by Liz Mugavero
When her deal with Sheldon Allyn fell apart last month, Jake scrambled to make it right, understanding how much she wanted a brick-and-mortar shop, perhaps even more than she did. Her mother, either in a rare moment of thoughtfulness for her older daughter or anticipating her upcoming marriage to the mayor and doing her part to improve the town’s appeal, offered to partner with him. Jake knew how Stan would feel about that and negotiated a sixty-forty split. Stan loved him for it, but sometimes her mother still acted like she had the final say. Stan didn’t want some fancy person her mother knew making the cases. But she didn’t know if she could get what she wanted elsewhere, either. “I didn’t,” she answered Brenna’s question. “It’s on my list.”
Brenna wagged a finger at her. “They’ll never be ready for your opening!”
“I know, I know.” Scruffy came over and stood up against Stan’s leg, stubby tail wagging, eyes hopeful as she waited for a kiss. “Hi, baby.” Stan kissed the dog’s nose. Scruffy licked hers, then ran back over to where Duncan and Gaston waited for falling snacks. “I’ll work on it today.” At least it was probably the last thing on her mother’s mind after last night.
Footsteps clattered down the stairs, then Caitlyn appeared, still in her pajamas and a pair of fuzzy slippers, smoothing her hair with her fingers. She surveyed the scene in front of her. “Good morning. Why are we all up so early? We just went to bed. What on earth are you doing, Eva?”
“Baking!” Eva said, in a tone that suggested her mother was not very smart if she couldn’t see that.
“Caitlyn, this is Brenna. Jake’s sister. She works with me,” Stan said. “Bren, my sister, Caitlyn.”
Brenna waved a floury hand. “Hi. Your daughter’s adorable.”
“She’s a character,” Caitlyn said. She looked at Stan. “How’d you sleep?”
Great, if you considered two hours of half-asleep-ness “getting sleep.” “As well as can be expected, I guess. You?”
Caitlyn shrugged. “Fine. I need coffee.”
“Pour me more, too, will you?” Stan held out her mug.
“I think we can cut this batch now,” Brenna announced. “Which cookie cutters should we use?” she asked Eva, pointing toward the offering she’d laid out and hoisting Eva up so she could see. “We have cats, bears, different puppies. . . .”
Eva pondered the selection carefully before she chose one of Stan’s most recent purchases, a schnauzer. They didn’t have a schnoodle shape, so that was the best she could do. “That one. It looks like Scruffy.”
Scruffy perked up at the sound of her name and went to Eva, licking her leg. Henry finally lumbered down the stairs and into the room. Eva rushed to him, throwing her arms around his neck.
“Easy, Eva!” Caitlyn commanded.
“She’s fine,” Stan said automatically.
Caitlyn shrugged and poured herself some coffee. “So what happens now?”
“With what?”
Caitlyn shot her a dirty look. “With the m-u-r-d-e-r,” she spelled.
Stan sighed. “You too with the spelling? I don’t know. Maybe you should ask Jessie.”
The phone rang. Stan moved to the counter to answer it.
“Your mother might be on her way over,” Char said without preamble when she answered.
Stan walked out of the kitchen and into her favorite room, the small den at the front of the house. She sank down on the couch and rested her head against a throw pillow. She hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep for this. “Might be?” she asked.
“Well. Tony never came to the B&B and she couldn’t reach him. I stayed up with her until five. What a terribly long night that was! Anyway, I got up a little while ago and made breakfast like I always do—routine is everything, and I had guests checking out today—but your mother seemed very agitated and didn’t want anything.” Char sounded stymied by this. She loved to eat and didn’t understand people who weren’t as fixated on the activity.
Stan had to laugh. The lack of sleep hadn’t affected Char’s energy level too much.
“Anyway, if she can’t track him down, I figure she’ll come to you.” Char dropped her voice. “His phone was off and he never did connect with her after he arrived at the party. They had her locked away, then they took him somewhere.”
Stan remembered seeing Tony disappearing down the back stairwell with Captain Quigley and her stomach twisted into a knot. “Great,” she said, trying to force cheer into her voice. “We have a full house this morning. Brenna’s here baking.”
“Want me to bring some food over? I made lots of quiche, and I even whipped up some beignets. I can bring chicory coffee.”
Char’s New Orleans roots made her meals the most coveted commodity in Frog Ledge, with some going so far as to stay overnight at her B and B to get a meal. Others set up town potluck events in hopes Char would bring gumbo or fried catfish she’d ordered from home. “Sure,” she said. “If you’re looking for a way to get rid of all the food. And you know how much I love chicory coffee.” She hoped her stomach would settle enough to enjoy some of the goodies.
It would be good to get some time with Char, anyway. Maybe she could give Stan a rundown of everything that happened at the party before she arrived. Char was the queen of gossip—she had to know something.
Chapter 16
Stan went upstairs to rouse Jake and warn him about the full house, but he was already in the shower. Probably getting ready to go oversee his Irish stew competition. While she waited for him to emerge from the bathroom, she sat down with her laptop and pulled up the Frog Ledge Holler website. As Brenna promised, the lead story focused on the murder.
MURDER AT THE MAYOR’S, the headline read, and Stan cringed. She read the first paragraph.
An executive moonlighting as Frog Ledge mayor Tony Falco’s “executive coach” was murdered Saturday night while attending Falco’s engagement party at his home. Eleanor Chang, 48, was found dead in an upstairs bathroom by a party guest. Falco was not at the home when the murder occurred.
Nutty jumped onto her lap, nuzzling her chin. Cyril went on to say the police had a suspect in custody. The suspect wasn’t named. No mention of a diamond engagement ring in an odd place, thank goodness. Stan clicked off the website.
The shower stopped and the doorbell rang simultaneously. The dogs did their usual barking and stampeding routine. Either Char with all the food, or her mother. God, she hoped it wasn’t her mother. Maybe if she just hid up here no one would notice. She could sneak out the back door and go judge the Irish stew competition. Although she didn’t eat meat, so that could be tough if the only offering she could taste was the vegetarian one.
Jake came out of the bathroom wearing jeans, no shirt, his hair still damp. His eyes lit up when he saw her. “Hey, beautiful.” He came over to give her a kiss. She lingered, breathing in his clean scent. “How come you’re up? You hardly got any sleep.”
“You’re up,” she pointed out.
He smiled. “I’m used to it. I run a bar.”
“True. I’m exhausted, but we’ve got lots of company. Brenna’s here baking. I think Char just arrived with breakfast. Can you stay for a bit?” she asked hopefully.
“For a quick bite. I have the—”
“Irish stew. I know,” Stan said. “Do you need help?”
“If it’s from you I wouldn’t turn it down,” he said. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, since Tony’s supposed to be a judge. But either way the show will go on.”
“Well, Char told me Tony never went to the B&B last night. He didn’t contact my mother at all.”
“Really.” Jake frowned. “So where was he? They wouldn’t have let him stay at his house.”
“I wouldn’t think so. So I have no idea where he was. Cyril’s got the story on his website. Not sure how he got all these details in the middle of the night, but so much for the state police’s efforts to keep this on the down-low.”
“Hey, Stan!” Caitlyn yelled up the stairs. “Char’s here!”
Jake grinned. “Go ahead. I’ll be down in a minute.”
Stan descended the steps in time to join the parade of hands helping Char bring in enough food to feed McSwigg’s patrons at its peak. Char wore a sunshine-yellow dress with white platform flip-flops. She blew a kiss at Stan over an overflowing plate of beignets. “Cyril’s right behind me, honey,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows in warning.
She should’ve known. The newspaperman might be quirky beyond words, but he took his job very seriously. If he was here, he either couldn’t reach Tony or Patricia and thought Stan could help, or he’d heard Caitlyn had found the body and wanted to interview her. Or possibly all of the above.
He greeted her at the front door wearing his signature black trench coat, holding the last quiche from the backseat of Char’s Range Rover. “Morning,” he said, climbing onto her wraparound porch. Duncan pushed past her and shoved his nose against Cyril, sniffing for quiche. Stan yanked him away.
“Morning. What brings you over so early?”
“Next time, you guys should just invite me to the party,” Cyril said. “I’m surprised your mother didn’t want press coverage of her big engagement event.”
Stan didn’t have the heart to tell him she’d invited the New York Times. The Frog Ledge Holler wasn’t really high on her list of society pages. Thankfully, the Times social reporter hadn’t been able to make it. “Sorry,” Stan said. “I wasn’t in charge of the guest list.” She held the door open for Cyril. “Are you here to interview me about my baking prowess?”
He gave her a look. “Come on, Stan. Much as that will make a great Sunday feature, today’s all about the murder in the mayor’s bathroom. Hey, that’s a better title. MURDER IN THE MAYOR’S BATHROOM.” He scribbled it in his notebook, then tapped his pen against his chin thoughtfully. “I should’ve used it today.”
“I can’t tell you anything, Cyril.”
“They arrested someone.”
“So I heard.”
“Someone you know. So why’d he do it?” Cyril leaned forward suggestively.
Terrific. Stan clenched her hands into fists until she felt her nails digging into her palms. “Innocent until proven guilty, right? I’m sure they’ll tell you all about motive at the press conference. And I don’t recall reading a name in your article.”
Cyril shrugged. “I didn’t have it when I wrote the breaking news. And I can’t get a straight answer on when the press conference will be. Also can’t get a confirmation on the cause of death, although I’ve heard a few similar accounts. If you’d like to confirm for me, I can run it regardless of Trooper Pasquale’s attempts to keep it quiet.”
It took Stan a while to get used to Cyril when she’d moved to town. Of course, she’d been at the center of a murder investigation when she’d first made his acquaintance. Now she’d grown to the point of liking him most days, this oddball, dedicated journalist with the trademark trench coat regardless of weather, curly hair that he’d never figured out how to tame, bad teeth, and intense stare. But he was sort of lovable, when he wasn’t writing stories about her or her family.
“I can’t comment. I wasn’t the one who found her. And I don’t think Trooper Pasquale is trying to keep anything quiet. I think she’s trying to put facts out there instead of speculation.”
“Stan, Stan.” Cyril shook his head at her. “I’m disappointed. You’ve seen this job from both sides. Don’t you remember?”
“During the five minutes I filled in for you last winter? Of course I remember.” Stan had jumped in for Cyril once over the winter when he’d had a conflict of interest during a murder case.
“Then you know we have to assume the worst when people won’t answer questions. And when news like this doesn’t come over the scanner.” He waggled unkempt, knowing eyebrows at her. “Plus, I heard your sister found her. I also heard she’s staying here with you. So I’m hoping I’m invited in for quiche.”
“You can come in for quiche. But I doubt my sister will want to talk about last night, and if you press the issue I’ll throw you out before you have quiche.”
Cyril sighed. “Fair enough.”
Another car pulled up in front of Stan’s house and parked on the street. It looked like she was having a party, and it wasn’t even ten yet. But this car, she didn’t recognize. It was a blue Corvette, and to the best of her knowledge she didn’t know anyone with a blue Corvette in town. She squinted, trying to see the driver. Cyril turned to look with her. “Who’s that?”
“I have no idea,” she said. “But I’ve never entertained so many people in my pajamas before.”
They watched as a man swung the Corvette’s door open and unfolded himself from the low seat. He wore a baseball cap pulled down over his forehead. Sunglasses covered his eyes. But there was something familiar about his movements. The man shut the car door and loped over to them across Stan’s grass. When he got closer, he raised his hand in a wave, a sheepish smile spreading across his face.
“Hey, Stan.”
Stan’s mouth dropped open. Kyle McLeod. Her sister’s ex-boyfriend, one of the chefs from her retreat with Sheldon Allyn earlier this summer. The one for whom Caitlyn had been willing to divorce her husband, and then found out she wasn’t exactly his one and only.
If Caitlyn’s weekend hadn’t already gone down the toilet with the Eleanor Chang fiasco, this would certainly help it along.
Chapter 17
Stan pulled her front door all the way shut behind her and held the knob, hoping to dissuade anyone from coming out and seeing their visitor. “Kyle. What—how did you even know where I lived?”
He shrugged. “It wasn’t that hard. I’ve been following the progress on your pet patisserie. It’s public news that it’s in Frog Ledge. I just went to the general store and asked for you.”
Public news? And darn it, Abby, don’t you know better than to give out addresses to strange men? Stan made a mental note to speak to the store owner about that.
“Anyway,” Kyle went on, “I heard there was a family event here this weekend and thought I could catch Caitlyn. I really need to talk to her. Looks like she’s here.” He inclined his chin in the direction of Caitlyn’s car.
Cyril watched the exchange with interest. Stan figured he itched to pull out his steno pad and interview Kyle, but to his credit he waited to see what would happen next.
“Um,” Stan said finally. Brilliant. But what was she supposed to say? Caitlyn really cared about Kyle. She’d been devastated when she found out what he’d been up to. “Eva’s here,” she said.
Kyle nodded. “I don’t want to intrude. But maybe you could tell her I’m here?” He looked so earnest. “I really need to talk to her, Stan. I miss her.”
The doorknob twisted in Stan’s hand and Jake yanked the door open from Stan’s grasp. He looked surprised to see them all out on the porch, holding the door prisoner. He’d dressed in his typical McSwigg’s black T-shirt with small green lettering on the sleeve. His longish hair was still damp. He had a beignet balanced on a travel mug with coffee and looked just as much like a model as he had last night in his suit. Today it could be for either hair products or pastry. “I was looking for you,” he said to Stan. “Morning, Cyril,” he said with a nod. Then his gaze slid to Kyle.
Stan pulled the door shut behind him again. “Jake, Kyle McLeod,” she said by way of introduction. Jake looked puzzled for a second, then recognition dawned.
“How’s it going,” was all he said to Kyle.
Kyle nodded, went to shake his hand, realized Jake’s were full, and stuffed his own hands in his pockets.
Jake looked at Stan. “Walk with me?”
“Wait here,” she instructed both Kyle and Cyril, then followed him to the driveway in her bare feet. “I don’t know why he’s here,” she said before he could speak.
“That’s your sister’s ex? Is he still ex?”
Stan nodded.
“Do you think she’s going to want to see him?”
“I have no idea. She hasn’t said much about any of that.”
Jake looked back toward the house, his gaze lingering on Kyle for a second before he turned back to Stan. “Is he going to try something stupid with her kid around?”
She shrugged. “I don’t really know him. He doesn’t seem crazy. Aside from his relationship problems.”
“Do you want me to stay?”
Stan shook her head. “It’ll be okay. Go get the bar ready.” She stretched up on her tiptoes and kissed him.
He touched his forehead to hers. “Call me if there are any problems. There’s enough drama going on around here without this.”
“You’re singing to the choir. It’ll be fine. I’ll call you.” She watched him balancing his breakfast as he unlocked his truck, thinking how amazing that she was able to still feel so lucky despite the consistent craziness. But murder aside, she’d moved to this town more alone than she’d realized. It took this village of real people to introduce her to true friendship—and true love.
Once he’d safely deposited the beignet and coffee in his console, he turned back. “You still coming by the bar later? I’ll have French fries for you.” He grinned.
She laughed. “I’ll be over. I’ll try some of the vegetarian stew.”
He cringed. “What kind of Irish girl are you, anyway?”
“One who doesn’t eat meat. But you knew that when you fell in love with me.” She winked.
“I certainly did.” He kissed her again, hopped in his truck, and started it.
Stan waved as he pulled out of the driveway and looped around the green toward Main Street. Once his truck was out of sight, she walked back toward Kyle and Cyril, still standing on the front porch.
“Okay,” she said to Kyle. “No promises. And if she asks you to leave, you’re leaving. This is not the best time. Understood?”
