A Biscuit, a Casket (10 page)

Please don’t let her ask me to plan a funeral, too. I only do animal parties.
“No. When my dad died, my mother handled the details.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Was it recent?”

“No, almost eight years ago now.” Had it really been that long?

They were both silent for a minute, thinking of the ones who had left them. Stan wondered
if Em’s thoughts of Hal were as generous as hers for her dad.

“Well,” Em said briskly. “I’ll send Tyler in shortly. He’s just finishing something
up for me in the house. But he’ll know the most important vendors to pay and the other
critical tasks.”

“Great,” Stan said. “In the meantime, I’ll . . . try to find the desk.”

Only one of the three piles of papers had fallen when Em shut the door behind her.
Already a small victory. Stan gritted her teeth again—she had to stop doing that—and
yanked the chair away from the desk, hoping not to see bugs scurrying for safety.

She didn’t, so she bent and picked up the first stack. An invoice on top from Sal’s
Feed and Grain for $800. An electric bill. Her eyes widened at the amount: $4,567.93.
That had to be a mistake . . . didn’t it? The door slammed behind her and she jumped.

Leigh-Anne Sutton gave her a sheepish smile. “I hope I’m not interrupting, but I just
didn’t feel right not offering to help.” She glanced over her shoulder as if afraid
Emmalee would throw her out if she discovered her in the office. “Is there anything
I can do?”

“That’s very nice of you to ask. Honestly, I don’t know.” With a helpless laugh, she
looked around. “I guess I have to sort through the paperwork first.”

Leigh-Anne gazed doubtfully at the stacks. “That looks like a big job.”

“Sure does,” Stan said. “If you’re not busy—which it sounds like you are—you could
always help me with this. But if you have other things to do—”

“Nonsense,” Leigh-Anne interrupted. “I know what it’s like to be put in this situation
with no guidance. In my case, I took over for my husband when he passed away. It was
a learning process, and a lot of it was painful. If I can help even make sense of
anything for you, I should do that.”

“Okay,” Stan said. “Great, then. Want to take this stack?” She passed over a pile
of files.

Leigh-Anne took them from her. They worked in silence for a while, creating piles
of statements, old bills, current bills. One invoice was addressed to Pristine Fields
Dairy Farm, Attn. Ted Brahm. Stan held it out to Leigh-Anne. “What do I do about this?”

Leigh-Anne studied it. “Ted must’ve bought some parts for Hal for the feed truck.
That has to be paid. Looks like it’s overdue, though.” She pursed her lips and sighed.
“Ted hates overdue bills. That should go at the top of the stack.”

Stan put the invoice to the side. “Is that common? In co-ops, I mean. To buy stuff
for each other.”

“Sometimes. Different partnerships do things differently. In our group . . .” She
trailed off, looked behind her again. Dropped her voice a notch. “Our group could
be difficult. We don’t all see eye to eye.”

“But it works—doesn’t it?”

“It works . . . in different ways. Take Ted, for example. So laid back. Loves dairy
farming. Perfectly content to let Hal run things. Now, Peter, on the other hand .
. .” She shook her head. “Peter fought Hal tooth and nail every step of the way. He
only signed on because his farm was going under. He had no choice. And his wife was
about to kill him.” She stopped, covering her mouth with her hand. “What a poor choice
of words. Anyway, you know what I mean.”

“Sounds like Asher fought with Hal, too,” Stan said.

“Asher.” Leigh-Anne smiled. “It’s complicated with Asher. He’s very rigid. Put it
this way: Hal wants to make a buck. Asher wants to do everything right. You see how
they could disagree?”

“I do.” Stan placed an empty folder in a new pile for recycling. “How did you feel
about Hal’s style of running the business?”

“Oh, putting me on the spot now, eh?” Leigh-Anne crossed her pink boots and smiled.
“Honestly, I understood Hal. Businessman through and through. Smart, smart, smart,
too. He’ll be missed.”

They both spun as the door clattered open again. Tyler Hoffman walked in. His gaze
went to Leigh-Anne first, assessing, then slid away without acknowledging her. He
looked at Stan, nodded. “S’up.”

“Hey, Tyler. How’s it going?”
Why am I asking this kid how he’s doing when his father was brutally murdered a few
days ago?

The boy looked different than he had Friday night after the murder. He had been jazzed
up then, worried about his mother, full of angst and impatient to see the police solve
the case. Today, he looked weary. Beaten down. Like he’d rather be anyplace but where
he was.

But he didn’t articulate any of that. “Going fine. My mom said you needed help, but
it looks like you have it.”

“Oh, no,” Leigh-Anne said. “I was just keeping Stan company until you got here. I
have to get back to a few other things anyway.” She stood, handed Stan her remaining
folders. “Thanks again for helping.” And she slipped out, catching the door behind
her so it didn’t slam.

Stan watched her go. Tyler didn’t. He looked around the room the same way his mother
had. He looked like Emmalee. His brown hair, cropped short, was her color, and he
had the same facial features. Full lips, big, dark, expressive eyes. Stan figured
Em had been attractive, at least when she was younger. Now, she looked old beyond
her years. But her son was very handsome.

Tyler shook his head ever so slightly and headed for the desk. “I’m not real sure
what my dad did in here.”

“Does he have a computer?” Stan asked.

Tyler looked around again. “He had a laptop. It’s not here?” He peered around the
files on the desk’s surface, checked in the rickety drawers. No laptop. Tyler swore
under his breath, then caught himself. “Sorry.”

“I have been known to use foul language on occasion,” Stan said dryly. “No apologies
necessary. So. What do we do if there’s no computer?”

“I’m gonna go check in the house,” Tyler said. “But if you want to look through those
papers for any recent bills, that’s where I would start. Then we can figure out if
they ever got paid. I doubt it. I think my dad was a little behind.”

“So he wouldn’t have marked them ‘Paid’ or filed them somewhere special?” Stan asked.

“Doubt it.”

Well then. “He must’ve been busy,” Stan said.

Tyler smirked. “Yeah. He was busy all right. None of it had to do with the farm, though.”
He closed his mouth abruptly, as if he’d said too much. “Be right back.” Instead of
using the door, he vaulted over the washing machine and into the basement, giving
Stan a glimpse into the darkness beyond. Stan heard him pounding up the stairs.

She busied herself with the first stack. A lot of the papers were packing slips. She
separated those into a pile with a sticky note she’d found in one of the drawers and
wrote “Toss?” The monthly bills—and there were a lot, most overdue—went into their
own pile. Repairs, food, gasoline, the insane electric bill. After Stan was sure she’d
gotten all of them, she went through and totaled them up using the calculator on her
iPhone. When she hit the equal sign, her jaw dropped. The farm owed about fifteen
thousand dollars by the end of the month. Less than two weeks away.

No wonder Em was hosting doggie birthday parties and running corn mazes.

Stan picked up the top folder of another pile. It was crammed with bank statements.
She glanced at the top statement and checked the balance in the checking account.
Nine thousand dollars. That wouldn’t cover the bills. Perhaps there had been deposits
since then. Stan put the folder into its own pile. She looked around for a filing
cabinet. Nothing.
How did they keep any records around here?
Silly question. She was looking at the system they used—and it was sorely lacking.
And since no one could seem to figure out how Hal had been attending to business,
exactly, she was limited in how she could help.

So, she’d do what she could.

She went through the next few folders and found notes from board meetings with the
other Happy Cow farmers. Those looked like they might be interesting, so she tucked
them under her coffee mug to remind her to go back and read. A pamphlet of information
on large animal veterinarians. Hal must have been considering changing providers.
She found drawings of the buildings on the farm, and drawings of what looked like
new buildings. Maybe Hal had planned to upgrade pieces of the facility, or expand
it. Maybe the co-op was doing well, and Hal saw that as his farm’s future. Stan wondered
what Emmalee thought of that. She didn’t get the vibe from Emmalee that she was overly
excited to be milking by committee.

It was another ten minutes or so before Tyler returned with only a checkbook in his
hand. “I’m gonna have to track down the laptop,” he said. “It might be in his car.
How long are you here?”

“I’m not sure.” Stan checked her watch. It was already four. Did she get to knock
off at five like the rest of the population of office folks? “Did he back up to a
cloud? That way, if you have the passwords, it can be accessed from any computer.”

That smirk again. “I don’t think my dad was that computer savvy. But I’ll ask my mom.
In the meantime, here’s a checkbook. But I doubt there’s money in the account.”

“I just saw the last bank statement. If everything is reconciled, there’s some, but
not enough to cover.”

“Don’t count on it.”

“You mean there’s more than it says? That’s great news.”

“No, I mean don’t count on there being much money in there in the first place.”

Stan’s mouth dropped open. “What do you mean? How do I pay the bills if there’s no
money? How will the farm run?”

“My mom probably thinks there’s plenty of money. I’m telling you how it really is.
There probably isn’t any.”

“How do you know this?”

“I just do.”

Stan watched him carefully. He spoke very matter-of-factly. Stan couldn’t help but
wonder if he was the reason there was no money. If Hal didn’t pay attention, which
seemed to be a fair observation, would his oldest son take advantage? She immediately
pushed the thought out of her head. She didn’t know this boy and she had no right
to think he would hurt his family and their business like that. Then again, when you
considered all the crazy stuff you heard on the news every day, nothing was a stretch.
Or, was he telling her that Hal had spent all the money?

He watched her, those dark eyes unreadable. Stan suddenly felt uncomfortable in this
tiny room alone with this angry boy. And, he was blocking the exit. Unless she wanted
to vault over the washing machine.

When she spoke, she tried to make her voice low and soothing. “Tyler. If there’s something
your mother needs to know—”

“My mother doesn’t need to know anything,” he burst out. “She’s got enough going on.
Besides, she should know how bad it’s gotten. She just doesn’t want to admit it. Why
do you think we have a corn maze now? And those parties where she rents out the yard?
It’s absurd. Every day she works on this damn farm. For nothing.” Tyler’s eighteen-year-old
frustration with his family was clear. Stan could also tell he’d left his teenage
years behind a long time ago. It couldn’t have been easy, growing up like this.

“I don’t think it’s for nothing, Tyler. She seems to love it here.”

“Yeah, well, she does,” he said bitterly. “And I don’t get it. She loves it more than
he ever did, and it was his family farm. She’s getting too old for this crap. She
has to get a knee replaced. We don’t even have health insurance.”

“No health insurance?” Stan was horrified. How did they take care of the kids? “Did
your dad at least have a life insurance policy?”

Tyler jerked his shoulders in a shrug. “My mother won’t talk about it.”

“Maybe she’s not ready. This has to be killing her. Killing all of you, actually.”

Tyler watched her for a long moment, appraising. “She has to be ready,” he said. His
voice was harsh. “This is her reality. I loved my dad, but he had other things going
on. Things that didn’t include us. I think he hoped those things were his ticket out
of here. But he never made it.”

Stan walked home slowly as dusk fell around Frog Ledge, her mind spinning as she replayed
her conversation with Tyler Hoffman. The boy was sharp, and he seemed to have a lot
of insights into his father’s life that even Em may not have had. Would he eventually
share those with her if she kept coming around? Clearly this kid understood his parents
did not have a storybook marriage, testimony that would not bode well for Emmalee
if Jessie Pasquale continued down her current path of investigation—which she would
have to, if that’s where the evidence led.

As Stan climbed her front porch steps, she heard Henry’s and Scruffy’s frantic barking
from inside. It made her smile.

Stan pushed the door open and had to brace herself to withstand Henry’s bulk as he
launched himself at her, his tail wagging and his tongue nearly drowning her. Scruffy,
much smaller in size, had to settle for standing up against Stan’s thigh and
wooing
at her.

“Hi, guys! I missed you, too.” She dropped to her knees and gathered the dogs in hugs.
“Where’s Nutty?”

“Begging for treats.” Brenna appeared in the doorway. She’d found one of Stan’s aprons
and carried a wooden spoon. “The treats came out rockin’. Wanna try one?”

Stan laughed and got to her feet. “That’s good news. I’d love to try one. It’s funny;
I know they’re made with ingredients humans eat, but I don’t usually tell people I
sample the animal treats. It makes me think of that saying about people who don’t
save for retirement and have to eat Alpo when they’re old.”

Brenna stared at her for a second. “You’re kinda weird.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m good with it.”

“Jake’s kinda weird, too, so it’s a good match.” Brenna winked and turned to go back
into the kitchen.

“Hang on a second.” Stan hurried after her, the dogs trotting obediently behind her.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, you know. You two will eventually stop dancing around each other.” Brenna slid
a tray of cookies out of the oven.

“How do you—” Stan was about to argue the point—she’d never admitted to anyone that
she sort of liked Jake—when she noticed the batches and batches of treats heaped on
the counters. “Holy cookies. How many batches did you bake?”

“I got a little carried away,” Brenna admitted. “They were coming out so good. So
I foraged in your cabinets and came up with a few more experiments. Nutty and the
dogs have been willing guinea pigs. But I think all the orders are covered. And some
extras. Maybe I can bring a few home for Duncan.”

“Of course. Wow, Bren. Thank you. I didn’t expect you to bake
all
of them.” Stan saw Nutty then, lounging on his side on her kitchen table, waiting
for the next kind to be done. He lazily cleaned his paws, eyes not meeting Stan’s.

“How many cookies did you have, Nutter? Jeez. You guys sure know how to party when
Mom’s not home.”

“Yeah, they like a good party. So how was Em’s?”

Stan wasn’t sure how to answer that. “She set me up in the office, which looked like
Hal hadn’t set foot in it in a year. Leigh-Anne came in to help. Then Tyler showed
up and Leigh-Anne left in a hurry. Tyler realized the laptop was missing and went
on a mad search for it. Couldn’t find it. So I ended up sorting through the piles
of paperwork and pulling the bills that needed paying. But when I asked how they wanted
me to pay them, he told me there probably wasn’t money in the account. It was very
strange.”

“Really?” Brenna turned the oven off. “Wow. I knew things were bad but . . .” She
shook her head. “I know you’re not supposed to speak ill about the dead and stuff,
but I’m sorry. Hal didn’t deserve his family. He was a jerk.”

“Yeah, I got that from you yesterday. What was he doing with all their money?”

Brenna kept her back to Stan and pulled a batch of treats out of the oven. “Who knows.
Probably spending it on girlfriends. Definitely gambling. He went to the casinos at
least once every week. And ‘investing’ in real estate.” She spat “investing” like
it was dirty.

“How many people in town agree with your assessment?” Stan tried to keep her voice
light, but her brain had accelerated into overtime. If Hal wasn’t popular, that should
widen the suspect pool pretty quickly. And that might save Em—unless she really did
it.

“Not enough,” Brenna said bitterly. “He had quite the following. But there were some
who saw right through him. Look, I just know he didn’t treat his family right. I babysat
for them, remember? I saw a lot of things no one probably thought I saw.”

Stan pushed a bit. “So did your sister get what she needed from you about Em?”

Brenna snorted. “My sister needs to get a life.”

Stan stifled a chuckle. A few months ago, she’d shared exactly the same sentiment,
but it probably wasn’t wise to voice that. “She’s just doing her job, Bren. And it
seemed like she was trying to find every way possible to alibi Em. I don’t think she
really believes Em would kill her own husband.”

Or maybe Jessie did believe it. Stan didn’t know. For her, it was hard to imagine,
despite the fact Stan hadn’t known Em that long. But Em looked like such an
ordinary
person. Then again, just because someone lived in an idyllic small town and sold
yummy cheese didn’t mean she couldn’t have a dark side. Another thing Stan had learned
the hard way when she moved to Frog Ledge. But now the thought freaked her out. She
imagined being trapped in that tiny office, no exit besides jumping over a washing
machine through a doorway into an unfamiliar house, with Em deciding she had to protect
herself. . . .

Stan shook the thoughts out of her head. Her imagination was going wild.

Brenna had turned back to the counter, and now she stacked cooled treats in containers.
Her movements were almost manic. “Em is one of the sweetest people I know. Her life
isn’t easy. Her kids are a handful. Danny’s always in trouble at school and Robert
has some learning disabilities. And Joseph is still so young. . . .” She shook her
head. “She doesn’t deserve this. Although I personally wouldn’t blame her for murdering
that man.”

Tell me how you really feel.
“Brenna. If there’s any chance—”

“No way,” Brenna interrupted, seemingly insulted at the insinuation. “Of course Em
wouldn’t do such a thing. I’m just
saying
she had every
reason
to.” Her carefully enunciated words suggested Stan was even more coldhearted than
Brenna’s sister.

But Stan sensed Brenna was holding something back. “What’s up, Bren? Something else
is bothering you.”

Brenna’s hands stilled, hovering over the top container. She turned slowly, not quite
meeting Stan’s eyes. “Nothing. I can’t say.”

Stan got up and perched on the edge of her counter so Brenna would have to look at
her. “You can tell me. I won’t say anything. Unless, of course, you tell me you know
who killed Hal.” She was only half kidding, but grew alarmed when Brenna’s eyes welled
with tears.

“Maddy called me. After Jessie went in to talk to them. She didn’t know what to do.”
Brenna sniffled, grabbed a paper towel and blew her nose. “She didn’t tell Jessie,
but she went outside for a smoke that day. When Hal died. She saw Em leave, but Em
left her car in the parking lot and took off on foot back down the street.”

“Okay,” Stan said slowly. “To where?”

“She doesn’t know.” Brenna wiped at her eyes with the towel then threw it at the trash
can. Sighed when she missed it and bent over to pick it up. “I promised her I wouldn’t
say anything. Please don’t say anything to anyone.”

Stan thought about this. Had Em stashed her car, walked home, and killed her husband?
Then hurried over to her parent-teacher meeting? “Was she having car trouble, maybe?”

“Oh.” Brenna visibly brightened. “Maybe!”

Stan didn’t point out that at some point Em must have driven the car away. Unless
no one had noticed a tow truck in the parking lot. Regardless, she didn’t know if
she wanted to continue down this path. She filed the information away as “potentially
useful” and changed the subject. “What new kinds did you make?”

Brenna hesitated a moment, then her shoulders relaxed. “I tried blueberry yogurt and
carrot ginger. Oh, and apple pie.”

“Those sound delicious.” Stan was impressed. “You just came up with the recipes on
your own?”

Brenna shrugged. “Thought I’d experiment. Hope it’s okay. I checked all the ingredients
to make sure they were safe for dogs.”

“It’s great,” Stan assured her. “We can bring some to Char and Ray’s open house next
weekend.” With all the tourists coming through the area, Char and Ray wanted to showcase
the farm and help boost the local economy. They were serving food and conducting tours,
and having a sale on the alpaca clothing they sold. And they figured if they could
get people to check in at the B and B, they could send them along to the farmers’
market, Izzy’s café, and some of the other local shops.

“You want me to come, too?”

“If you’re not working at the bar, I’d love for you to come.”

Brenna smiled, finally. “I’m not working until Saturday night.”

“Good, because the open house is from ten to two. Maybe we can pick up some new orders.”

“You’ll need to borrow my brother’s kitchen at the rate you’re going,” Brenna said.

Jake again. It always seemed to come back to Jake.
What the heck,
Stan decided. “So what’s the deal with your brother, anyway?”

“What do you mean?” Brenna blinked innocently at her.

“I’ve heard about his . . . dating habits, but I’ve never seen him with anyone. Not
that I’m paying that much attention,” she hastened to add.

“So you heard he’s a player?” Brenna chuckled as she wiped the counter down. “I’m
not sure who told you that, but nothing could be further from the truth. I think a
lot of women wished he was a player.” She tossed the sponge, and it sailed with a
splat to land in Stan’s sink.

“Really?”

“Yes. He doesn’t even go out that often. He’s always at the bar. And I know, ’cause
I live and work with him.” Stan could sense that fiery Irish temper brewing again.
“He does his own thing. He dated someone from college for a long time, but she never
wanted to stick around here, and he always did. They did a long distance thing for
a while and it didn’t pan out.” She shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong—he goes out here
and there. But I don’t recall anyone who made it past date two. There’s plenty of
other people I’d call players before my brother, believe me.” Her tone went sour on
that note, and Stan couldn’t help but wonder if Hal Hoffman was back on Brenna’s mind.
“Who told you that, anyway?”

Stan didn’t want to throw Izzy under the bus. “I don’t know. I just remember hearing
it when I first moved here. I shouldn’t be listening to people I don’t even know.”

They finished putting the treats away in silence, each left to their own thoughts.
Stan’s mind wandered away from Jake and back to the murdered farmer. Had he really
been out every night, partying and boozing it up? Seeing other women? If that were
true, the whole town should know it. Or at least a few really plugged-in townsfolk.

She was willing to bet Char had some intel. Maybe she’d see if she and Ray wanted
company for dinner tonight.