Custom Baked Murder

by Liz Mugavero

  “I see.” Stan nodded slowly. “So why were you and Eleanor Chang fighting at Izzy’s café? If you never went there,” she added. “Since it was so trendy.”

  Wallace froze, all the color draining from his face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, but his voice sounded strangled.

  “Come on, Curtis. Just because your pals don’t frequent the place, you never know who might recognize you,” Stan said. “How did you know Eleanor Chang?”

  Wallace rose from his chair, his face red. He cast his gaze around the room somewhat desperately, as if looking for an exit. “That is none of your business.”

  Stan got to her feet, too, and leaned forward, meeting his gaze head-on. “Wrong. Someone’s been accused of this murder who is very likely innocent. Fighting with her a week before she died doesn’t look so good.”

  They watched each other for a minute, then Wallace lowered back into the chair, a look of defeat on his face. “You’re way out of line, Ms. Connor. Not that it’s any of your business, but I’d engaged Ms. Chang as a consultant.”

  Stan sat back down, too. “To do what?”

  “Coach me.” He shrugged. “I heard Tony was using her, so I thought I could benefit, too. I don’t want to be second fiddle for the rest of my life, after all. She was open to the idea. Didn’t think it was a conflict of interest.”

  That was so Eleanor. “So you want to be mayor.”

  “I haven’t ruled it out,” he said coolly.

  “Did Tony know you hired her?”

  He shook his head. “Not to my knowledge. She assured confidentiality.” He looked embarrassed. “I didn’t want my colleagues to know I needed to work on some . . . stylistic elements of my demeanor.”

  They probably don’t need to be told. The thought flitted through Stan’s head and almost exited her mouth. She clamped it shut.

  “Nor did I want Tony to know he’d have competition going forward,” Wallace added.

  “I take it you didn’t have the best working relationship with Ms. Chang,” Stan said.

  He snorted. “She was very demanding. She wanted to dictate, not coach. And she did want me to spar with Tony. Insisted it would be good for both of us to be on top of our games.”

  “She wanted you at odds,” Stan said.

  Wallace nodded. “That’s what I felt, anyway. Like the landscape here would be more interesting if we were publicly blasting each other. Which meant she never intended to keep our work confidential. I wasn’t interested in her tactics. And frankly, she wanted a bigger time commitment than I was able to give. I suppose it was good that she took her work seriously, but I only wanted to meet once a week and get tips on how to be more effective. She wanted me to proactively engage with the media, offer to do speaking engagements . . .” He waved a dismissive hand. “Who has time for all that? And that poor daughter of hers. She brought her along to every meeting, barked orders at her, talked to her as if she was stupid. It was terrible. Not an environment I wanted to be in. I wanted to terminate our relationship.”

  “Is that what you were fighting about? Did you fire her?”

  “I tried. I asked her for a meeting. She insisted we meet at that café. I told her I didn’t wish to go there. She didn’t care, said if I wanted to meet, that’s where it would be.”

  “So what happened?” Stan asked.

  “I fired her,” he said simply. “She didn’t want to be fired and tried to talk me out of it. More aptly, bully me out of it. She got very nasty. Even said I didn’t have what it took to be mayor.” He snorted. “Because that’s such a hard job.”

  Maybe Monica had misspoken, and it wasn’t Tony she meant when she made the remark to Scott about her mom not letting someone fire her. “Did she threaten you with anything?”

  “There was nothing to threaten me with,” Wallace said. “There was nothing unseemly about our collaboration. My wife knew about it. She had no leverage.”

  “Maybe she threatened to out you to Tony.”

  Wallace nodded. “Sure she did. But what difference would it have made? She’d already told me he was considering a gubernatorial run. My mayoral campaign wouldn’t have made much difference to him at all. No, Ms. Connor,” he said. “The only thing I’m guilty of is choosing the wrong consultant.”

  “But then you had to see her again on Saturday night. Did she say anything to you at the party? Cause another scene? What happened, Curtis?”

  Wallace’s eyes were black slits. “She paid no attention to me Saturday night. She was too busy yelling at the pastor out by the pool shed.”

  “The pastor?” Stan asked.

  “Pastor Ellis from that Unitarian-whatever church. I have no idea what the poor man did to get on her bad side, but maybe you should talk to him. She certainly let him have it.”

  Chapter 54

  “Did you know Pastor Ellis and Eleanor had a fight at the party?” Stan asked Jessie the next morning, her first opportunity to call her.

  “I hadn’t heard that,” Jessie said. Stan could hear cartoons in the background. “It’s so weird to be home at this hour,” she muttered. “I’m so sick of Dora the Explorer. Anyway, go on. What happened?”

  “I don’t know if Curtis was just deflecting, but he said he heard them out by the pool shed fighting,” Stan said.

  “Pastor Ellis.” Jessie thought about that. “I would hate for that to be true.”

  “Eleanor brought out the worst in people,” Stan said. “I have one more stop I’m making today. Curtis Wallace’s brother. Might be a dead end, but I want to see if he’ll talk about his old buddy. I have to go, Brenna’s here. Call me later.”

  She went to the front door to meet Brenna, throwing her arms around her when she walked in. “I’m so relieved,” she said, hugging her tight. The dogs, excited about their excitement, joined in by jumping all over them. Except Henry, who stood back and waited to be petted.

  Brenna laughed and hugged her back, deftly juggling the lattes in her hand. “About Scott? Jeez, you guys are all too much. I could’ve told you there was a good explanation. But I guess every dumb woman in love with a guy says that, right? You would’ve insisted on going off on your own to figure it out. Here.” She thrust the tray of coffees at her.

  Stan took it, sighing with happiness. “You’re spoiling me. Thank you, as always.”

  “Are you kidding? Izzy just gives it to me. She says we’re her favorite business in town next to her own, and we all have to help each other. So drink up.”

  Stan grinned and sipped. “I have the best friends in the world.”

  “So you seriously thought Scott and this girl got together and hatched a plot to kill her mother?” Brenna asked as they walked into the kitchen.

  It sounded absurd now that she knew it wasn’t true. “I panicked when I realized Scott’s car had the same sticker and license plate. Especially with Monica’s actions. It’s wild to think they knew each other. I hate that stupid phrase about it being a small world, but man, it’s a small world.”

  “It is.” Brenna dropped her bag on a chair and leaned against the counter. “So is my sister in trouble? She wouldn’t tell me anything. I swear, they both treat me like I’m five.”

  “Careful, or we’ll dial it back to treating you like you’re three,” Jake said from the doorway. They both turned, Brenna’s arms crossing her chest defensively. “Kidding,” he said, coming over to hug his little sister. She gave in and hugged him back.

  “I guess I forgive you,” she grumbled, but she smiled.

  “You’re pretty lucky we like you enough to care,” Jake reminded her.

  “I know.”

  “How’s Scott? Does he forgive us?” Stan asked.

  “Yeah. Which makes it harder for me to stay mad. He’s just so darn nice!” she exclaimed. “He knows it looked bad, given the situation.” She blushed a little. “And he said he loves it that my family is so protective of me.”

  “Aww,” Stan said.

  “I know! This is a
nother reason why he wants the supervisor job. So he’s not out in the field as much. He cares a lot—like, too much—about the people he works with. It’s ingrained in him,” she said. “His brother had some problems when he was younger. It messed up their family, and it’s why he decided to go into social work. But you didn’t answer my question. Is Jessie in trouble?”

  Jake and Stan looked at each other. “She got suspended,” Stan said. “But I’m sure it will get resolved quickly.”

  “She does everything for her job. She loves her job. Why would they suspend her?”

  “They’re trying really hard to brush this case under the rug,” Jake said. “Jessie doesn’t believe it’s been solved.”

  Brenna frowned. “So does she really think this girl did it?”

  “I’m not sure she knows what to think yet,” Stan said.

  “Excuse me?”

  They all whirled as a voice came from the hallway, Stan’s hand flying to her chest. Not even the dogs had heard the door open.

  “I’m so sorry to frighten you!” Francie exclaimed.

  “Francie, hey. No worries,” Stan said. She looked at Jake. “Did I leave the door open?”

  “Caitlyn let me in,” Francie said. “She was on her way outside to see the banner.”

  Stan, Jake, and Brenna all looked at one another. “Banner?” Jake asked.

  “Yes. You should go see it,” Francie said. “I can’t believe you didn’t see it on your way in, Brenna.”

  “I was on the phone,” Brenna said. “And drinking my coffee. It’s still too early to be observant.”

  They all went to the door. Caitlyn stood on the porch, her mouth open. Stan followed her gaze. Across the street, a banner was strung up on two poles spanning a large portion of the green directly facing Stan’s house. The banner itself was pink with purple text—in what appeared to be size 100 font—reading, I LOVE YOU CAITLYN CONNOR! PLEASE TAKE ME BACK! LOVE, KYLE.

  “Oh, my,” Stan said. Caitlyn buried her face in her hands.

  Brenna and Jake crowded behind Stan. Brenna squealed. “How adorable is that?”

  Jake elbowed her. Stan held her breath, waiting to see if Caitlyn would freak out. Instead, she looked hopefully at Stan.

  “You think now the cops can get him for defacing public property?” she asked.

  * * *

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to make this delivery for you?” Francie asked later that morning. After Caitlyn went upstairs to try to find someone to remove the banner, Jake and Duncan left for the pub and Stan, Brenna, and Francie got to work, with a little help from Eva. “Aren’t you going to the wedding meeting this afternoon with your mother? You may be late.”

  “No, I don’t mind at all,” Stan said. “I like to meet my new accounts and make sure the places are up to par. The meeting’s at three, right?”

  Francie nodded.

  “I’ll make it. I haven’t connected with my mother about it, but I’m still planning on going. As long as you two can bake some extras for the fundraiser tonight, I’ll be good. But thank you.”

  “Got it covered,” Brenna said. “We have ten batches planned for the fundraiser, and some extras already made if we need them. I’ll bring them to Amara’s when we’re done so they’re already on-site when she goes to set up.”

  “Thank you, thank you,” Stan said.

  “I brought those carrying cases you were looking for,” Francie remembered. “They’re in my car.”

  “You’re amazing.” Stan’d mentioned she needed an extra pastry carrier for her new client and hadn’t had time to order one. “I’ll go grab it.”

  “You don’t need to—” Francie began, but Stan waved her off.

  “It’s the least I can do.” She headed outside with Francie still in mid-protest. Francie’s Hyundai Elantra was parked at the curb. Spying bags in the backseat, Stan opened the door and peered inside. The first bag held a pile of neatly folded clothes. She moved it out of the way and pulled the next bag over. Same thing. As she went to place it on the floor and reach for the last bag, her eyes fell on the black evening bag with the rhinestone flower and Guess logo on the front, tossed haphazardly on top of some T-shirts. Curious, she lifted the flap.

  There was a hole where the snap should’ve been. Just like the purse Monica Chang was missing.

  “Find it okay?” Francie’s voice just over her shoulder made her jump, and Stan whacked her head against the roof of the car.

  “Ouch,” she muttered, rubbing her head. She grabbed the bag with the pastry carrier and backed out of the car. “Yeah, I have it.”

  “I’m sorry.” Francie winced. “I worried you would have to dig through all the donation bags I picked up to bring to the church later, and realized I should’ve told you which one it was in.”

  “No worries.” Stan shut the car door and they walked back inside together. “Those bags are donations?”

  “Yes. We do weekly collections at various spots around town. All the items are distributed to an inner city homeless shelter Pastor Ellis supports.”

  “How nice,” Stan said casually. “Where were these bags picked up, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Those were from town hall,” Francie said. “We get nice donations from that spot. People are so generous. Ow! Sweetie, that hurts!” she exclaimed, looking down at Nutty, who’d tried climbing her leg to say hello but apparently deployed his claws while doing so.

  “Nutty! Sorry,” Stan said. “He does that sometimes. He knows you usually give him treats. Although he’s been good not clawing Eva when he’s asking her for things.”

  Francie rubbed her calf and smiled at Nutty. “It’s all right. He’s such a handsome fella, I could never hold it against him.”

  Chapter 55

  Curtis Wallace’s brother, Attorney E. Matthew Wallace, lived and worked in the shoreline town of Madison, a mere twenty minutes away from Stan’s new client. So after she met and fell in love with the owners of the doggie spa, an adorable retired couple who’d waited their whole lives to open this business and spend their days with dogs, and signed a contract for monthly orders, she plugged the address into her phone and headed toward the water. If nothing else, it was a gorgeous day for a drive. Chilly enough that she needed a jacket, but still warm enough for an open sunroof.

  She didn’t know if Wallace’s brother would even talk to her. Chances were, if he was like his brother, she was wasting her time. But she felt like time was running out. Richard would get a court date. Her mother would move forward marrying Tony. But if he’d had something to do with it . . .

  Her mind drifted back to the purse in the donation bag Francie picked up from town hall. Had it been Monica’s? With only the girl’s description to go on, Stan couldn’t be sure. But it sounded like the description she’d given. So who’d dropped it there? Eleanor’s killer? The bin would be easy access for Tony Falco, who came into the office every day. Or someone who’d found the purse and tossed it in without another thought? Stan didn’t like that option. The normal reaction to finding a purse would be to turn it in to the police. In this case, it would’ve been super easy, since Jessie’s office was at town hall. So that didn’t make sense, unless the person thought the bag’d been meant for the donation bin since it was broken.

  The other option was Monica herself. Had she tossed the purse as part of a more elaborate scheme—namely, her mother’s murder? But how did her evening bag fit into that? Only one explanation made sense. If Scott was right and she’d hoarded drugs in her bag, she could have pretended the bag was lost, sent Stan to find it, then retrieved it from another part of the house before she made her escape. Then she could’ve removed the drugs and, when she returned to Frog Ledge two days ago, dumped the bag to keep up the charade that it’d been stolen. If she’d killed her mother over a relapse, it made sense.

  Or, she could just be crazy. She had to tell Jessie.

  As she pulled up in front of the attorney’s office, she wondered what the “E.” in
“E. Matthew Wallace” stood for. Maybe it was simply a requirement for attorneys to include in their names because it felt snooty. In any event, Wallace’s office looked snooty. The lawn in front of the brick building was so green Stan had to look twice to make sure it wasn’t artificial. She took some pleasure in walking across the grass. She imagined Wallace watching in horror from his office window and wondered if he wore bow ties like his twerpy brother.

  The engraved wooden sign next to the door suggested he practiced alone. A small sign in the window said the office was open. She tried the knob. Unlocked. There was no reception desk when she walked in. Instead, a handsome man with good hair and a tan stuck his head out of an inner office. “Good afternoon. How can I help you?” he asked, flashing her a smile full of white teeth.

  “Hello. I’m looking for Attorney Wallace.”

  “You’ve found him. One second.” He slipped back into the office, then returned a moment later with a notepad and a coffee cup. “Please. Have a seat.” He motioned to some comfy-looking chairs in a waiting area. He didn’t look like a twerp at all. And he didn’t have an assistant? Odd. He certainly didn’t look like his brother. Taller and good-looking. And pleasant.

  “Coffee?” he asked. “I just made some. I need a little pickup right after lunch.”

  “No, thank you,” Stan said.

  “Let me know if you change your mind,” Wallace said, taking a seat. “So, what can I do for you?”

  Stan sat, too, thrown off by his easy manner. “I’m Stan Connor. I live in Frog Ledge.”

  He nodded, the same pleasant expression on his face.

  “Our mayor is Tony Falco,” she said.

  Wallace nodded again.

  “A woman was murdered at his house last weekend. While Tony was allegedly not there.”

  “I heard that. What a terrible story.” He leaned forward. “Are you seeking legal counsel, Ms. Connor?”

  “No! I just . . . I know your family is friendly with Tony. My mother is engaged to him,” she explained.