Custom Baked Murder

by Liz Mugavero

  Shoving open the hall door, she stomped up the stairs as best she could in her girly shoes. Trooper Lou followed in silence.

  Caitlyn appeared a few minutes later, eyes glazed as a zombie’s. “Now I know how you felt,” she murmured when she saw Stan. “In Newport.”

  Stan didn’t want to think about the parallels of her recent trip to Newport. Seemed like every time she went to a social gathering lately, the unthinkable happened. Maybe people would start leaving her off their guest lists. It wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

  She squeezed Caitlyn’s hand. “Are you okay?”

  Caitlyn jerked her shoulder in a shrug. “I guess.” Then her head snapped up. “Where’s Eva?”

  “Jake took her home. She’s fine.”

  “Thank God.” She closed her eyes in relief. “He’s a sweet guy,” she said. “You’re really lucky.” Her tone held a hint of wistfulness.

  “He is. Listen, let’s go home. I think we can leave now. I’ll see if Izzy’s still here. She’ll give us a ride.”

  “Did they catch the murderer?” Caitlyn asked hopefully.

  Stan had no idea how to answer that. “They have a suspect,” she said shortly. “I’m not sure what’s happening.” She whipped out her phone and texted Izzy.

  You still here? Are you clear to go? Can you give me a ride home?

  The return text came almost immediately:

  Yeah. Can’t wait to get the heck out of here.

  Meet me in the kitchen, Stan replied, then called Jake.

  He answered on the first ring, speaking softly. “What’s happening? Are you okay?”

  “We’re fine. Izzy’s driving me and Caitlyn home,” she said. “How’s Eva?”

  “Sleeping with Scruffy, Duncan, and Benedict,” he replied. “I’m sitting up here with her in case she wakes up looking for her mom.”

  This guy never ceased to make her heart melt. “Thank you,” she whispered, trying to stop the tears from choking her voice. “See you soon.”

  She hung up before he could ask her anything else and stood. “Let’s go,” she said to her sister.

  “What about Mom?”

  “I think they’re still talking to her.” Stan hesitated. “Do you think she needs somewhere to stay? They won’t let her stay here.”

  “I don’t know,” Caitlyn said. “Doesn’t she have any other friends here?”

  Stan grimaced. “I’ll see if Char can take care of her.”

  Caitlyn hesitated as Stan got up to go. “I don’t want to see all those people,” she whispered.

  “I’ll text her. She’ll come here. Don’t worry.” She squeezed her sister’s hand. Caitlyn squeezed back, and they stood like that for a minute. Stan wondered if Caitlyn realized the last time they’d held hands they were probably ten and seven years old.

  Char and Ray burst into the kitchen moments later.

  “I was already planning on taking your mama home,” Char said before Stan could say anything. “Is she all right? Have you seen her?”

  “I haven’t. They still have her locked away. I’m sorry, Char, but would you mind waiting for her? I have to get Caitlyn home. Jake brought Eva and if she wakes up, she’ll want her mom.”

  “Of course, sweetie.” Char hugged Stan, then turned and wrapped Caitlyn in a fierce hug, too. “I’m so sorry you had to be part of this,” she said to her.

  Caitlyn started to cry again. Ray patted her back. “Don’t you worry, m’dear. Jessie will get this all straightened out.”

  I’m not so sure she can. The thought flitted through Stan’s mind before she could block it out. Izzy rushed in, carrying her shoes in one hand.

  “You ready?” she asked. “Let’s go before they lock us down again.”

  Izzy looked almost more freaked out than Caitlyn. Stan thanked Char and Ray again, promising to call them first thing in the morning—only a few hours away at this point—then led Izzy and Caitlyn out the back way.

  None of them spoke until they were safely in Izzy’s car. As she shot down the street Stan held on to the armrest and closed her eyes. Once they reached the main road, Izzy let up on the gas and blew out a breath.

  “Damn,” she said, trying for humor but unable to mask her shaking voice. “Stan, what is it with you and dead people?”

  Chapter 14

  Jake waited at the front door, his relief apparent. “I was worried,” he said into Stan’s hair as he hugged her. He reached for Caitlyn’s hand and squeezed. “Eva’s sleeping upstairs in the guest room. She cuddled up with the dogs and cats and hasn’t woken up at all.”

  “Thank you for taking care of her,” Caitlyn said, then fled upstairs.

  Jake turned to Stan. “Marty texted me,” he said. “I got some of the story. That woman you knew. Eleanor. She’s dead, but he didn’t know more than that. Tell me the rest. But first, is your sister okay?”

  Stan shook her head. “I doubt it. She found the body. I know from experience how that messes with your head.” She moved past him. “I need to sit.”

  “I put water on for tea,” he said, locking the front door behind her and following her to the kitchen.

  “Thank you. You read my mind.” Stan dropped her evening bag and phone on the table and twisted her hair into a knot. She opened her tea cabinet and pursued her selection. Izzy had given Stan first dibs to sample her new line of herbal teas. She picked lavender honey for stress relief, then leaned against the counter, rubbing her temples. Nutty appeared, as if sensing she needed some comfort, and head-butted her. She picked him up and buried her face in his soft Maine coon fur, listening to him purr. She hoped she came back as a cat in her next life. Cats didn’t have to deal with things like crazy families, murder, and arrested ex-boyfriends.

  Jake took out two mugs as the kettle started whistling. Reluctantly, Stan let go of Nutty. “What kind do you want?” she asked.

  He came over and put his arms around her. “I don’t care about the tea,” he said. “I care about what happened and if you’re really okay. Because I don’t think you are.”

  She leaned against him, feeling the weight of some of her burden lift simply by his being there. “I have no idea why this keeps happening,” she said, hearing her voice crack. “But this . . . something’s not right about this. Jake, they arrested Richard.”

  That surprised him. He leaned back so he could see her face. “Your ex?”

  She nodded. “Not Jessie. They sent a whole contingency of cops. Major Crimes, even the captain. They grabbed Richard outside. He went out after . . . the altercation we had. He was a mess, too. But it was a different kind of mess. He was dirty. Like he’d fallen or something.” She pulled away and grabbed the teakettle. Her hands shook so much the water splashed all over the counter when she tried to pour it.

  Jake nudged her out of the way and took the kettle from her hand. He poured, then wiped the counter with a paper towel and carried the mugs to the table. Stan wrapped her cold hands gratefully around the mug, letting the warmth seep into her skin.

  “Someone strangled Eleanor,” she said. “With her own scarf. At least that’s what it looked like. And shoved a diamond ring in her mouth.” She raised her eyes to meet Jake’s. “It looked like my mother’s ring. She wasn’t wearing it. There was supposed to be this blessing-of-the-ring ceremony and Tony was going to give it to her. But he didn’t show up until after they took Richard.”

  Jake slowly lowered himself into his own chair. “Your mother’s ring? How would it have ended up . . .” He trailed off, letting the question drift in the air between them.

  “I have no idea what was going on at that house. I can’t even wrap my head around it. Between Tony’s being missing, half my old company in attendance—” She broke off and sipped her tea. “I don’t know. You know how I feel about Richard Ruse. Trust me, there’s no love lost there. But a killer?” She shook her head. “Every cell in my body says no way.” Granted, she hadn’t seen him in a year and a half. People changed, after all. Did they change that much? H
ad pressures in the financial world gotten so high that killing someone was an option? The thought gave her the chills. How many times had she and her team said jokingly about Eleanor, “I could kill her”? Too many to count.

  But who would actually do it?

  “So why were all those people from your old job there?”

  “That’s the question of the day,” Stan said. “Most of them probably never heard of Frog Ledge before tonight.”

  Jake was quiet. Stan knew he probably had a million questions, but he wouldn’t want to overwhelm her when she was already having a hard time. He wasn’t the only one with a million questions, though.

  “And then there’s Tony. Where was he all night? He walks in right as the police are thinking they got their man, and they just take him away and give him some privacy? Something’s not right. Plus, they called in a ton of cops, including Major Crimes. And they had them come in the back to try to limit the disruption. Like Tony was getting special treatment or something.”

  “Mayor of Frog Ledge?” Jake asked skeptically. “It’s not like he’s the governor of Connecticut or something.”

  “Exactly what Jessie said.” Stan put her mug down. “I don’t think they even questioned him. As soon as Richard presented as an option they ran with it and let everyone else off the hook.”

  “Richard was pretty drunk,” Jake said carefully. “When he tried to talk to you.”

  “I know that,” Stan said. “Which wasn’t his typical behavior anyway. But just because he had a few drinks . . .” She trailed off, realizing how she sounded. Of course alcohol could have that effect on someone. Especially someone who normally didn’t drink. Richard had been acting funny. Drinking a lot and physically grabbing someone to get her attention at a party filled with his coworkers . . . not his typical behavior.

  Jake slid his hand across the table and entwined his fingers with hers. “I know it’s crazy to think someone you dated could do something like that. But you don’t know if something was going on with Richard and Eleanor.”

  “No, I don’t. You’re right. But honestly? I could see Eleanor killing someone more than I could see Richard. And I’m not saying that because I dated him, or disliked her.”

  “I don’t think you’re defending him because you dated him, Stan. Look. It’s not hard to tell this woman wasn’t well liked. You told me yourself your old work environment was dysfunctional. Anything could’ve happened tonight.” He squeezed her hand to get her to look at him. “Anything.”

  He was right, of course. About all of it. As usual. Her constant voice of reason.

  “I know,” she said. “And of course, anything turned into murder. Someone always gets murdered around me, or by extension, now my family.” She heard her voice crack at that statement and cleared her throat.

  “I don’t think it’s accurate to say people get murdered around you,” Jake said. “Just because the crime rate’s gone up doesn’t mean it’s your fault. I’m kidding,” he said, as her face fell.

  Stan snorted. “That makes me feel a lot better.” She got up to put her mug in the sink and tossed her tea bag into the trash. “The elephant in the room is Tony. No one wanted to address where he was for half the night. I don’t know, Jake. There’s a lot more to this story than anyone’s saying. And someone’s sitting in jail right now who probably shouldn’t be.”

  Chapter 15

  Jake finally convinced her to go to bed around four a.m. Stan obliged after a quick peek in on Caitlyn. Her sister was asleep, Eva cuddled up next to her, one arm wrapped around Scruffy, Gaston curled at her feet. Seeing Caitlyn snuggling with her dogs made her smile. She closed the door quietly.

  Henry slept in his bed in their room, and Duncan sprawled on the floor. Nutty and Benedict, enjoying this rare treat of no dogs on the bed, abandoned Caitlyn and Eva and claimed their spots. Nutty kept her pillow warm and Benny curled up at the foot of the bed. Stan put on her pajamas and crawled in next to them, then spent the next hour staring at the ceiling as the rest of the house slept around her. She couldn’t erase the troubling images of the night from her mind. Eleanor’s body, Monica crumbling to a heap on the floor, Richard in custody, Tony’s dramatic arrival all played on a continuous loop in her brain until she was too exhausted to fight it anymore.

  It seemed like minutes later when she awoke to bright sun streaming in through her window. Blinking, she rolled over to look at the clock. Eight-fifteen. Jake still slept soundly next to her, but she could hear voices downstairs. Caitlyn? Stan had a hard time imagining her sister full of energy after last night. Her impending divorce had left her reeling, never mind finding a dead body. The images crowded into her brain again, and she considered pulling the shades and putting her pillow over her head.

  But she needed to get up and face the world. Or at least what was going on downstairs. She sat up and glanced around the room. Henry slept in his bed, as oblivious to the activity as Jake. Duncan and the cats were gone. With a sigh, she threw the covers off and slipped out of bed, closing the door behind her as she left. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and swept her hair into a ponytail, squinting at her face in the mirror. Her skin looked blotchy. The bags under her eyes were first-class-ticket worthy. She made a face and turned away. If Caitlyn was up, she hoped her sister had figured out how to make coffee, but didn’t have high hopes. She had a staff for those things at home.

  But it certainly smelled like coffee as she made her way down the stairs. Her sleep-fogged brain encouraged her to move faster, get some fuel. When she reached the kitchen, she stopped in surprise. Brenna stood at the counter with Eva. They mixed dough together, Eva’s hands deep in the bowl, guided by Brenna. Benedict watched from his perch on top of the refrigerator. The three dogs and Nutty waited anxiously on the floor in a semicircle, hoping for castoffs. A pot of coffee brewed merrily next to their operation, a thoughtful gesture given the to-go cup from Izzy’s on the counter next to her.

  “Did I miss a day? Is it Monday? And what are you doing here so early?” Stan asked, grabbing the mug Brenna had already set out for her and filling it with coffee before the machine even finished brewing. “And I mean that in a completely grateful way, of course.”

  “Auntie Krissie! I’m helping you bake,” Eva announced. “We’re making peanut butter cookies.”

  “I see that!” Stan said. “Thank you.”

  Brenna glanced up and smiled. The youngest of the McGee clan, Brenna liked to say she had only the good traits from her older brother and sister. Her hair alternated between blondish brown in the summer and darker in the winter like Jake, and they shared the same brilliant smile. She also had Jessie’s intense green eyes and quick temper. The three of them were perfect Irish siblings, straight out of a Nora Roberts trilogy.

  “You didn’t miss anything. It’s still Sunday,” Brenna said. “We have a bunch of orders on the docket, and I didn’t want you to worry about them. I would’ve started them at the pub, but the Irish stew cook-off is today and I’ll never get near the stoves. I heard what happened last night,” she said, her voice dropping an octave, mindful of the child in front of her waving dough-encrusted fingers around.

  That wave of nausea passed over Stan again. She paused, her mug halfway to her mouth. “What’d you hear?”

  Brenna cut her eyes to Eva, then back to Stan. “Cyril reported a murder at the mayor’s house on his website early this morning. One suspect in custody.” She spelled out the word “murder” for Eva’s benefit. “A couple of guys were out on the green this morning when Scott and I were running and they said the victim was some fancy city woman. Scott was horrified. He figured spending less time in Hartford would mean hearing about fewer murders.”

  Brenna’s new boyfriend, Scott Grayson, divided his time between Frog Ledge and Hartford since they’d gotten together. One could almost argue Hartford was a safer bet these days.

  Stan set down her mug as her stomach roiled again, Eleanor’s still face flashing in front of her eyes. “So much for
keeping it quiet. I wonder who tipped him off.”

  “He listens to that scanner all day and night,” Brenna said.

  “Yeah, but it didn’t go out over the radio,” Stan said.

  Brenna looked at her quizzically. “Who was the woman?”

  “Her name was Eleanor. I used to work with her.” She changed the subject before Brenna could ask. “So the Irish stew cook-off is today. I totally forgot about it.”

  The annual event Jake hosted drew local closet chefs, people who pulled out their aprons once each year to compete for one of the coveted awards. Categories included best overall stew, most creative use of spices, and best vegetarian option, among others. A local panel of judges tested the stews and awarded the prizes. Then Jake usually had a live Irish band or other form of entertainment after the contest, to round out the day.

  “Yeah, the pub will be packed all day,” Brenna said. “I’m going to go help out this afternoon. Another reason why I wanted to get here early. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “No. I’m glad you’re here. You’re reminding me how much I need to get done.”

  “Did you look at the outline I emailed you for the website?” Brenna wanted to know. “No, Eva, we have to keep that in the bowl. Now we’re going to make broccoli and cheese treats.”

  “Ewww.” Eva wrinkled her nose. “We should make chocolate instead.”

  “Kitties and puppies can’t eat chocolate. Vegetables it is,” Brenna said, opening the fridge and pulling items out.

  “I didn’t look at the website outline. I’m sorry. I was working on menus yesterday, and doing some baking,” Stan said. “Then I had to leave for the . . . party.”

  “I want to get working on it. The more hype we can get before you open, the more successful you’ll be.” Brenna hesitated. “Have you figured out who’s making the pastry cases yet?”

  She hadn’t. She’d been putting it off ever since her mother “suggested” she contact a friend of hers to make the specialized dog- and cat-shaped pastry cases she wanted for the store. Which meant her mother expected her to contact this friend, no questions asked. A price she’d pay for her mother’s investment in her business.