Kneading to Die

by Liz Mugavero

  Stan had given Amara the credit and showed the doc the remedy Duncan had taken every fifteen minutes on the way over. The vet’s response had been neutral. She recommended Duncan stay overnight to make sure he didn’t relapse, and to monitor that his organs were functioning properly.

  And then they were in Jake’s truck, heading back to Frog Ledge.

  “You okay?” Jake asked.

  “I should be asking you that.”

  “I’m glad he’s okay.”

  “Me too. I feel awful.”

  “Why? You didn’t do anything. You saved his life.”

  “Amara saved his life. I don’t care that the vet dismissed it. She did.”

  “I believe it. And you made that happen.”

  Barely. Only reason Amara did anything I asked is because she loves animals more than she hates me. But Stan didn’t say that to Jake. She thought of the bag of kibble on her porch Saturday night. Duncan had eaten a ton of it by the time she realized it yesterday. In many cases poison wasn’t instantaneous, unless there was a very large amount. She wondered if this was really random, or if someone’s hatred ran so deep they were willing to hurt defenseless animals.

  “Stan?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I said, stop blaming yourself.”

  “Hard not to. I move to town and everything falls apart.”

  “That’s a little dramatic, unless you killed Carole and set fire to her building. And poisoned my dog.”

  “Of course not!”

  “See what I’m saying?”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “You’re right. I don’t. If you didn’t do it, you didn’t do it.”

  “Life’s not always that black-and-white.”

  “In this case, it seems pretty black-and-white to me.”

  “Not when my best friend could’ve been involved.” It was the first time she’d spoken the words aloud. She’d danced around the whole Nikki thing in her mind, sure, but mostly to justify why it couldn’t be true. But the evidence seemed overwhelming. Especially with Nikki’s van sitting in Frog Ledge the day of the murder, when she’d explicitly told Stan she was hundreds of miles away.

  Jake didn’t take his eyes off the road, simply raised an eyebrow. “Explain.”

  She hesitated, not sure she should confide in him with this level of information. But she needed to talk it through with someone, and that obviously couldn’t be Nikki. So she did, beginning with Nikki’s past experiences with Carole Cross/Morganwick and her furtive conversation with Diane Kirschbaum and Perri Galveston. She ended with Izzy’s revelation about Nikki’s van being in the area the day of the murder. She didn’t notice Jake had kept driving, past the turnoff for Frog Ledge, until he pulled up in front of a coffee shop that she’d never seen before. He didn’t turn the car off until she was done talking.

  “Feel like a cup of coffee?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  They went inside and found a seat. He waited until they’d ordered before he spoke again. “Do the police know about all this?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t told them anything. Maybe Izzy told them about the van. I hate even entertaining the thought, but … people do crazy things every day. And something Carole said the morning she came to my house always stuck in my mind. She said how animal people are a little crazy. It was a generalization, but I know what she means. Nikki loves animals. She’s passionate about rescuing them. Sometimes she does things other people could call crazy.” Stan dropped her face into her hands and rubbed her eyes. It was then she realized she was still wearing the running shorts and tank top she’d worn to bed the night before. She had been so worried about Duncan that she’d run out the door without even thinking about it. She wasn’t even wearing a bra.

  Two weeks ago she wouldn’t have gone out of the house without full makeup, armored in her business suit, carrying her laptop instead of a shield to battle the business world. Now she’d run out half dressed, probably had mascara smudges and hadn’t even brushed her teeth this morning.

  “But Nikki wouldn’t leave a mutilated bag of dog food on my porch. She wouldn’t hurt me. Or an animal.” But what about the people standing behind her? “What do you know about Diane Kirschbaum?” she asked Jake. To hell with the lack of a bra. She couldn’t fall apart now. If they didn’t figure out who killed Carole soon, things would only get worse. With Jessie out of commission for a while, there was no telling who would be on the case. Trooper Lou hadn’t inspired that much confidence.

  “The ACO? Don’t know her well. Jessie oversees her. She always struck me as odd.” Jake shrugged. “But people seem to like her. Well, the animal people seem to like her. Not sure she gets out much, otherwise.”

  “She’s not very friendly. When I went to the dog pound the other day on my bike ride, she was almost hostile.”

  “I don’t think she interacts with the public much.”

  “She’s friends with Amara. Which seems odd, because Amara’s sociable, when she doesn’t hate you. She’s pretty angry with me. I’m just glad she was able to put that aside for Duncan.”

  “Why is she angry at you?”

  “I asked her why she and Carole were fighting the day I moved in.”

  Jake laughed. “She thought you were suggesting she killed her?”

  “Well, I was wondering. Amara knows veterinary medicine, right? I know she’s holistic, but she must have that background. Anyway, she didn’t like the conversation. She threw me out and stuck a bill in my door.”

  “You better not run for office anytime soon.”

  “I don’t think they elect convicted criminals, anyway. Do you think they tracked down Carole’s son?”

  “I have no idea. If they did, he might be at the wake tonight.”

  The wake. She’d nearly forgotten. Something else to look forward to. Plus, she had a job interview tomorrow. Exhaustion nearly overpowered her at the thought of it all.

  She rapped the table in frustration. “There are plenty of people who didn’t much like Carole, but no one seemed passionate enough to kill her.” Something dawned on her and she looked up at him. “Your sister’s friend? The one who worked for Carole. I need to talk to her. I never got to meet her the other night.”

  “I told you I’d introduce you. I can still do that, but Jessie already talked to her. She had nothing.”

  “Sometimes it’s different when it’s a cop questioning you.” Stan drained her cup and rose. She needed a shower. “Can you call her on the way home?”

  Jake tossed his empty cup into the trash and walked outside. “I’ll try her. And I’ll be sure to recommend you for a junior detective badge when Jess recovers.”

  Chapter 25

  “There’s really no reason to go to the wake.” Stan pulled a short-sleeved black dress out of her “really good clothes” closet, wrinkled her nose and tossed it aside. “I’m tired of people staring at me and whispering. I should just wear a sign with big letters that states, ‘I’m not a murderer.’” She accentuated those last words by rattling a hanger in time to each one. She pulled out a navy-blue-and-white dress and held it up in front of her mirror. Now she looked like a Cape Cod sailor.

  Scruffy, her only audience, gazed at her adoringly, that little stump of a tail vibrating with excitement. Scruffy got excited about everything. Or she thought everything meant a walk or a car ride. Nutty couldn’t be bothered with her continued drama and was off sunning himself somewhere.

  Stan sighed and sat down on the side of the bed, glancing at her watch. The wake began at seven. It was six-thirty. She hadn’t gotten to talk to Brenna’s friend about Carole. Her cell had been off when Jake called. Still no word from Nikki. And none of her “good” clothes were working. She wanted to forget she’d ever met Carole Morganwick. However, if she didn’t go, it would look worse. Everything made her appear guilty. It was as bad as being a newbie in corporate America. Possibly more cutthroat.

  “So I guess I’m going,” she said to Scruffy, “a
nd I’m wearing a skirt.”

  Scruffy woo-wooed and stomped her front paws.

  “I know, I know. I’m not happy about it, either.” Stan took a black pencil skirt off its hanger and paired it with an emerald green blouse. Open-toed black sandals, hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, a little bronzer and eyeliner, and she was done.

  Nutty strode into the room and fanned his tail. He reminded Stan of the head turkey who escorted her charges into the yard yesterday looking for birdseed, tail fanned out. Scruffy immediately dropped to her front paws in front of him in a bow. Nutty didn’t move. Scruffy went back to her sitting position and held up her paw. Nutty headbutted it. Scruffy dove onto him and started licking him to death.

  Stan laughed. These two were hilarious together. Nutty seemed to like her. Sort of. Stan winced as he grabbed Scruffy’s beard with his claws and shook her face, then dashed from the room. Scruffy chased after him. Stan hoped Nutty wouldn’t miss the dog too much when Nikki finally came back to get her.

  Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she grabbed a black sweater in case the funeral home was cold and headed out to the wake, feeling more like she was going to her own funeral.

  For someone who hadn’t been all that well liked, Carole Morganwick’s wake was packed from the moment the doors opened. Figaro and Sons Funeral Home, just past the center of town, hosted the event. The small—dare she say “cozy”—funeral home looked more like someone having a party at their house, with townspeople spilling out the doors, talking in the parking lot and gathering on the wraparound porch before they entered. The only hint that something else had brought them here was the attire, largely black. Stan hoped her green shirt wasn’t too distracting. Maybe she should wear her sweater now.

  But it was so darn hot. She decided against it, locked her car and headed inside, eyes peeled for a blue sedan in the parking lot. One of the Figaro sons, presumably, opened the door for her. He looked fairly young, maybe midtwenties, with slicked-back hair, which reminded her of an Italian mobster. Sweet eyes, though. He smiled as she passed into the blast of cool air.

  Stan let her eyes adjust to the dim light. Quieter in here, but still a crowd of people. Stan looked around to find Char or Izzy—anyone still talking to her. She was a little nervous about the receiving line and meeting Carole’s brother: “Hi, I’m Stan Connor, and I’m a suspect in your sister’s murder,” she envisioned herself saying.

  Someone jostled her elbow. When she turned, Izzy grinned at her. “Come on, let’s sign in. Gonna be a long night.”

  They got in the guest book line, which didn’t seem to be moving fast. Izzy checked her watch and sighed. “I’ve been at the shop since six this morning. Crazy busy. The dogs spent most of the day there and they didn’t even get a walk. They’re not happy with me right now. Speaking of my babies, they wanted to know if you had any more goodies for them.”

  Stan frowned. “You don’t have to say that, Izzy. I know the last thing people want right now is me feeding their animals. After what happened to Duncan.”

  “Now you just quit that right now. That’s hogwash. Anyone who listens to it has no right to breathe.”

  The woman in line behind Izzy gave her a startled look.

  “It’s true,” Izzy said to her. “This lady is getting an unfair rap and it makes me mad.”

  “Izzy,” Stan said, red-faced. “No one cares.”

  “Well, they should care. Right?” Izzy said to the woman. She looked like a soccer mom, the kind who stays away from confrontations and certainly doesn’t speak to strange women in town. Her gaze moved back and forth between them like she was watching a tennis match.

  “Right,” the woman answered uncertainly.

  “See?” Izzy said to Stan. “Some people realize you didn’t kill Carole and you didn’t poison any dogs.”

  Soccer Mom got out of line and moved to the back.

  “You did that to get a rise out of her,” Stan said.

  “No way,” Izzy said, but Stan swore she saw a hint of a smile on her lips.

  They finally stepped up to the book. Stan scanned the names on the open page. She recognized a few: Lorinda, from the library; Emmalee Hoffman, from the Happy Cow Dairy Farm. Amara. Stan signed her name and stepped back to let Izzy do the same. The door opened behind them. Warm air wafted in with a stream of people. Jake McGee was at the front of the pack.

  “Go ahead,” she told Izzy. “I want to see how Duncan is.”

  This time Izzy didn’t even remind Stan of how much she hated Jake. “Okay, find me in line.”

  Stan moved down the side of the line. Her palms were sweating and she could feel that familiar ball of fear in her throat. Jake swore he didn’t blame her for Duncan being sick, but she couldn’t help feeling responsible.

  But he smiled when he saw her. “Hey.”

  “How’s Duncan?”

  “The vet called a little while ago. He’s doing fine. Stop worrying, Stan.”

  “I can’t help it.” She smiled a little. “But I’m so glad he’s okay.” She motioned behind her. “I better get back in line.”

  Izzy hadn’t made it to the casket yet, but she held court with a group of people, none of whom looked familiar. Stan joined them, but she hung back. She looked around to see who else was here and what was going on. Ray and Char sat with Mona Galveston. Ray saw her and waved. Char turned to see where he was looking and her eyes brightened. She stood up and beckoned Stan.

  “Yoo-hoo, honey, come over and say hello!” Her attempts at a stage whisper failed miserably, and her wooden bracelets were as loud.

  Stan slipped out of the long line and crossed the room. Char leaned over the chairs and grabbed her in a hug that was more like a choke hold. “How’re you doin’, honey?”

  A flashbulb exploded right in front of them. Stan’s eyesight faded to silver spots.

  “What the devil?” Char turned around and rolled her eyes. “Cyril Pierce, what in blazes do you think you’re doing? Put that away and have some respect! We’re at a wake!”

  Cyril tipped his fedora at her. “Sorry, Ms. Char. I’ve got a job to do too,” he said. “I’m covering Carole’s funeral. It’s only right, as a citizen of Frog Ledge, to give her an appropriate send-off.” He nodded at Stan, Ray and Mona. “Folks.” His gaze skipped back to Stan and lingered.

  Stan could hear the question forming before his lips even moved. Luckily, so could Char.

  “Well, go take pictures somewhere else.” Char shooed him off with her suitcase-sized purse. “My word, some people just don’t think.”

  “That’s the media for you,” Stan said. “It’s why companies need spin doctors.”

  Mona Galveston hadn’t said a word. She watched the whole exchange, but her expression was not unkind. Ray, as usual, took the polite role.

  “Mona, Stan Connor. A new addition to town. Stan, our mayor.”

  “Yes, lovely to meet you.” Stan offered her hand.

  “Likewise.” Mona’s grip was strong, efficient, businesslike. “How are you enjoying Frog Ledge?”

  The question had to be a test. There was no way the mayor didn’t know she seemed to be a prime suspect.

  “It’s delightful. The green is my favorite place to spend time.”

  “It is lovely, isn’t it? You haven’t had the benefit of spending holidays there yet. It’s charming.”

  “I’m sure. I should probably get back in line. Nice to see you all.”

  “Stop by later, honey!” Char called after her. “We’re hosting a small get-together. You know, a send-off for poor Carole.”

  By the time she joined Izzy at the casket, Stan felt like she’d been in the funeral home forever. It was almost nine. Her sweater had been unnecessary. The room was stifling hot with such a large crowd. The air conditioners worked overtime and were still losing the battle.

  Izzy moved up to the kneeler. Stan realized she was about to see Carole’s body. Again. A cold sweat trickled down the small of her back. She must have gone pale; when Iz
zy rose and looked back at her, she looked concerned. “You okay?”

  “Fine,” Stan said. She braced herself and sank onto the vacated kneeler, thinking she’d just shut her eyes and try not to look. She made the sign of the cross and concentrated on not throwing up. But she couldn’t help it. She had to see. Forcing her eyes to Carole’s face, she was surprised to find the dead woman looking fairly peaceful. Definitely a difference from when she had been on the floor covered in kibble.

  Stan wondered if there was any left in that mass of hair somewhere, and she stifled a giggle. Hastily crossing herself again, she stood. Now would be the even weirder part—meeting Carole’s family. The group was small. No sign of any son, at least not anyone who looked young enough. A man with the same white hair, only much shorter, stood next to the casket, looking solemn. A woman who was much younger stood next to him. She looked bored.

  Izzy stepped up first. “So sorry for your loss,” she said, holding out her hand. “Are you Carole’s family?”

  The man nodded and shook her outstretched hand. “I’m her brother. Elliot Morganwick.”

  “I’m a fellow business owner in town. Izzy Sweet. Again, so sorry.”

  The man pointed to his left. “My wife, Andrea.”

  Izzy moved down the line, leaving Stan no choice but to offer her condolences to Elliot Morganwick.

  “So sorry,” she murmured, hoping she wouldn’t have to introduce herself.

  Elliot nodded, leaning closer to hear her. “Thank you. And you are?”

  “I’m new to town,” she said hastily. “I was a client. Sort of.”