by Liz Mugavero
Or maybe Jessie did believe it. Stan didn’t know. For her, it was hard to imagine, despite the fact Stan hadn’t known Em that long. But Em looked like such an ordinary person. Then again, just because someone lived in an idyllic small town and sold yummy cheese didn’t mean she couldn’t have a dark side. Another thing Stan had learned the hard way when she moved to Frog Ledge. But now the thought freaked her out. She imagined being trapped in that tiny office, no exit besides jumping over a washing machine through a doorway into an unfamiliar house, with Em deciding she had to protect herself. . . .
Stan shook the thoughts out of her head. Her imagination was going wild.
Brenna had turned back to the counter, and now she stacked cooled treats in containers. Her movements were almost manic. “Em is one of the sweetest people I know. Her life isn’t easy. Her kids are a handful. Danny’s always in trouble at school and Robert has some learning disabilities. And Joseph is still so young. . . .” She shook her head. “She doesn’t deserve this. Although I personally wouldn’t blame her for murdering that man.”
Tell me how you really feel. “Brenna. If there’s any chance—”
“No way,” Brenna interrupted, seemingly insulted at the insinuation. “Of course Em wouldn’t do such a thing. I’m just saying she had every reason to.” Her carefully enunciated words suggested Stan was even more coldhearted than Brenna’s sister.
But Stan sensed Brenna was holding something back. “What’s up, Bren? Something else is bothering you.”
Brenna’s hands stilled, hovering over the top container. She turned slowly, not quite meeting Stan’s eyes. “Nothing. I can’t say.”
Stan got up and perched on the edge of her counter so Brenna would have to look at her. “You can tell me. I won’t say anything. Unless, of course, you tell me you know who killed Hal.” She was only half kidding, but grew alarmed when Brenna’s eyes welled with tears.
“Maddy called me. After Jessie went in to talk to them. She didn’t know what to do.” Brenna sniffled, grabbed a paper towel and blew her nose. “She didn’t tell Jessie, but she went outside for a smoke that day. When Hal died. She saw Em leave, but Em left her car in the parking lot and took off on foot back down the street.”
“Okay,” Stan said slowly. “To where?”
“She doesn’t know.” Brenna wiped at her eyes with the towel then threw it at the trash can. Sighed when she missed it and bent over to pick it up. “I promised her I wouldn’t say anything. Please don’t say anything to anyone.”
Stan thought about this. Had Em stashed her car, walked home, and killed her husband? Then hurried over to her parent-teacher meeting? “Was she having car trouble, maybe?”
“Oh.” Brenna visibly brightened. “Maybe!”
Stan didn’t point out that at some point Em must have driven the car away. Unless no one had noticed a tow truck in the parking lot. Regardless, she didn’t know if she wanted to continue down this path. She filed the information away as “potentially useful” and changed the subject. “What new kinds did you make?”
Brenna hesitated a moment, then her shoulders relaxed. “I tried blueberry yogurt and carrot ginger. Oh, and apple pie.”
“Those sound delicious.” Stan was impressed. “You just came up with the recipes on your own?”
Brenna shrugged. “Thought I’d experiment. Hope it’s okay. I checked all the ingredients to make sure they were safe for dogs.”
“It’s great,” Stan assured her. “We can bring some to Char and Ray’s open house next weekend.” With all the tourists coming through the area, Char and Ray wanted to showcase the farm and help boost the local economy. They were serving food and conducting tours, and having a sale on the alpaca clothing they sold. And they figured if they could get people to check in at the B and B, they could send them along to the farmers’ market, Izzy’s café, and some of the other local shops.
“You want me to come, too?”
“If you’re not working at the bar, I’d love for you to come.”
Brenna smiled, finally. “I’m not working until Saturday night.”
“Good, because the open house is from ten to two. Maybe we can pick up some new orders.”
“You’ll need to borrow my brother’s kitchen at the rate you’re going,” Brenna said.
Jake again. It always seemed to come back to Jake. What the heck, Stan decided. “So what’s the deal with your brother, anyway?”
“What do you mean?” Brenna blinked innocently at her.
“I’ve heard about his . . . dating habits, but I’ve never seen him with anyone. Not that I’m paying that much attention,” she hastened to add.
“So you heard he’s a player?” Brenna chuckled as she wiped the counter down. “I’m not sure who told you that, but nothing could be further from the truth. I think a lot of women wished he was a player.” She tossed the sponge, and it sailed with a splat to land in Stan’s sink.
“Really?”
“Yes. He doesn’t even go out that often. He’s always at the bar. And I know, ’cause I live and work with him.” Stan could sense that fiery Irish temper brewing again. “He does his own thing. He dated someone from college for a long time, but she never wanted to stick around here, and he always did. They did a long distance thing for a while and it didn’t pan out.” She shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong—he goes out here and there. But I don’t recall anyone who made it past date two. There’s plenty of other people I’d call players before my brother, believe me.” Her tone went sour on that note, and Stan couldn’t help but wonder if Hal Hoffman was back on Brenna’s mind. “Who told you that, anyway?”
Stan didn’t want to throw Izzy under the bus. “I don’t know. I just remember hearing it when I first moved here. I shouldn’t be listening to people I don’t even know.”
They finished putting the treats away in silence, each left to their own thoughts. Stan’s mind wandered away from Jake and back to the murdered farmer. Had he really been out every night, partying and boozing it up? Seeing other women? If that were true, the whole town should know it. Or at least a few really plugged-in townsfolk.
She was willing to bet Char had some intel. Maybe she’d see if she and Ray wanted company for dinner tonight.
Chapter 17
“A lawsuit? His own brother? Wow.” Stan scooped up another spoonful of steaming hot New Orleans shrimp gumbo—Char’s specialty and Stan’s favorite request when she had dinner with them—and followed it up with a piece of corn bread.
“Oh yeah. Those two never missed an opportunity to be nasty to each other.” Ray wiped his mouth with his napkin and tipped his chair back so the front legs lifted off the floor. “See, Lester and Hal parted ways on the farm before Hal created the co-op piece. And really, that’s been more fruitful than just running the farm had been. Lester was always angry that he didn’t get a piece of it.”
“And he turned their mother against Hal, too,” Char chimed in from the counter where she was checking on the monkey bread, Stan’s other favorite. “How’s your food, Stan?”
“Delicious, as always.” Stan patted her tummy. “I’ve had to double my exercise routine since moving here. Thank you so much for cooking for me.”
Stan always marveled at Char’s domestic skills. From the time Stan had put in a casual phone call to her friends around six, Char had whipped up her favorite dishes, set the table like it was a special occasion, and had martinis ready and waiting on ice. A fire crackled pleasantly in the kitchen fireplace. Soft jazz played through the sound system piped throughout the house. And it was barely eight.
The two couples staying at the B and B had gone out for the evening. Leigh-Anne Sutton, already settled in for her indefinite stay, had also gone off somewhere, so it was just the three of them. Although dinner wasn’t included in a stay, people loved Char’s cooking so much they usually joined them for meals instead of venturing out. The food, atmosphere, and company were all lovely. If she didn’t love her little house so much, Stan would mo
ve in. The place was so darn cozy and . . . Southern. She surprised herself with the thought. She’d always preferred living alone. It was another reason why she and Richard had lasted so long. He was set in his ways and she was set in hers, and they had been careful not to rock the boat.
Now things seemed different.
“Don’t mention it,” Char said in response to her thanks. “Look at Savannah! She looks wonderful.” Char gazed at her yellow Lab, curled up contentedly in the corner after wolfing down the organic local beef and vegetable dinner Stan had brought her. “Her tummy problems and skin allergies are nearly gone. You are a miracle worker with your food, missy.”
Stan blushed. “You’re too nice.”
“She’s telling the truth,” Ray said.
Still not great at taking compliments, Stan changed the subject. “You said Hal’s brother turned his mother against Hal? How did he do that?”
“I’m not so sure that’s true, dear.” Ray liked to discuss other people’s business almost as much as his wife. “Hal had a tendency to . . . alienate his loved ones. His momma was no exception. Plus, she’s a tough old bird. Not easily swayed. Even by her own sons. Hal at least was charismatic, bless his soul. Lester, not very.”
Char plunked the tray of monkey bread down on the table. “Lester’s just plain nasty. Y’all are delusional if you think otherwise, Raymond.”
Ray held his hands in front of him in surrender and let his chair fall to the ground. “No argument there, dear.”
Char nodded, satisfied that he’d agreed with her. “Want coffee, Stan? I’ve been working on a delicious Irish coffee recipe I found. It’s taken me a few tries to perfect it, but the trials have been fun.” She winked.
Stan slurped the rest of her gumbo and broke another corner off a piece of corn bread. She’d go for a run tomorrow, but she couldn’t resist loading up on Char’s delicious food. “I’m about to be really full, so I’ll take a rain check on the coffee. Not the monkey bread,” she said around her mouthful. “So Hal didn’t get along with his family?”
“No. Well, his sister is harmless. But Lester and his mother, forget it. And Emmy had no use for them either,” Char said. “Emmy’s a very generous woman, but she really disliked those in-laws.”
“What happened with the lawsuit?”
“Still pending,” Ray said. “But I guess now he’ll be fighting Em.”
“What about the Happy Cow co-op? What happens to that now?”
“Well, I don’t think anything, except they might choose to vote on a new president. I think the leadership defaults to Emmalee, but I would venture she doesn’t want any part of it.” Ray snagged a piece of monkey bread and popped a chunk into his mouth. “That was Hal’s baby. Emmy thought it was nonsense. In her mind, it was more people to deal with, more decisions other people had to weigh in on. Emmy’s a private person. I may be speaking out of school here”—he glanced around guiltily, as if expecting someone to be listening—“but she has been very resistant to the whole thing.”
“What other choice does she have?” Stan asked. “She needs the income, clearly.”
“I believe she does,” Ray said. “My opinion, it’s a point of pride for her. She wants to be able to say she and Hal made a good go of their farm. I always said, kudos to Hal. He didn’t want to do the dirty work but understood he needed to keep the farm, and this was a way to bring in more income without the headaches of expansion. And truth is, the farmers need each other. And for all their spats, that group is dedicated to farming.”
“So they don’t get along?”
“More gumbo, Stan, before you dig into the bread?” Char called from the counter. It was the time of night when she drank more martinis and pushed more food on people. Stan felt her stomach groan in protest.
“No. Please. I have to rest. Ray, you were saying?”
“I think they get along well enough.” Ray shrugged. “It’s like any business. Some don’t see eye to eye, but most are out for the common good. I’m curious, though, to see how Emmy will handle it. Especially with Leigh-Anne taking such a proactive role. She’s got a head for business, too, that one. Like Hal, she stays out of the muck and digs into the money.”
Stan hesitated. She wanted to talk about Em being in the state police’s sights, but didn’t want the news all over town. Curiosity won out. “It sounds like Em might have to explain where she was the day of the murder. Have you heard that?”
Ray and Char glanced at each other. Ray sighed and snapped one of his suspender straps. “I sure was afraid of that.”
“The spouse is always the first in line as a suspect,” Char added. “Goodness, Ray, don’t ever go and get yourself murdered. I couldn’t stand the scrutiny!”
Stan waited for the withering look. Instead, Ray nodded thoughtfully. “Of course, dear. That would be very inconsiderate.”
Stan stifled a giggle. She’d never met a man like Ray. That was probably because there wasn’t another man like Ray, anywhere in the world. “Do you think she could’ve done it? I heard Hal was . . . not the best husband.”
Ray leaned forward in his chair, his eyes wide. “Emmy? Oh, goodness, no. And Hal was just a typical Irish boy. Sowing his oats.”
Char sent him a dirty look over her shoulder. “I agree that Emmy didn’t do it. She doesn’t have time to go to jail for that kind of nonsense. She would simply ignore him until they could part ways.”
“Really? You don’t think she could’ve had a dark side?”
Char giggled. “Everyone has a dark side, honey. That’s not how Em would use hers. Trust me.”
Kelly Clarkson ran through Stan’s head. She decided to let that go. “You don’t think Hal was that bad then, Char?”
Char snorted. “I didn’t say that. I’d probably have killed him if I were married to him, but I’m a different kind of lady than Emmalee. Right, sweetheart?”
“Righto, dear,” Ray responded.
“I thought so,” Char muttered. “Have y’all been over to help Emmy out yet, Stan?” She mixed herself a new martini, using her long green fingernail as a stirrer.
“I actually went over today. Things are . . . a bit disorganized.”
“Well, that’s not a surprise,” Ray said, at the same time Char sighed and said, “I was afraid of that.”
Stan looked from one to the other. “Why?”
“Well, that’s just Hal’s way,” Char said, pausing to sip her drink. “And Emmy got tired of picking up after him. She started letting things slip, just like he did. But now it’s gotten out of hand. I hope she lets Leigh-Anne help her. But it’s good you’ll be in there helping with the day to day details.”
“Hal was a phenomenal businessman, but he counted on other people to keep track of the details,” Ray added. “He’s what I believe you corporate types would call the ‘idea guy.’ But he was running low on detail people. Em didn’t have time to keep track of all that and run the farm while Hal was out working on new deals.”
“New deals? Like what?” Stan was intrigued.
Char made a tsk-ing sound. “He had more deals than Carter had liver pills. Go on, eat your monkey bread while it’s still warm, Stan.”
Stan couldn’t help it—she burst out laughing. She hadn’t heard that saying since her dad passed away. Impulsively, she got up and kissed Char’s cheek on her way to put her plate in the sink. “I would love some monkey bread. Thanks, Char.”
“Our Hal loved to try new money-making schemes,” Ray said with affection. “Some worked well, like the co-op. And the gift shop out near the school. Others, like the rehabbing, well, that didn’t work as well.”
“Rehabbing? What do you mean?” Stan slid back in her chair and accepted the new plate of food. Her stomach was already screaming in protest. She should run home to shed some of it, but she hadn’t worn running shoes. And she’d probably throw up.
“Hal got it in his head that he would help out the local economy—and his own wallet, I’m sure—and started buying some of the
old buildings in town. Had grand plans to fix them up and turn them into wonderful places. He had visions of establishments like Jake’s bar, for example, and a new movie theater. He was convinced if there were enough fun new places to attract younger folks, the entire town would be revitalized. Can’t say his vision was a bad one. He was passionate about it,” Ray said with affection. “And he focused on people with new ideas, who hadn’t been around town forever, which I’m sure angered some of the old-timers. Even had a deal going with Izzy Sweet.”
“With Izzy?” Stan stared at him. “What deal?”
“Now, this was some time ago, remember. Funny enough, a bookstore. Funny because Hal wasn’t much of a reader. Izzy loves books. And it went so well with her café. But our locals, God bless ’em, they didn’t see any use for it. ‘We got all we need,’ they liked to say. People around here, well, it takes them a while to accept change. If they accept it at all.”
“So what happened to the deal?” Stan asked.
“We’re not really sure,” Ray said. “It never came to light. Hal lost a bunch of money. I’d suspect our Izzy did, too. But for all the things she tells us, she never did speak of that again.”
“Huh.” Stan sat back, thoughtful. “She never mentioned it to me either.” Was that why she’d been so distraught at the news of Hal’s death? Was it a money thing?
Stan didn’t get to push them on it, because the front door blew open and Leigh-Anne Sutton swept in, offering a high-wattage smile when she saw the three of them around the table.
“Good evening! Is this a party? I do love parties! Hello there, Stan! Survived the farm, I see?”
Stan smiled. “I did.”
“Did y’all have a nice evening? Come, sit, join us.” Char rose and began clearing plates. “Who wants a game of cards?” she asked.
They were done talking about Izzy, apparently. Stan wondered if there was more to the story and neither Char nor Ray wanted to tell it—or didn’t want to tell it in front of Leigh-Anne.
