A Biscuit, a Casket

Stan moved forward, peering around shoulder. In the growing darkness, she could just
make out a figure behind the short, wire fence containing the corn, face up, upper
half immersed in a mud puddle left over from the weekend rain. She moved closer to
get a better view. And wished she hadn’t. A menacing hook-shaped weapon protruded
from Hal Hoffman’s chest, a dark stain covering most of his upper body, discoloring
his blue and green flannel shirt. His eyes were open. Empty.

For a second, she thought maybe this was the farmer’s idea of a bad joke. A staged
murder in the corn maze for full Halloween effect. She waited for Hal to jump up,
laughing, and pull the rubber prop out of his chest.

But he didn’t . . .

KNEADING TO DIE

 

A BISCUIT, A CASKET

 

 

A Biscuit, A Casket

Liz Mugavero

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

Once again, I’m indebted to my agent, John Talbot of the John Talbot Agency, Inc.,
who made this series possible. It’s been a great ride so far. And to my editor, John
Scognamiglio, and the rest of the folks at Kensington who do such amazing work from
the copy edits to the covers, you guys rock!

I can never thank enough the amazing Sherry Harris, my Wicked Cozy sister and blog
mate, first editor, and reality checker, for her support, friendship, and editing
prowess. This book is unequivocally better because of your eye for detail—and plot
holes. And to the rest of our Wicked Cozy blog mates—Edith Maxwell/Tace Baker, Barbara
Ross, Jessie Crockett, and J. A. (Julie) Hennrikus—I am so grateful to be part of
such an amazing group of women who are supportive, talented, honest, compassionate,
and just all-around wonderful. I love you all.

And to all the other writers and mentors in my life, I wouldn’t be here without you:
Hallie Ephron, Roberta Isleib, Hank Phillippi Ryan, my Sisters and Brothers in Crime,
and my fellow Mystery Writers of America, thank you, thank you. John Valeri—so grateful
for that first Seascape Writer’s Retreat and the friendship we’ve sustained. You are
awesome.

Robin Chesmer and David Hevner at Graywall Farms in Lebanon, Connecticut, members
of the Farmer’s Cow, deserve major kudos for opening their farm to me and all my questions
and giving me such a great setting for murder and mayhem. Any discrepancies from how
the farm really works are all made up to help my story.

Eric Walsh at the Big Biscuit and Cathy Sutton at Happy Tails Doggy Daycare, Inc.,
thank you for the best launch party ever! And Eric, your recipes keep these books
going. Thank you for sharing your expertise.

Huge thanks to all my Prudential friends, especially Kris Wells and Heather Sullivan,
who have been wonderful fans of this series already. Your support makes all the difference.

Cynthia and Doug for your unwavering support, love, and encouragement. Without you,
I wouldn’t be here. And to Kim—none of this would be possible without you. Love you.

To the New Jersey Schnauzer Rescue Network, Inc. for rescuing the best breed of dog
ever, and to the Pittie Love Rescue in Massachusetts for helping the real underdogs.
Pit bulls deserve better and you’re helping to make it happen. Thanks also to Alley
Cat Allies, making life better for feral cats every day. And the Gentle Barn in California—your
work promotes good in the world.

To all the cyber-rescuers who spend countless hours sharing, pledging, arranging fosters
and adoptions, and spreading the word about animals in need—thank you for your efforts.
You’ve all made a difference in the lives of so many animals.

But most of all, thanks to the readers, booksellers, and librarians for their support
of the Pawsitively Organic Mysteries. I am so grateful for all the fans and new friends
I’ve made since the series began, and I hope you’ll all continue to enjoy.

The chain saw appeared out of nowhere, its wide arc narrowly missing the top of Stan
Connor’s head.

The revving sound filled her ears, loud as a swarm of attack bees surrounding her.
She caught a flash of the blade, sharp and silver in the moonlight as it swung. She
heard a scream—her own? Diving for the grass, Stan clutched her Pyrex containers of
bat- and pumpkin-shaped doggie treats for the party tonight, not ready to sacrifice
them yet. A fleeting thought ran through her brain—
Does it hurt to be decapitated?

The buzzing noise ceased, abruptly. Behind her, Brenna McGee, her new assistant, burst
out laughing. Stan risked opening her eyes. Brenna was bent over, her long hair covering
her face, hand over mouth, laughter rocking her body. The chain saw hung at the side
of a figure dressed completely in black, save for the grotesque mask of a face twisted
into a scream. A rubber knife protruded from its head. He must have been hiding behind
the ginormous election sign staked into the ground, proclaiming T
ONY
F
ALCO FOR
M
AYOR
. The figure pulled the mask up.

“Thanks for blowing my cover, McGee.” The high-pitched voice didn’t fit the costume.
Stan took a closer look. The boy under the mask couldn’t have been more than fifteen.
He seemed annoyed that he couldn’t actually hack someone up in his role.

Brenna wiped her eyes. “Really, Danny? You couldn’t scare a pack of kindergartners.”
Both their eyes turned to Stan on the ground. Brenna reconsidered. “Well, she’s not
in kindergarten. And does your mother know you’re out here with that thing? Bet she
doesn’t.”

Brenna reached for the containers of treats and Stan’s bag of party goods. Stan handed
them over. Luckily, everything had survived the fall unscathed. If they hadn’t, she
might’ve turned the chain saw on this silly teenager. She’d spent the last two weeks
baking the darn things.

The boy hung his head, the chain saw drooping by his leg. “I was just playin’ around.
Trying to get people amped for the maze. Don’t tell my mom, please? She gets, like,
mad about stuff like that.” Danny shifted from foot to foot. The mask slid halfway
down over his face again. “You okay, miss?” he asked Stan, still sprawled in the dirt
listening to the exchange.

Stan got to her feet, brushing her jeans off with her free hand. Despite the fact
that seconds ago she’d thought she was going to lose her head, she had to hand it
to the kid. Stan had been queen of Halloween pranks, once upon a time, and couldn’t
help but admire a good one. Customers walking through the dairy farm gate not expecting
to be scared until they got to the corn maze wouldn’t expect a masked man with a chain
saw to swoop down on them out here. It was a clever way to catch people off guard.

“You don’t have to call me ‘miss.’ I’m Stan. And yes, I’m fine. I love Halloween—I
just wasn’t expecting
that
on the way in. With a real chain saw,” she added, eyeing the machine dubiously. “You
should at least remove the chain first. Aren’t the Halloween props supposed to be
in
the corn maze?”

Along with its dairy production, the Happy Cow Dairy Farm had acres of corn, which
the Hoffmans had been turning into an end-of-season maze for the last few years. Tonight
was opening night. It was Friday, exactly two weeks before Halloween, and folks were
arriving in droves, their excitement palpable in the small town air. The superb setting
added to the mood—crisp fall air had settled over the town, and the leaves were brilliant
with color. Fall in New England.

Some whispered the Hoffmans were doing the corn maze for the money, that things had
been tough for dairy farmers, and especially for the Hoffman family, in recent years.
Stan was still too new to Frog Ledge to know if that was true or not, but she did
like corn mazes. If the doggie birthday party she was running ended at a decent hour,
she’d like to take a trip through it.

“Danny was never good at following directions.” Brenna winked at him. “I used to babysit
him,” she explained to Stan.

Danny rolled his eyes. “Like, a million years ago. So you think the chain saw would
be cool
in
the maze?” His eyes brightened again at the thought.

“You probably shouldn’t have said that,” Brenna said to Stan.

“I guess not. No,” Stan said to Danny. “I think the chain saw might be a bit much
for most people. Not to mention a liability.”

“So you gonna tell Mom?” He jumped from foot to foot, teenage adrenaline raging.

“Just go put it away before you actually slice someone up by mistake. The last thing
your parents need is someone losing a limb on their property.” Brenna shook her head.
“We’ll go find your mother. We have to set up for the doggie party.”

“She’s in the house.” Danny pointed. “And thanks for not telling her!” He took off
running toward the cow enclosures, the weight of the chain saw dragging one side of
him down, giving him a monsterlike moonlit shadow.

Stan looked at Brenna, who shrugged. “The Hoffmans have always been a little crazy.
Emmalee’s sweet, though. It’s Hal and the kids you have to worry about. They’re all
a little nuts. Come on, we should get set up. The maze opens soon. Wait’ll you see
it. It’s getting way better every year.”

From her house two doors away, Stan had watched the transformation from neighborhood
farm to Halloween wonderland with the same excitement she’d had as a kid heading to
a scary haunted house. The Happy Cow Dairy Farm’s innocent-by-day atmosphere had become
a Halloween junkie’s dream. Illuminated figures lit up the yard every few feet, from
witches to ghosts to scary scarecrows to arched-back black cats. Even the roof of
the barn where the dairy cows stayed had been draped with glittering cobwebs and enormous
spiders. Off to the right, the Hoffmans’ farmhouse was strung with purple and orange
lights, more cobwebs, and evil-looking pumpkin faces flashing eerily in the dusk.
A family of skeletons sat on the porch, clustered around a table. Their bony mouths
lit up with green lights every few seconds. Other decorations hung from the roof or
swung from trees, ghostly or witchy figures dancing a macabre dance in the moonlight.

Stan loved Halloween. In a family of people who were Christmas types, she’d always
been the odd one who adored getting scared senseless every October. While she’d first
been skeptical about her dairy farm neighbor taking on a ghoulish persona, she wasn’t
one to turn up her nose at any type of Halloween festivities, as long as they were
reasonably well done. And it looked like the Hoffmans were pretty good at this after
all. Aside from the ad hoc chain saw.

“You’re gonna go through the maze later, right?” Brenna clearly itched to partake
in the festivities. “Did you see the pictures of the design? It’s a witch on a broom.
Pretty cool, right?”

“I did see it. They did a nice job. And I’d love to check it out. We’ll have to see
how the party goes first.” Stan checked her watch as they made their way to the farmhouse.
“Is this really the town’s first doggie costume party?”

Brenna turned back to Stan and arched an eyebrow. Before she could respond, a ghost
popped up off the grass and screamed at her. She and Stan both jumped.

“Oh, cool! I haven’t seen those in years.” Stan stopped to admire the ghost, which
immediately dropped to the ground in preparation for the next unsuspecting soul who
stepped on the booby trap.

“They’re going all out this year. Anyway, you think people really had doggie parties
around here before?” Brenna’s tone indicated Stan would be a fool if she replied affirmatively.

“Why this year?”

“Because every dog around here loves your treats, and Emmalee has a fenced-in area
that’s perfect for a doggie party. It’s the natural next step.” Brenna waved in the
general direction of the house. “Benny is psyched, I’m sure.”

Benny was the fox terrier guest of honor. His parents, Nancy and Jim, had contacted
Stan a few weeks ago, doing serious due diligence on a prospective birthday/costume
party. Emmalee had offered her fenced-in patio area for a nominal fee, and they had
asked Stan to cater.

Stan was thrilled to oblige. Her new business, Pawsitively Organic Gourmet Pet Food,
serving homemade organic pet food and treats to Frog Ledge’s four-legged friends,
was just getting off the ground. A party with the neighborhood dogs provided a great
way to get exposure and it gave her a chance to get Brenna involved. Aside from working
nights and weekends at her brother Jake’s Irish pub in town, Brenna studied political
science by day at a nearby college and harbored a secret interest in animal nutrition.
She was all about baking treats and had begged Stan to let her be part of the business.

“Plus, I think it really is true—that Em needs cash.” Brenna lowered her voice as
they neared the Hoffmans’ big, weary-looking farmhouse. “Hal’s at the bar almost every
night. Jake had to shut him off a couple of times lately, and I think he just goes
somewhere else after that. He’s really giving Em a run for her money.”

“That’s too bad.” Stan had never met Hal. She’d seen him around town here and there,
a hulk of a man who looked like he’d spent the majority of his life outside lifting
heavy things. He usually looked either unhappy or deep in thought. She wasn’t sure
which. Emmalee was definitely more outgoing. Stan knew she worked at the farm pretty
much nonstop. She also sold their goods to local farmers’ markets, did home deliveries
of milk around town, and opened the farm for tours to anyone from schools to the general
public. Now she was renting her yard out, too. If the stories were true, Stan felt
sorry for her.

She followed Brenna up the porch steps. The old Lab that always hung out on the porch
didn’t bother to get up, but barked halfheartedly and wagged his tail.

“Well, hello!” Stan petted the dog. “Are you coming to the party?”

The dog licked her hand. Stan took that as a yes.

A minute later, Emmalee yanked the door open. Describing her appearance as frazzled
would be putting it mildly. Her brown hair seemed even more shot through with gray
than when Stan saw her just last week at the farmers’ market. The long hours of physical
labor the farm demanded had caused Emmalee to lose weight, but instead of looking
fit and muscular she just looked thin and tired. Her jeans and flannel shirt hung
off her. The sound of a crying child wafted out at them from another room. The dog
finally rose, tail wagging, and ambled over to sniff at the treats in Stan’s bag.

“Hi, ladies. Come on in.” Despite whatever was going on, Emmalee managed a smile.
“I asked Danny to set up some tables for you out back for the party, and I think he
actually did it. Nancy and Benny are out there. Jim went to get some pooper scooper
bags.”

“Ah. Can’t run out of those.” Stan smiled. “How are you, Emmalee?”

Emmalee shrugged. Behind her the shrieking child got louder. “Doing fine, doing fine.
Have you seen Danny, by the way? He told me he’d do tickets for the maze, and it’s
darn near opening time.”

Stan and Brenna glanced at each other. Brenna cleared her throat. “He, uh, went to
the barn for a minute. He said he’d be right back. Do you need help with the little
one?”

Emmalee glanced behind her toward the sound of the child, fatigue slipping into her
eyes. “I suppose so. Hal was supposed to get him all dressed up to scare people in
the maze. All the actors should be in their places by now. We have some scary things
in there this year. I think it’ll be a big hit. But Hal hasn’t come home yet.” She
sighed. “So yes, if you want to entertain Joseph for a while, I’d sure appreciate
it.”

“I’ll do that and meet you outside,” Brenna told Stan.

“Come on, I’ll take you out.” Emmalee led Stan out back. Inside, the child finally
stopped crying. Emmalee looked up and crossed herself.

Stan could see the lights from the corn maze ahead. She wondered if Danny had put
the chain saw away before manning the ticket booth.

“Benny is dressed up like a bumblebee. He’s none too happy about it either,” Emmalee
confided. “But the other dog owners promised they’d dress up their dogs, too. I have
to confess, I didn’t give Samson here a costume.” She looked down at her dog, who
gazed back up at her and wagged.

“I’m sure Samson’s not too disappointed,” Stan said. “I’ll make sure Benny gets special
treatment as the host and birthday boy.”

Emmalee unlatched the gate and they stepped into the yard, Samson close on Stan’s
heels, nose pressed to the goodie bag. Benny, a chunky black and white terrier-type
dog crammed into a hideous black and yellow striped ensemble, lumbered over to them,
his antenna headpiece sliding forward to almost cover his eyes.

“Benny! Your antennas!” Benny’s owner, Nancy, equally crammed into her jeans and knitted
pumpkin sweater, chased him and stooped to right his headpiece. “He’s having trouble
keeping it on,” she said, standing up and throwing her arms around Stan. “Benny is
so excited! By the way, I forgot to ask you when we spoke last week. Is your name
really Stan?”

Stan smiled and extracted herself from the enthusiastic woman’s grip. It was a question
she’d gotten regularly since adopting her nickname. “It’s Kristan, but I didn’t want
the same nickname as everyone else. I’m so glad Benny’s excited. I’ll set up the treats
and prizes I brought for the games. You can pick out Benny’s first, since he’s the
host.”

Nancy beamed. “Wonderful. Let’s do it. Before Nyla gets here.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Nyla?” Stan asked.

“The poodle from down the road. She competes with Benny for everything.” Nancy rolled
her eyes. “I heard she’s dressing up like a mermaid.”