Custom Baked Murder

by Liz Mugavero

  She cast around for a good way to say that without sounding like she wanted her sister to leave. “There are cows down the street,” she hastened to point out. “A whole dairy farm. When the wind blows . . .” She shook her head.

  “Cows!” Eva screeched and clapped her hands.

  “Plus I thought we could, you know, bond.” Caitlyn folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. “Are you saying you don’t want us here?”

  “No, of course not,” Stan rushed to assure her. “I mean, of course I do. I’m just . . . surprised. What about school?” She nodded at Eva.

  “I let them know she’d be out for a week. After that, her father and the nanny can bring her to school during the week, then she can come back on weekends. We both needed a vacation,” Caitlyn added.

  “Babe? You almost ready?” The back door slammed and doggie feet stampeded down the hall preceding Jake, who stopped short when he saw Stan still covered in flour, now entertaining guests. Scruffy and Duncan catapulted themselves at Caitlyn and Eva. Horrified, Caitlyn took a step back, shielding herself from whatever attack she expected. Eva gasped in delight. Henry and Gaston hung back, observing, tails wagging in sync.

  “Duncan! Down,” Jake commanded.

  A sheepish Duncan dropped to the floor in front of Caitlyn, tail still furiously waving back and forth. Scruffy, meanwhile, was in her glory, sitting still while Eva carefully petted her head and kissed her nose.

  “Sorry,” Jake said, eyes sliding to Stan, then back to Caitlyn. “I didn’t know we had company.”

  “Jake McGee, my sister, Caitlyn, and my niece, Evangeline,” Stan made the introductions. She watched her sister’s eyes widen appreciatively at the sight of Jake, and wondered what he would think of all this. He didn’t know much about her sister aside from Stan’s stories, and the most recent one—her affair with a chef wanted for murder—didn’t portray her in the best light.

  “Hi.” Jake stepped forward and, in that perfect welcoming way he had, gave Caitlyn a hug. “We didn’t get to meet in Rhode Island.”

  “So you’re the perfect guy,” Caitlyn said, but she hugged him back. “It’s great to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Jake’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s quite a description,” he said to Stan. “I think you’re misleading your sister.”

  “That’s actually from our mother,” Caitlyn said, as Jake knelt and offered his hand solemnly to Eva, who giggled and shook it. “I think she has a little crush on you.”

  Now Jake burst out laughing. Stan turned crimson.

  “Caitlyn’s, um, coming to the party,” Stan said, hoping to change the subject.

  “Great,” Jake said.

  “And she might stay for a few days.”

  To his credit, Jake’s face didn’t change. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Stan blew out a breath. “I need to get in the shower.”

  As she raced up the stairs, she heard Caitlyn say, “So is there a spa in town? I need to get my nails done.”

  Chapter 3

  An hour later the four of them drove up to Tony’s house at the top of a long, winding, private road where only two other houses sat. The stately design oozed old Connecticut money, but it looked like it had been overhauled to achieve new-money glamour. Stretching far and wide across lush acres of grass, it looked big enough to fit Stan’s entire house along with Jake’s pub inside it. This was not the norm for Frog Ledge.

  They got out of Stan’s car and stood in front of Tony Falco’s wraparound front porch, staring up at the grand, white house before them. Lights blazed from every window. Women wearing beautiful gowns and men in tuxes were visible though the open curtains. Dusk settled on this still-warm, late September night, that perfect time between light and dark when everything seemed a little magical. The scene in front of them could’ve been from a movie.

  Stan had no idea how her mother did it. They were in a town where the average person existed in overalls, work boots, and flannel shirts, and the fanciest party to date was the annual library fundraiser. Yet somehow Patricia Connor created a setting that would rival any party in her elite Jamestown, Rhode Island, neighborhood.

  “I didn’t know he was rich,” Caitlyn remarked.

  Stan looked at Jake. “I didn’t either.” Truthfully, she’d never given Tony’s house, or his finances, a second thought. She’d certainly never visited.

  Jake shrugged. “This house has been here for decades. Belonged to the Trumbull family. Last time I saw it, it didn’t look quite like this. I never put two and two together that Tony lived here, but now that I think about it I haven’t seen old man Trumbull around in a long time. Guess he sold it.”

  “We going in?” Caitlyn asked. “You know we’re already late.”

  “We’re only an hour late. And that doesn’t even mean we’re late,” Stan reasoned. “These parties don’t start and end on time.”

  “You don’t need to convince me, sweetheart,” Jake said, squeezing her hand as she pressed the doorbell. “If she asks me, I’ll tell her it was worth the wait. You look amazing.”

  Stan blushed, smoothing her simple black dress. Definitely not the glamour-girl look her sister had gone for, but presentable just the same. She hoped her mother wouldn’t notice her still-wet hair. Behind them, Eva chattered incessantly to Caitlyn about how many kisses she’d gotten from the dogs and cats, and can she please just live at Auntie Krissie’s house forever?

  The door swung open, revealing a woman in a maid uniform complete with black tights, hair in a bun, and soft-soled shoes. Stan pressed her lips together, afraid she’d burst into nervous laughter. A maid. All she was missing was the feather duster from days of yore.

  “Good evening,” the woman said, holding the door wide. “Please come in.”

  “Are they kidding me?” she muttered to Jake before she followed the woman inside. “A maid?”

  Jake’s lips twitched. “The mayor’s a very important man.”

  “I guess so.” Stan paused in the foyer to look around as the woman took Jake’s jacket. Before they even made it all the way inside, though, her mother swooped over, heels clicking on the marble tiles. She conferred briefly with the maid, then stepped over to them.

  “Kristan. Caitlyn. Where have you been?” A smile hid the bite behind her words. “You’re quite late!”

  “Sorry, Mom,” Stan said. “My fault. I was working on something for the shop. You want to get a good bang for your buck, don’t you?” She offered a hopeful smile.

  Her mother’s flat stare could’ve withered the exotic-looking houseplants decorating the hall table. Once she could safely assume Stan got the message that she was not amused, Patricia turned to Jake and smiled a real smile. “Jake. How are you, dear? Thank you for coming.” She air-kissed his cheeks.

  Stan met her sister’s eyes behind their mother’s back. Caitlyn made a gagging motion. Stan bit back a laugh. As usual, Patricia looked like royalty, with her champagne-colored skirt and jacket combination—Dior? Givenchy? Stan couldn’t tell—and elegant heels in the same hue. Her frosted blond hair framed her chin in a stylish bob. But her green eyes flamed with something more than her daughters’ tardiness.

  Patricia let go of Jake and turned to her granddaughter. “Evangeline! Come here, darling.” She opened her arms to the little girl, who approached her cautiously and let herself be kissed. Nothing like the big, sloppy hugs she’d given the dogs before they left Stan’s house.

  Once the greetings and scoldings were complete, Patricia adjusted her skirt, smoothed her hair, and waved them into the main party area. “Go get some food. Have a drink. There’s a full bar and buffet tables in the great room”—she pointed behind them to the main, open area of the first floor—“the second dining room and farther down the hall. There’s also a bar out on the patio. Please make sure you sign the guest book.” She pointed to a podium discreetly positioned in the hallway with an elaborate gold book and matching pen. It reminded Stan of a wedding. Or a funeral.

&
nbsp; She opened her mouth. Jake squeezed her hand, a warning. She closed it again. Patricia didn’t notice. She grabbed one of the servers and lectured something about stuffed mushrooms and cold tomatoes.

  “What? I was just going to ask where Tony was. It’s weird that they aren’t greeting people together, no?” Stan asked in a low voice as they walked away.

  Jake shrugged. “Probably not the best time to ask. And I wouldn’t have the first clue about the correct protocol for something like this. The fanciest my family got was a corned beef and cabbage bash on St. Paddy’s Day.”

  “Thank God. That’s more my speed.” Stan took a breath and slipped her arm through Jake’s. They stepped into the party area.

  Guests dressed in impeccable gowns and suits flitted around, holding flutes of glittery champagne. Caitlyn snagged one from a server gliding by. Classical music played softly in the background, perfect ambience to complement the tinkles of laughter and lilting conversational tones. It took Stan a moment to realize a real, live harpist stood in the corner of the living room working some musical magic.

  This is so not Frog Ledge. Leave it to my mother.

  Jake whistled softly under his breath. Despite herself, Stan started to laugh. “I know. It’s ridiculous. Where’d she say the bar was? I need something a lot stronger than champagne.”

  “This way.” Jake pointed to another room crowded with people. He was obviously the better listener.

  “Stan! Jake! Helllooooo, my honeybunches!” Char Mackey rushed through the crowd, nearly upending an entire tray of champagne with her bulk, dragging her husband, Ray, behind her. She wore a sparkly red dress that clashed with her bright orange hair, and five-inch silver platform heels to help her tower over most people in the room. Stan’s mood immediately improved. The New Orleanian in Char made sure everyone had fun at a party. Stan sent up a prayer of thanks that her mother and Char had become friends, even though how it happened remained a mystery.

  Char engulfed her in a bone-crushing hug. Stan smelled her fruity perfume mixed with the hair spray inspiring her hair to its great heights. “Gotta work on that smile, baby girl,” Char whispered loudly in her ear. “It’s not that bad!” She let her go and gave the same welcome to Jake. “Don’t y’all look gorgeous! Best-looking couple here. Don’t you think, Raymond? Well, aside from the bride- and groom-to-be, of course. And us.” She winked at Stan.

  “Lovely,” Ray declared after he’d offered his own hug. He’d abandoned his normal jeans and suspenders for a dapper pin-striped suit, no doubt chosen by Char.

  “And who are these lovelies?” Char asked, turning to Caitlyn and Eva.

  “My sister, Caitlyn, and my niece, Eva,” Stan said. “This is Char and Ray. They own the bed-and-breakfast with the alpacas. Eva would love to meet them,” she added, but Caitlyn didn’t catch the hint.

  Caitlyn offered her hand, but Char hugged her, too. “No handshakes for Stan’s family,” Char declared. “We’re so delighted to meet you. Aren’t we, Raymond?”

  Ray stepped forward. “Certainly are,” he said, winking at Caitlyn before bending down and offering his hand to Eva. Eva shook it shyly. “You’re the prettiest girl here,” he said.

  Eva looked down and scuffed her toe. “Thanks,” she mumbled.

  “And you’re a close second, Trooper,” Ray added, returning to a standing position and waving over Stan’s shoulder.

  Stan turned. Jessie Pasquale, Jake’s other sister and the Frog Ledge Resident State Trooper First Class, stood behind them with her boyfriend, Marty Thompson. Jessie’s simple, green sheath dress complemented her long red hair, which she’d left loose—something Frog Ledge residents rarely saw. More notable was the hint of blush and eye shadow she’d applied. Jessie rarely used makeup. Which worked for her, since she didn’t need a stitch of it to look gorgeous.

  But she looked absolutely out of her element without a gun at her hip. Marty, however, wore a grin the size of New York. Probably his first fancy party. He owned a local moving company, a job that didn’t typically require appearances at such events. His dress pants and shirt could’ve come from the local Target, a sharp contrast to most of the men there, but he didn’t seem to mind a whit.

  Jessie smiled at Ray. “Thank you.”

  Marty slipped an arm around her waist and squeezed. “Best-looking cop in the state, isn’t she?”

  Jessie rolled her eyes.

  “I agree with Ray. You clean up good, Jess,” Jake said.

  “See?” Marty said to her.

  “Hush,” she muttered. “The two of you make it sound like I don’t shower before I go to work.”

  “We were just about to hit the bar,” Jake said to his sister. “Want to join us? Although you look like you got a head start.” He nodded at the drink in her hand.

  Jessie bared her teeth. “It’s ginger ale.” Jessie didn’t drink. Everyone in Frog Ledge knew that. As a cop, she swore the majority of problems started with alcohol. For a while it bothered her that her brother ran a pub, but Jake ran a classy establishment and she’d relaxed her views over time. “We’ll walk out with you,” she said with another skeptical look around the house.

  “We can all surely have another drink or two,” Ray assured Jake. “There’s a backyard bar, and the big one’s right through there.” He pointed into the next room.

  “Let’s go outside. I already need some air,” Stan said.

  Char led the way, the rest of them trailing behind her like an entourage as she stopped to squeeze, hug and gush over every person they passed. Ray watched her with affection. “She’s in her element,” he said. “She’ll be talking about this for years.”

  Stan laughed. “So you’ve seen Tony, then? Char said he and my mother looked lovely.”

  Ray frowned. He lowered his voice and leaned closer to Stan. “We haven’t, actually. I said to Char that it seemed odd.”

  “He’s not here?” Stan asked.

  Ray put a finger to his lips. “Your mother mentioned to Char something about an earlier engagement. But I don’t think she wants to call attention to it.”

  No wonder Patricia seemed so agitated, greeting people alone. Stan turned to whisper to Jake, but he and Marty were engaged in a lively discussion about some sporting event.

  After what seemed to be a never-ending trek through the house, they finally stepped through a set of French doors onto the elegant deck encircling the entire house. The party spilled outside onto the lawn below. People stood around the in-ground pool, already covered for the season. As promised, a full bar beckoned from the patio. People stood chatting on the deck, and below more groups congregated around various tables. Stan saw former mayor Mona Galveston and her husband chatting with another couple. Betty Meany, minus her cranky husband, Bert, held court below in front of a group of Frog Ledgers as only the town librarian could.

  “What’re you having? Pomegranate or sour apple?” Jake asked. He knew her well enough to know a night like this would require martinis.

  “Anything strong.”

  Jake grinned. “I’ll be right back.” He descended the deck stairs with Ray.

  Stan glanced around. Char huddled a few feet away with a woman Stan didn’t recognize. They’d lost Caitlyn and Eva, too. Jessie and Marty stood in the corner of the deck whispering to each other. Jessie’s face softened in a rarely seen relaxed smile. Stan moved to an empty spot against the deck railing and took the opportunity to enjoy the moment of silence, soaking in the environment and mentally prepping herself for the night of meaningless conversation. Then she heard her name.

  “Stan Connor! My Lord, is that really you?”

  Chapter 4

  That voice. Stan couldn’t place it immediately, but something about it . . . She spun around, her mouth forming an impolite O of surprise when her eyes landed on the woman standing directly in front of her. Eleanor Chang. Her former colleague hadn’t changed a bit since the last time Stan had seen her more than a year ago. What on earth was she doing at her mother’s engageme
nt party?

  “Eleanor,” she managed, trying to force some enthusiasm into her voice. “What a surprise! What brings you here?”

  Eleanor’s rail-thin frame screamed salad, no dressing. She looked ghostly in her expensive dress, an off-white, beaded affair. A filmy white scarf hung trendily over one shoulder. She’d smoothed her straight black hair into a low ponytail tossed over her other shoulder. A young woman with a trace of Eleanor in her nose and eyes stood beside her, also small-framed, but so thin she looked unwell. She wore an ill-fitting pink dress that threatened to swallow her up in its sea of ruffles. Her fingers clasped and unclasped themselves in front of her and her eyes darted around the room, reminding Stan of trapped shelter animals desperately imagining a way out of their cages.

  “Tony, of course!” Eleanor laughed. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”

  “Know what?” A sinking feeling bloomed in the pit of Stan’s stomach.

  “I’m working for Tony. As part of my consulting business. I’m his executive coach.” She smiled triumphantly. “I’ve branched out. Since I’m full-time now at Warner, I can be more choosy about the kinds of consulting I do, especially given my hours. Media relations can be a round-the-clock endeavor. Well, you know that.” She chuckled, but her hawk eyes watched Stan for a reaction. “After all, you did that job.”

  And lost it. The unspoken words hung in the air between them. Eleanor insinuated she’d taken over Stan’s old job. Stan expected it to feel like a sucker punch in the gut, but to her surprise, she felt nothing.

  Which seemed to confuse Eleanor. Her gloating smile stumbled a bit when Stan failed to react, but she recovered quickly and continued. “So there’s extra time to focus on my interest in politics. And Tony is a wonderful candidate to start with. Of course my work has always been, at its core, about coaching. As you well know.”

  Stan tried to find a rescuer out of the corner of her eye, but everyone she knew was otherwise occupied. So she applied the tactic that had gotten her through a decade in corporate America. She faked it, with a little help from her old coping mechanism. Theme songs. Billy Joel’s “Big Shot” immediately jumped to mind as she readied herself for the verbal spar. Song lyrics soothed her, especially when they had special meaning.