Custom Baked Murder

by Liz Mugavero

  “Got it,” Kyle said. “I swear, I don’t want to upset her, Stan. But what do you mean, not the best time? Is she okay?”

  “She found a murdered woman,” Cyril explained helpfully.

  Kyle’s face paled. He looked at Stan. She knew they were both thinking about another murder victim.

  “That’s horrifying,” he said. “She’ll have a hard time with that, after . . . what happened. Please, can I see her now?”

  Cyril watched the whole exchange with great interest. Stan turned on him. “This is not for prime time.”

  “I don’t write for TV,” he said innocently.

  She rolled her eyes heavenward. “How is this my life? You know what I mean, Cyril.” She waited until he grudgingly nodded, then turned to Kyle. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

  She shoved the door open. “Hey, Caitlyn? Can you come here for a second?” To Cyril, she murmured, “You may want to go inside. I’ll meet you in there.”

  Cyril didn’t protest. He headed inside, nodding to Caitlyn as she passed him on her way out of the kitchen. “Hello. Cyril Pierce. Publisher, editor, and writer at the Frog Ledge Holler.”

  Caitlyn waved her beignet at Cyril. “Nice to meet you.”

  Her sister was eating a beignet? The world really had tilted on its axis. Stan had a moment of regret for what she was about to do, but figured if Kyle wanted to track Caitlyn down badly enough he’d do it at her house or somewhere else. Better here, where she had support. Jake could throw him out, if necessary.

  “What’s up?” Caitlyn asked, powdered sugar drifting gently to the floor as she bit into her treat.

  Stan mouthed, I’m sorry, then pulled the door open wider. “You have a visitor.”

  Caitlyn looked expectantly at the door. Kyle stepped into view, that same sheepish smile on his face. “Hey.”

  Caitlyn’s smiled faded. To her credit, she didn’t scream or throw her beignet at him. Instead, she said flatly, “Please leave.” Then turned on her heel and started back to the kitchen.

  Kyle rushed past Stan before she could stop him. “Caitlyn. Wait. Please. Just hear me out, then if you still want me to go, I’ll go. I just need to talk to you. Please?”

  Caitlyn stopped walking, her back still to Kyle. Stan waited, holding her breath. Finally, her sister turned. “You have five minutes,” she said, then flounced past him onto the porch.

  Stan looked at Kyle. “I’ll be inside if anyone needs me. Remember what you promised.”

  Chapter 18

  Kyle nodded and followed Caitlyn out, closing the door behind him. Stan debated listening at the door, then decided against it. Caitlyn was a grown woman who could make her own decisions. If she needed help, she’d come get her. Stan went back to the kitchen, where the mood was even more animated than when she’d left. Char’s quiches warmed in the oven, strong coffee permeated the air, and Eva wore more powdered sugar than any of the beignets still on a plate. She and Brenna both alternated between eating their doughnuts and cutting Schnauzer-shaped cookies into the dough. A half-eaten piece of quiche sat next to the mixing bowl. Cyril sat at the table with Char. They both ate beignets, too. They all looked expectantly at Stan when she returned.

  “What?” she asked.

  “What’s going on outside?” Char asked innocently, dabbing at her mouth with a paper napkin.

  Stan shrugged, looking pointedly at Eva. Her niece worked the cookie cutter in the dough while singing to Henry, who stared at her adoringly. “My sister has a visitor.”

  “Is it Daddy?” Eva piped up.

  Brenna, Char, and Cyril all looked at Eva, then at Stan.

  “No,” Stan said finally. “It’s not your daddy.”

  Eva breathed out a sigh of relief. “Good. Sometimes she throws things at Daddy.”

  Brenna stifled a giggle. Cyril raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Char shoved the quickly diminishing beignet plate at him. “Eat.”

  Cyril didn’t argue. He looked like he’d gone into shock from the crazy-strong coffee, which Char topped off in his cup. Brenna loaded a sheetful of cookies into the oven, then took a bite of her quiche. “Break time!” she announced to Eva. Eva dropped her cookie cutter, then climbed on Henry’s back. He blinked, then lay down.

  “Eva, honey, don’t sit on Henry,” Stan said.

  “So who’s outside then?” Char asked, still trying for innocent.

  Stan looked at Cyril. “Did you tell her?”

  Cyril raised his hands in defense. “She threatened to withhold the beignets.”

  “Cyril! And Char! What’s wrong with you two?”

  “Hey,” Char said. “I have to stay on top of what’s happening in my town. So what is happening? Are they getting back together? Did he bring her a fancy present?”

  “I have no idea,” Stan said.

  Char humphed. “Then why aren’t you out there eavesdropping?”

  Stan shot her a death glare.

  “Speaking of our town,” Cyril said. “We’re forgetting what’s really important here. Can you talk to me about last night?” He looked from Char to Stan.

  Stan turned the death glare on him. “Eva, honey, why don’t you take Henry into the backyard,” she said. “He needs to go outside.”

  Eva jumped up. “Come on, Henry!” Waving a freshly baked cookie at him, she raced to the door. He trotted after her obediently.

  When she heard the door bang shut, Stan turned to Cyril. “We don’t know any more than you already reported,” Stan said. “You should talk to the mayor.”

  Cyril inclined his head in agreement. “I’d love to. I saw his car at the pub, but the doors were locked.”

  Stan’s head snapped up. She looked at Char, who looked just as surprised. “At the pub? Today?”

  Cyril nodded, eyes narrowing at their reaction. “Why?”

  “Just surprised,” Stan said. “Jake wasn’t sure he’d still be up to judging the contest.”

  “He’s judging the Irish stew?” Char frowned. “He’s not Irish!”

  “So where was he last night, anyway?” Cyril asked. “When this executive got herself murdered?”

  “What do I look like, an information booth? Ask him!” Stan said.

  “Is your mother up to talking? I’m sure residents would like to hear from her. Given that she’ll be the town’s new first lady.”

  Stan groaned. Char wagged a finger at Cyril. “Honey,” she said, “I don’t think you want to go there.”

  Cyril considered that. He’d met Patricia. He let it go. “Then can you give me a reaction? Anything?” He ate more quiche, looking expectant.

  “It was horrible,” Stan said through clenched teeth. “Such a tragedy. You can quote me on that.” Really, she wanted him to go. She needed to talk to Char about what she’d seen or heard and couldn’t do it with him listening.

  “Someone was murdered in the midst of a hundred people. So scary,” Char added.

  “Mmm . . .” Cyril said, trying to scribble with one hand while retaining his grip on his fork. “That’s good.” He sipped his coffee and consulted his notes, then looked at Stan. “What do you know about the suspect?”

  Stan stood up so abruptly she almost knocked over a plate of quiche. “Cyril. I. Have. No. More. Comments. Got it?”

  The front door slamming cut off any reply he had. Stan escaped into the hall and saw her sister racing up the stairs in tears.

  Stan went to the front door, but Kyle and his sports car were gone. At least he’d listened to her warning. It certainly appeared he’d been asked to leave.

  She went back to the kitchen in time to hear Char adding to her comments. “I hope they solve this quickly. Patricia is so upset,” she said. “She was up all night. Don’t quote me on that. But I heard her wandering the house. Savannah was concerned.” Savannah was Char and Ray’s dog who watched over the alpacas.

  Stan frowned. “My mother? Wandering?” Patricia didn’t wander. And nothing interfered with her beauty sleep, especially if it was already cut short. />
  “Yes. Well, I’m sure it must feel terrible.” Char shivered. “A woman murdered in your bathroom? Heavens! It felt terrible to me and I don’t live there. I can’t imagine. I’d never be able to take a shower in there again.” She ate more beignet.

  Stan sighed. “Can you keep an eye on Eva, Char? I have to go see if Caitlyn’s okay.”

  “Of course, honeybun,” Char said, waving her off. “Give her a hug for me. No-good, rotten men.”

  “Hey,” Cyril protested.

  “You’re right,” Char said. “My Raymond excluded, because he knows I’d kill him and feed him to the gators if he was rotten.”

  Stan shook her head and took the stairs two at a time. Caitlyn’s door was ajar. Stan peeked in. Her sister lay facedown on the bed. Stan knocked. “Hey. You okay?”

  Caitlyn rolled over and looked at her. Her eyes were still red but her face was dry. “Fine.”

  “I’m sorry. He just showed up.” Stan held up her hands helplessly. “I didn’t know what to do.”

  To her surprise, her sister shook her head. “Not your fault. I’m surprised he could find the place on the map. I have no idea why he’d bother.” Her voice was bitter. “Maybe his other girlfriend dumped him, too.”

  Stan closed the door behind her and sat on the bed. “What did he say?”

  Caitlyn snorted and tossed a pillow aside. “That he loved me. And missed me. And all the other usual platitudes lying sacks of garbage say. And that he only took off with Bimbo Number Two because he was so ‘terrified’”—she inserted air quotes around the word—“about his feelings for me. And he also wanted me to know he started divorce proceedings from Bimbo Number One.” She flopped back on the bed and covered her face with her hands. “Loser,” she mumbled.

  Stan suppressed a smile. It wasn’t lost on her that she and her sister had never commiserated about boys as teenagers. It felt a little weird now, but . . . kind of good. “So what did you tell him?” she asked.

  Caitlyn uncovered her eyes. “I told him to get lost.”

  “Do you think he’ll listen?”

  “He better listen or I’ll call the cops. Will Jake’s sister escort him out of town?” Caitlyn sat up, suddenly interested. “Do you think I can ask her?”

  “No! Jeez. No. She will not do that. And if you ask her she’ll probably escort me out of town.”

  “How’s that fair?” Caitlyn asked. “He can just go where he wants and bother people?”

  Stan sat on the edge of the bed. “He’s not dangerous, is he?”

  Caitlyn pouted and shook her head. “All he did was cry.”

  “Cry? Really?” She cleared her throat when Caitlyn glared at her. “He has no right to cry. Jerk.”

  “You know what stinks?” Caitlyn asked.

  “What?”

  “I really love that jerk.” Caitlyn dissolved into tears again.

  Stan awkwardly put her arm around her. Caitlyn leaned her head on her shoulder. They sat like that for a while, until Eva came upstairs with Henry hot on her heels.

  “Mommy, are you sad?” she asked.

  Caitlyn wiped her eyes and smiled at her daughter. “A little, honey, but I’m fine.”

  Eva looked at her skeptically. “You don’t look fine. Want me to take you shopping? That’ll make you feel better.”

  Stan laughed. “You’ve taught her well.” She rose. “I’m going to shower. I have to head to the pub soon.”

  “I’m going to hide out here,” Caitlyn said.

  “Good plan.” Stan slipped into her room to get ready. When she emerged and went downstairs, no one was there but Brenna.

  “Where’d everyone go?”

  “Cyril couldn’t get any good info, so he went on a hunt for more victims. I think Char’s coffee was more than he bargained for. He might be working a double shift today to get all his energy out. Char went home to help Ray with some chores.”

  “That was a lot for first thing in the morning. Especially after a night like that.”

  Brenna laughed. “That’s what you get when you live in Frog Ledge. It’s like every day is an open house.” She took a finished cookie in the shape of a bone, broke it into pieces, and handed one to Scruffy. “Is your sister okay?”

  “She’ll be fine.” She hoped. She fished in her purse when she heard her cell ringing. It was Char.

  “I wanted to tell you before you heard it somewhere else. Or saw him around town again,” Char said.

  Stan felt her stomach twist. “What? Saw who around town?”

  “Caitlyn’s chef. He rented a room at the B&B.”

  Just what they all needed. More drama. “With my mother staying there? Good Lord. For how long?”

  “Well, that’s the thing. He handed me a boatload of cash and said he would need the room for as long as it takes.”

  “As long as it takes?” Stan repeated. “As long as what takes?”

  Char hesitated. When she spoke, Stan could hear the undertone of excitement in her voice. “As long as it takes to get Caitlyn to marry him.”

  Chapter 19

  Stan disconnected, wondering how to break this news to her sister. Kyle moving into Char’s B&B? What would possess him to do that? And where had he gotten a “boatload of cash”? Despite herself, she wondered if Kyle’d stuck it out with Sheldon Allyn and something came from that elusive Food Channel contract after all.

  She pushed the thought out of her head. She didn’t care about Sheldon. Or Kyle, for that matter. She was getting her shop, and it was hers. And Jake’s. They could do things on their terms. She conveniently pushed her mother’s influence out of her mind.

  “What’s wrong?” Brenna asked.

  “Nothing,” Stan muttered. “Just another day in my life. When are you heading to the pub?”

  “As soon as this last batch comes out of the oven. You going now?”

  Stan glanced at the clock on her phone. “I want to see if I can catch Tony before the place gets crowded.”

  “You should go, then,” Brenna said. “People like to get an early seat for this one.”

  * * *

  Stan drove the three minutes to the pub. Brenna wasn’t kidding. The parking lot was full even though they weren’t open yet. The Irish stew chefs, probably, and anyone else who could sneak in with them. Stan went around to the back and let herself into the kitchen, which bustled with activity. Pots of stew simmered on every available burner. People rushed around calling for ingredients and sampling one another’s offerings. She spied Jake at the counter dicing potatoes and carrots and went up behind him.

  “Hey.”

  He turned around, brightening when he saw her. “Hey. I didn’t expect you so soon. Everything okay? How’d it go with Caitlyn and her ex?”

  “She told him to leave,” Stan said.

  “Good. Did he?”

  “No. He got a room at Char’s and said he’s staying until Caitlyn marries him. She doesn’t know that yet. Char called me a few minutes ago, I know, I know.” She held up her hand. “You don’t even have to say it. I’m sorry you’re stuck with someone in a crazy family.”

  “I’m not,” he said with a shrug, turning back to the cutting board and slicing neatly through the middle of a carrot. “All families are crazy, anyway. I’d be with you even if you were related to Ted Bundy.”

  She felt that rush of ohmyGod that always happened when he said things like that. “Cool. So that gives me immunity, right?”

  “Immunity for what?”

  “For whatever they do during the next few weeks? I’m guessing things are going to get even more interesting around here.” She blew out a breath. “Anyway. Cyril said he saw Tony’s car. Is he here?”

  “I haven’t seen him, but I was downstairs for a bit. And I hear a bunch of people out there setting up.” He pointed into the main bar. “It’s not really my bar right now,” he said with a grin. “I’m just here to provide the potatoes. Although I am offering corned beef and cabbage and Reubens, so I have to take back my stoves at
some point.”

  Stan snagged a carrot to offset her beignets and wandered into the main room. The mahogany bar gleamed in the sunlight streaming in the windows. One of the bartenders worked furiously cutting up limes and lemons into metal trays, the light flashing off his knife blade. All the liquor bottles sat proudly on their shelves, and above the bar hung her favorite piece of art—the carved wooden sign that read YOUR FEET WILL BRING YOU TO WHERE YOUR HEART IS in Gaelic. She loved the words because they’d been true for her. She’d been drawn to this bar from the moment she stepped into town.

  They’d transformed the area reserved for live entertainment into a ministage with a long table stretched across, covered with a green tablecloth with four-leaf clovers. Irish-themed decorations were perched on both ends. There were five chairs set up with name cards in front of them for the judges. On the floor, a collection of circular tables waited for the pots of stew, today’s lead act. Matching Irish decorations graced those tables as well.

  “Stan! Are you cooking with us?” Betty Meany, the executive director of the Frog Ledge Library, swooped over and gave Stan a kiss on the cheek. She stood almost a full head shorter. Her short white hair stood up in youthful, carefully styled spikes. Today, the tips were a light shade of green. She’d dressed in a black pantsuit with a green silk scarf at her neck. Four-leaf clover earrings dangled from her lobes. “Is there an Irish stew for pups? How are you, sweetie? It’s good to see you. I didn’t even get a chance to talk to you last night, what with all the . . . disruption. My goodness, what is this world coming to?” She shook her head solemnly, then narrowed her eyes. “And what does our esteemed mayor have to do with what happened? Very suspicious, if you ask me.” She tilted her head, motioning across the room. Stan saw Tony, huddled in a private conversation with Don Miller, another town council member.

  Before Stan could formulate a response, Betty went on. “Anyway, we need to talk about the next art show at the library. I want you to help me with it.” She wagged a finger at Stan. “And don’t tell me you’re too busy, either. I need your eye.”

  Stan couldn’t help but smile. Betty’s energy rivaled that of the Energizer Bunny on crack. Coupled with her fierce love of books and her town, she was a formidable part of Frog Ledge’s fabric. And she knew how to run events. “I would love to help,” Stan said. “We’ll figure something out.”