Custom Baked Murder

by Liz Mugavero

  Francie clapped her hands. “I’m so thrilled! I can’t wait.”

  “I don’t have a huge budget yet,” Stan cautioned. “We’ll have to figure out hours and what works for you.”

  “I’m not worried. Whatever we work out for hours and pay will be fine. And perhaps a small discount on treats for Cooper.” She smiled shyly.

  “Discounts are a given,” Stan said, grinning. “And the dogs get to eat on the job. How about two days a week baking while we’re prepping to open, then we can talk about a more permanent schedule after that? We can work out the details later.”

  “Done!” Francie reached over and took Stan by surprise by enveloping her in a big hug. “Thank you so much,” she said. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

  Stan patted her on the back. It felt good to know she’d made someone happy. “Welcome to the team,” she said.

  Chapter 26

  Stan stayed at the bar until she could barely keep her eyes open. Exhaustion and the added stress of solving a murder had her feeling like a zombie by eight, and it wasn’t like she could have private conversations with Tony or the drunken Curtis Wallace in that crowd.

  She went home and found Caitlyn passed out on the couch. Eva sat on the floor, glued to Frozen playing in surround sound on TV, her legs perched on Henry like he was her own personal ottoman. The other dogs sprawled on the floor around her. Stan blew her a kiss and went upstairs, collapsing on her bed. She wanted to go to sleep now, but she had to call Nikki back first. Her best friend had called two more times this afternoon, but only left one short message: “Call me back, I’m home.”

  Nikki Manning ran a rescue organization, Pets Last Chance, and spent her days saving mostly dogs and some lucky cats from certain death down south. She operated out of her farmhouse in a rural part of Rhode Island and had volunteers from New England to Georgia doing runs to bring animals north. She ran transports at least once a week, and if she had people doing legs for her, she could do two to three. Scruffy came from one of those transports.

  Nutty stalked into the room as she picked up her phone, his fluffy Maine coon tail high and proud like a peacock. He jumped up on the bed and rubbed against her arm. Stan hoped the gesture was meant to comfort, but she assumed he wanted dinner. Still, it was nice to feel his soft fur and calming presence. A minute later she felt a similar rubbing on her leg. Looking down, she saw Benedict, looking hopefully at her with adoring eyes.

  “Hi, you guys.” She gathered Nutty against her and slid down to the floor, snuggling Benedict with her other arm. “Benny, is Nutty teaching you to ask for dinner or did you just want to see how I was feeling?”

  Benedict meowed. Definitely wanted to see how she was feeling. Nutty must’ve interpreted the comment the same way, because he blinked at him reproachfully. She figured if he could speak, he’d say something along the lines of Don’t be too soft, bro. Always keep the upper hand. Make sure you get food before you give too much love. It was okay, though. Nutty had a reputation to uphold, but he was really a big softy.

  “I’ll get you guys dinner in a few minutes,” she promised. Gaston poked his head in the room to see what was going on, his tail waving madly as he approached Stan for pets. Benedict froze, still not sure how he felt about the dogs, then dashed under the bed. He was a timid cat, having lived alone with one of Frog Ledge’s elders before her tragic death last winter. He was getting used to life here, but he still preferred to keep a good distance between himself and the dogs.

  “I know. You’re all hungry. Give me ten minutes,” she said, then made the call.

  Nikki answered on the third ring. “Hey,” she said. “How was the shindig? You tell your mother I’m mad she didn’t invite me?” She was joking, of course. Nikki liked fancy parties about as much as she liked seeing adoptable dogs on death row.

  “Count your blessings. You won’t believe what I’m going to tell you. You have to swear on all your dogs’ lives that you won’t talk about this,” she warned.

  “Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound good. But wait, don’t tell me yet. I have news for you, too. At least I think I do, but if I don’t and you didn’t mention it to me you know I’ll be mad, right?”

  Stymied, Stan said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Of course you don’t. You need to get out of that little town more. I’m guessing there’s nowhere to pick up the latest issue of Foodie around there?”

  Foodie was, unsurprisingly, a magazine dedicated to the world of gourmet food. “Foodie? Why? I don’t usually buy that anyway. Nikki, I have something really important—”

  “Of course you don’t. Which is why you have no clue that your own cat is the cover model!”

  “Huh?” Stan wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

  “Nutty,” Nikki said, sounding exasperated. “Didn’t this all happen in Rhode Island last month?”

  “Didn’t what happen? Foodie sent a photographer to that nightmare of a dinner. They took pictures.” It was part of the lure of her ill-fated weekend with Sheldon Allyn and crew. “The story didn’t run because of what happened, I thought. But she did take quite an interest in Nutty.”

  Nutty’d also had a little adventure that weekend and went missing for a few harrowing hours. The photographer was on-site for his dramatic rescue, and had shot tons of photos. But nothing had come of it. Had it?

  “Well, he’s the cover story of this month’s magazine,” Nikki said. “I’m telling you. She even mentioned your shop.”

  “Come on, Nik.” Suddenly, she remembered Kyle’s odd comment about “following the progress of her patisserie,” and it being public knowledge that it was in Frog Ledge.

  “Come on what? I’m serious!”

  “Holy crap. And you didn’t send me a copy?”

  “I couldn’t. It was on the table with my mail and one of the cats threw up on it. I’ll go buy more and ship them to you tomorrow. Nutty looks very handsome, by the way. You think they Photoshopped him?”

  “He’d claw your eyes out if he heard you say that!” Stan exclaimed. “He doesn’t need Photoshop. Was the story good?”

  “The story rocked. Your place is going to be the talk of the town, my friend. I’m so proud of you.”

  “Hopefully, it will be done in time to open this year. If this weekend doesn’t screw everything up.”

  “What do you mean? Does this have to do with your mother? Okay, tell me your story.”

  “Better sit down.” Stan waited a beat for emphasis. “Tony’s executive coach was murdered at the party. I used to work with her. She was horrible. And Richard, my ex, was there with a bunch of my old coworkers and somehow got himself arrested for the murder.”

  Nikki didn’t say anything for a full moment, then she chuckled. “Nice try, sister. Is this some kind of engagement party game or something?”

  “Nik. It’s not a game. I’m dead serious.” And someone else is dead.

  Silence while Nikki tried to formulate a response. “Girlfriend,” she said finally. “I hate to tell you, but I think someone put a curse on you. Your friend from down south. You sure she isn’t sticking pins in some voodoo doll that looks like you? Because this stuff doesn’t happen to people more than once. Usually not even once! And this is your—how many times?”

  “No need to count,” Stan interrupted. “I get it. I’ve got some kind of black death cloud hanging over me. That’s not the point. The point is, my ex got arrested!”

  “Why was he there?” Nikki wanted to know. “I didn’t even get an invite to this thing.”

  “I honestly don’t know,” Stan said.

  “Did they catch him, like, standing over the body or something?”

  “No. There was . . . a slight altercation with Jake and me. Richard was a little drunk and he took off outside. In the meantime, they found the body, then grabbed him and said he was trying to sneak away. I’m not sure they have a good reason for thinking it’s him. It was all very convenient.”

  “How’s
your mother taking this?” Nikki asked. “And her beau?”

  “That’s the other thing. Her beau was missing for half the night. No one will say where he was.”

  “And no one thinks that’s weird? Did he kill her?”

  “I don’t know what’s going on. But it doesn’t look like the police are open to looking at anyone else.” Paranoia had her choosing her words carefully. Who knew if this was a conspiracy that warranted tapped phones? Especially given Jessie’s assessment of the situation today.

  “’Night, Auntie Krissie!” Stan heard from the hallway as Eva stampeded up the steps.

  “’Night, sweetie,” she called back.

  “Who’s that?”

  “My niece. Caitlyn’s here.”

  “Your sister? What for?”

  “She’s visiting for . . . a while.”

  “A while?” Stan could almost hear Nikki shaking her head on the other end of the line. “I’m starting to think your old life was less complicated.”

  “Me too,” Stan said with a sigh. “At least I never found dead bodies before. But I have Jake now, so that makes up for it.”

  “How’s that going?”

  “Amazingly.” She smiled in spite of herself. “It’s really nice to have him here.”

  “Well, good. I’m happy for you. It’s good that you like each other’s company. Pretty soon you’re gonna be the only two left in that town, given the death rate. Listen, I gotta run, my transport line’s ringing. Let me know what happens with your mother. And don’t get involved,” she warned.

  Stan crossed her fingers behind her back and promised. Like Jake, Nikki knew her too well.

  Chapter 27

  Stan didn’t even hear Jake come in, but when she woke up Monday he was sound asleep next to her. He was used to this crazy schedule, but some days she had no idea how he kept it up. McSwigg’s stayed open seven days a week. It had to, in order to be “that place” where the townspeople congregated.

  She snuggled up to him, absorbing his warmth, not wanting to get up just yet. She could see the day dawning gray and dreary outside. The chill of the impending fall crept into the air. As much as she loved fall she didn’t want to be cold and gray today. She tried to doze back off, but her mind rocketed into gear, organizing her many tasks into a mental priority list. The pastry case. The menu. The website. New recipes. Store hours. Where would she find the perfect art? And then, her new duties: ingratiating herself with Tony, figuring out a way to get her ex-boyfriend’s head off the chopping block. Then she sat up straight. It was Monday. Richard would be brought for his court appearance this morning. Her gut churned at the thought.

  She dropped back down and pulled her pillow over her face. Maybe she should’ve moved to Key West when she lost her job. The weather was better year round, the vibe was chill, and she could’ve been a beach bum. Probably fewer dead people, too. But then she wouldn’t have met Jake, so in retrospect that would’ve been a horrible idea.

  Downstairs, the doorbell sounded. Immediately, Scruffy and Gaston bolted from their beds, barking up a storm. Henry let out a low woof, but remained snuggled in his bed. Duncan howled from another room—probably cuddling up with Eva. Who on earth would visit at this hour? She pulled the pillow off and reached for her phone to check the time. Seven thirty. Seriously?

  Miraculously, the ruckus didn’t even wake Jake. She envied his ability to sleep through anything. Stan slipped out of bed and left the room, closing the door behind her. She met Caitlyn in the hallway. “I didn’t think you were up yet,” Caitlyn said. “At least Eva didn’t wake up.”

  “I wasn’t up yet. Not sure who thinks it’s a good idea to ring my doorbell at this hour, but I’ll get it.”

  She went downstairs, where the dogs stood howling at the front door. Caitlyn followed her and started to head into the kitchen. “I’ll make coffee,” she called as Stan shooed the dogs out of the way. This had to be an alternate universe. Caitlyn was up and relatively cheerful before eight and offering to make coffee?

  Stan rubbed her eyes to make sure she wasn’t still asleep, then pulled open the door. Three men in suits stood there. One held a saxophone, another a guitar. The third man stood slightly in front of the other two. His hands were empty. They all smiled at her. “Caitlyn?” the one without an instrument asked.

  Stan stared at them, then shook her head to clear the fog. “No,” she said. “Uh, hold on. Caitlyn,” she yelled.

  Her sister appeared in the hall holding the coffee carafe. “What?”

  When they saw her, the man with no instrument blew her a kiss. “This is from Kyle,” he announced, then counted down, “Three, two, one.” They launched into a rendition of what Stan recognized after a minute as Sinatra’s “Baby Won’t You Please Come Home.”

  Speechless, Stan glanced at her sister, who almost dropped the coffeepot. Her face turned beet red. The dogs even stopped barking as they listened, heads slightly tilted. Stan would wager a bet that they’d never heard a saxophone up close and personal before. She wondered if the neighbors had. If they hadn’t, they were getting a taste today.

  Caitlyn turned and flounced out of sight into the kitchen. The musicians looked dismayed, but they kept playing. They were actually pretty good. Stan let them finish their song, then awkwardly applauded. Scruffy raced toward them, jumping at their legs looking for attention. The sax player reached down and scratched her ears.

  “Did she not like our music?” the singer asked, the corners of his mouth turning down.

  “That’s not it at all,” Stan assured him, wondering how she’d become a therapist for a traveling musical band before she’d even had coffee. “She’s just . . . not in a good place right now.”

  “Would another song help?” he asked hopefully.

  “No,” Stan said. “I don’t think so. But thank you. That was lovely.” She grabbed Scruffy and went to shut the door.

  The singer passed her a card. “If you ever want to serenade your sweetheart, call us,” he said. “We travel all over New England and the tristate area.”

  “Terrific. Thanks so much.” Stan waved, then slammed the door and turned the deadbolt. She let her head fall against it, then sighed and stood up. Nutty poked his head out from the living room, ears still plastered back against his head. “I know,” Stan muttered. “Trust me, I know.”

  Chapter 28

  The phone rang as Stan reached the kitchen. She plucked it off its stand on the counter. “Hello.”

  “It’s Amara. What the heck is going on over there? Isn’t it a little early for a concert?”

  Stan cringed. “I’m so sorry. It was a . . . musical telegram,” she said. Caitlyn turned from the coffeepot and shot her a lethal look.

  “No way! I didn’t know they still did that. From Jake?” Amara asked.

  “No. Not for me. For my sister.”

  “Your sister? I don’t think I knew you had a sister,” Amara said.

  “Well, I do,” Stan said. “She’s visiting for . . . a little bit.”

  “Cool. Who’s serenading her?”

  “It’s a long story,” Stan said through gritted teeth.

  “Okay, well, forget it, then. I’ll come meet her later. After I get some more sleep.”

  “Sorry to wake you,” Stan apologized again. She hung up and replaced the phone in its base. Then, unable to help it, she started to laugh. The stress of the past two days combined with the sheer ridiculousness of this morning had reached its peak. Better than crying.

  Caitlyn worked hard to keep the frown on her face, then gave in and giggled. That made Stan laugh even harder, and before she knew it the two of them leaned against the counter in hysterics. Tears poured from her eyes and she held on to her stomach, which hurt from laughing so hard. And that was how Jake found them minutes later when he walked into the kitchen, still rubbing sleep from his eyes.

  He stared at them for a minute, then went straight for the still-brewing coffee. “I don’t think I want to know,” he said.
/>   “I can’t even believe this is my life,” Caitlyn said between giggles. “I mean, who does that?”

  “Does what?” Jake asked, taking the cream from the fridge.

  “You mean you didn’t hear the concert?” Stan asked.

  “Concert?” He frowned. “No. I thought I heard a saxophone, but figured I was dreaming.”

  Stan and Caitlyn both dissolved into giggles again at that. Jake eyed his coffee warily. “Did you put something in the coffee?” he asked.

  “No. Kyle sent a traveling jazz band to our door to serenade Caitlyn,” Stan said.

  Jake scratched his head. “At this hour?”

  “Leave it to Kyle to be confused,” Caitlyn said dryly. She turned to Stan. “Do you think this qualifies as harassment? Will the cops make him leave town now?”

  “I doubt it,” Stan said. “Most people wouldn’t agree that sending someone over to sing a love song is harassment.”

  “What song?” Jake asked.

  “I don’t even know,” Caitlyn said.

  “Sinatra,” Stan said. “I had to be polite and listen when Caitlyn took off.”

  Jake looked from one to the other, then shook his head. “Just when I think life can’t get more interesting with you,” he said to Stan, “I’m always proven wrong.”

  * * *

  After she, Caitlyn, Eva, and Jake had breakfast together, Caitlyn took Eva out for a walk around the green. Jake showered. He had to go to the library and help Betty Meany bring in some new furniture for the children’s area.

  “I’ve got three bartenders tonight so I may not go to the pub,” he told her before he left. “Maybe we can go out to dinner?”

  “I’d love that. And now that I have another employee, I can feel less guilty about it.”

  “Another employee?”

  “Char introduced me to Francie Tucker. She was looking for another part-time job.”