finger thoughtfully against her lips. “But you know, I do remember . . .” She turned to Maddy. “You know him, too, Maddy. He’s usually in here with a group of guys, kinda look like the Mafia? But sometimes with his wife. Wasn’t she in here yesterday afternoon looking for him?”
Maddy looked uncomfortable. She shrugged. “I really don’t remember. And I think my table’s getting ready to leave. Is it okay . . . ?” She motioned over her shoulder with her thumb.
“Go ahead,” Pasquale said, reaching into her pocket and producing a card, which she handed to Maddy. “If you remember anything else, please call me. My brother knows how to get in touch.”
Maddy nodded and hurried back to her customers. Pasquale watched her go for a minute, then turned back to Caroline, still deep in thought.
“It was yesterday she was here,” she said, nodding now. “Mrs. Hoffman. I remember, because it stood out. She never comes in here during the day, and never by herself. It sort of looked like something was wrong, you know? She talked to Brenna, and then she left.”
“Brenna wasn’t working yesterday,” Jake said.
“Not officially, but she came down for a bit. We were making plans to go to a movie, but she got distracted. Went and talked to Mrs. Hoffman. Then she left, too.”
Pasquale was good—Stan had to give her that. She didn’t acknowledge this news as disturbing or curious. She waited to see if Caroline had anything else to add. When she didn’t, Pasquale pulled out a card and handed it to her. “If anything else comes to mind, please call me.”
“You bet.” Caroline tapped the card once against her palm, then slid it into her apron pocket. “All set, boss?”
“Yep. Thanks, Car.”
Caroline turned to walk away, then hesitated. “Are the Hoffmans okay?”
Jake looked at his sister as if to say, I’m deferring to you on this one.
Pasquale, still with her cop face firmly in place, shook her head. “I’m afraid Mr. Hoffman died last night.”
Caroline’s mouth dropped open in shock. “What? How?”
“We’re still looking into it. Thanks again for your time,” Pasquale said, dismissing her.
Caroline looked at Jake again, as if she wanted to say something, then murmured, “Sure,” and moved distractedly back to work.
“Don’t these kids read the paper?” Pasquale muttered. “And where’s Brenna?”
“She went upstairs,” Jake said.
“She never mentioned Emmalee was in here yesterday,” Pasquale said. “Or that she had talked to her.”
“Did you ask?”
“I didn’t think I needed to. I figured she would tell me if anything strange happened involving the Hoffmans, considering the end result.”
“Maybe she didn’t think it was strange.”
Pasquale snorted. “Emmalee Hoffman in a bar in the middle of the day? Emmalee in a bar is strange in and of itself. But in the middle of the day? When she was supposed to be at school with her kid?”
“Why don’t you go ask her?” Jake suggested.
“Fine.” Pasquale shoved off the stool and rounded the corner. Stan heard the door leading to Jake’s apartment slam behind her, then the tread of her boots on the stairs.
She looked at Jake. He shook his head, a trace of a smile on his lips. “My sister. I love her, but she makes life hard.”
“It sounds kind of weird that Emmalee was in here yesterday afternoon,” Stan said. “Wouldn’t she need to be on the farm?”
Jake looked pained. “I have no idea, Stan. I try to stay out of my customers’ lives. I’m just the bartender.”
It was a gross understatement, Stan knew. There weren’t many people in Frog Ledge as invested in the community as Jake. But she let it go. Clearly he had feelings about the Hoffmans and whatever had occurred at their farm that he didn’t want to share.
Less than three minutes later, Pasquale appeared around the corner.
“That was quick,” Jake said.
“She’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“Must’ve gone out the private entrance in front.”
“Okay. Well, I’ll tell her to call you when she gets back. She’s working tonight.”
Pasquale still frowned.
“What, Jess?”
“I want to know what Em talked to her about yesterday. What was she doing here in the middle of the day? Why was she suddenly so hell-bent on finding Hal?”
Chapter 10
Stan went home to let the dogs out and change into jeans, her new pink blazer, and her sequined ankle boots with cut-out toes. By the time she returned to the bar, Brenna was back, wearing her work uniform—black leggings; tall, flat black boots; and her green McSwigg’s T-shirt.
“We’re supposed to talk about next week’s work, aren’t we?” Brenna said when Stan took a seat at the bar.
“We are.” Stan smiled.
“I’m sorry.” Brenna looked upset. “My sister gets me so mad. Let’s talk now. You’re getting a lot of orders, right?”
“Yes! Look.” She pulled out her iPad and opened a document marked “Orders.” “We have five orders for treats, but since we didn’t have the party last night, I only need to bake a couple dozen.”
“Who are the orders for?” Bre
nna asked.
Stan ran her finger down the list. “I have two for Nikki, for adoption events. One for the Dogtown Pet Spa and Resort—that new place across town. I think Betty Meany knows the owners and referred us.” It was exciting. Already word-of-mouth customers and she’d only been in business a couple of months. “One for Izzy, and one for the woman who owns the food co-op. She says it’s one of the only things she’s missing—local, organic dog treats.”
“Impressive,” Jake said. Stan hadn’t even noticed he’d joined them at the bar. He’d been setting up for the step dancers across the room.
She flushed a bit. “It’s nice to have people willing to pay for my treats.”
“It’s very cool. You’re making a name for yourself already. I knew you’d be a hit in no time.” He nodded approvingly and disappeared into the kitchen.
Brenna grinned at her. “I wish you two would just get it over with.”
“Brenna!” Stan blushed even redder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Brenna rolled her eyes. “Sure you don’t. Okay, so if I come over Monday afternoon, we can bake?”
“Yes. And then I have to follow up on Benny’s party. I don’t know that we’ll be able to have it at the farm, so I have to think of a place we could do it.” She tapped her finger against her lips. “Any thoughts?”
“How about your house?”
“My house?” Stan repeated.
“Yes, your house. It could be fun.” Brenna shrugged. “And your backyard is perfect.”
“I guess.” Stan hesitated a minute, then plunged into the question she’d been waiting to ask. “So did you catch up with Jessie?”
“No.” Brenna’s voice hardened.
“Bren. Did you see Em in here on Friday?”
Brenna crossed her arms, the ultimate defensive position. “She stopped in. So what?”
“What did she want? Was she looking for Hal?”
“What, are you taking my sister’s side now?” Brenna looked visibly upset. “She treated you badly, too, Stan. Don’t forget that. Now she’s trying to do the same thing to Emmalee.”
“I’m not taking anyone’s side, but it could be important to the investigation. Don’t you want to know who killed him? And make sure the rest of the family is safe?”
