A Biscuit, a Casket (19 page)

At Izzy’s sheepish nod, Stan sighed. “Okay. That might lower your payment. Have you
tried that?”

“No,” Izzy admitted.

“Have you tried
anything?”

“I’ve tried to stop crying. I’ve tried not to tell anyone.” Izzy threw her hands up
in exasperation. “Look, Stan, I’m not as business savvy as you. I messed up and I
don’t know how to fix it. And I’m terrified of losing my café.”

“Okay, okay. Look. You won’t lose the café. Let’s put a plan together. Let’s try the
former owner’s Realtor. Or maybe even ask the former owner if he knows anyone. If
he’s some developer, he might have a lead. Do you know who it is?”

“Oh yeah, I know him all right,” Izzy said in a monotone.

“Well, who is it?” Stan demanded, impatient.

“Boy, you get bossy when it comes to money stuff.” Izzy shook her head. “If you insist.
It’s Jake McGee.”

For a moment, Stan was speechless. “Jake McGee?” she repeated. “Like, Jake McGee of
McSwigg’s?”

“Yep. The one and only. Ah, now your tune changes.”

Jake was involved in real estate? So Jake knew about Hal’s sketchy dealings. Had he
been part of any of that, even unwillingly? Maybe Hal had ripped him off. Maybe he’d
been angry with Hal about some deal. Angry enough to kill him? The thought left her
cold. When had she turned so suspicious?

“Does he know what’s going on?” she asked Izzy.

“Of course not. He sold the building and he was done. I didn’t even know he was the
owner until Hal made the offer,” Izzy snapped.

Things were starting to click in Stan’s brain, even through the fog of surprise and
suspicion. Finally, the mystery of Jake and Izzy, solved. “So Jake found out—when?
When his Realtor brought a cash offer to him?”

“I guess,” Izzy said. “He wanted to know who the buyer was. Then he showed up at my
door to lecture me. Before that, I’d only met him a couple of times. He owned this
building, too.”

“Really.” And she’d thought he just owned a cool bar and mixed drinks.

“Yeah, really. I got mad. Couldn’t figure out why he wanted to keep me from my dream.
I had all these conspiracy theories.” Izzy barked out a humorless laugh. “Like he
didn’t want me to succeed because I wasn’t a local, or because I wasn’t even from
this country. You know, the usual self-doubt garbage. So I threw him out and told
him to mind his own business. I guess I got even angrier at him when I found out he’d
been right.”

Stan reached for her coffee. It was empty. She had a blazing headache and wished she
could inject some straight into her veins. “So you really don’t know a guy with a
hole in his throat?”

“Swear to God I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

“But you don’t know who the actual investor is, so it could be him.”

“I suppose, but . . . a hole in his throat?”

“Yeah. Looks like he got shot right through here.” Stan pointed to the base of her
neck. “Course, I’m no bullet hole expert, but it looked like it. He asked me about
an agreement Hal had with him. Starting this weekend. Do you know what that’s about?”

Izzy shook her head slowly. “Swear on my mother.” “Do you like your mother?”

“Love her,” Izzy said. “She’s a great lady.”

“Okay. Because he asked if we were on. I had to answer.”

“So what did you say?”

“I didn’t say yes or no. I told him to come by the farm and we’d work it out.”

“You did what?” Izzy gaped at her.

Stan shrugged. “I was hoping maybe it would flush out the killer. I’ll probably have
Pasquale at the farm that night. I should tell her.”

“Girl, you’re crazy.”

“I know. Will you let me know if you hear anything?”

“About crazy men with bullet holes in their throats making arrangements for Saturday
night?” Izzy laughed without mirth. “Sure, you got it.”

 

 

Stan left Izzy’s around lunchtime, after a grueling conversation during which she
got Izzy to agree to talk to Jake—if Stan mediated. Stan wasn’t thrilled about getting
in the middle, but she wanted to help Izzy. And she got the sense that Jake wasn’t
as cold and uncaring as Izzy had initially insinuated. Stan was pretty sure Izzy’s
grudge had to do with her bad real estate choice rather than any real character flaw
on Jake’s part. Maybe she could help smooth things over between the two, if nothing
else. That is, if Jake agreed.

At least they hadn’t dated. For some reason, that made her feel lighter.

Her stomach was in knots as she headed to the farm. Halfway there, she realized she’d
forgotten to check her e-mail in hopes Justin had cracked the code on those documents.
She’d have to check later. In the meantime, she’d finish tidying up the office, check
in with Roger, and call it a day. She had to get Benny’s birthday party planned—it
was Saturday and she hadn’t prepared anything yet. She had a cake to bake, decorations
to buy, and goodie bags to make up.

Lost in her own lists, she walked into the Hoffmans’ driveway and didn’t notice Em
sitting on the porch steps until she called to her.

“Hi there, Stan.” Despite the forced enthusiasm in her voice, Em looked exhausted
and sad.

“Oh, hey, Em. Sorry, didn’t see you.” Stan changed direction and walked over. “How
are you holding up?”

“I’m fine. So sweet of you to come to the funeral.”

“Of course I would come! How could I not?”

Em nodded. “May I ask you a favor?”

Please, no cow pushing.
“Sure.”

“Can you come see Samson? He doesn’t look like he’s feeling well today. I wondered
if you could tell me what to give him for food that might make him feel better.”

Stan opened her mouth to say,
I’m not a vet, I have no idea what would make your dog feel better,
then closed it again. The poor lady had been through enough and probably didn’t have
money to go to the vet. “Sure,” she said. “Where is he?”

Em looked relieved. “Oh, thank you. He’s inside.” She rose, slowly, like her bones
ached, and motioned for Stan to follow her. “I’m sorry to keep sidetracking you, but
the kids couldn’t stand if it the dog was sick, too—”

She stopped midsentence as Jessie Pasquale’s cruiser rolled to a stop in the driveway.
Stan followed Em’s gaze and watched Pasquale emerge from the driver’s seat. She was
alone. Of the times Stan had seen Pasquale in tense situations, she’d never seen her
look so uncomfortable.

Pasquale adjusted her shirt. Fiddled with her big belt. Pushed the sunglasses from
her eyes to the top of her head. Finally, she walked over.

Emmalee watched her. She must have sensed this visit was different, because her smile
was shaky. “Hi, Jessie. You have news for me?”

Jessie paused in front of the steps, shifting her weight from one foot to the other
until she realized she was doing it. She stilled her movements and put her cop face
back on. She did not look at Stan.

“Emmalee, would you mind coming with me? I need to ask you a few questions about your
husband’s murder,” she said.

Emmalee’s mouth opened, then closed. “I . . . What do you mean?”

Jessie stood firm. “I need you to get in the car.”

Em’s hands went to her hips. “Jessie, what in the world are you talking about? I’ve
got a farm to run!”

“Emmalee, please don’t make this more difficult than it already is. I just need to
ask you some questions about the day Hal died. Please.”

In disgust Stan watched the scene unfolding in front of her. How many blows could
this family take? “Are you arresting her?” she asked.

Pasqale ignored her.

Em turned to Stan, her eyes pleading.

“What do you need?” Stan asked.

“The boys—” Em began, but just then Tyler came around the corner of the house. He
took in the scene, then turned to his mother.

“Mom? What’s going on?”

“Nothing, honey. I have to go with Jessie for a little while. Will you make sure your
brothers all get home and start their homework? Call Ted. Ask him to send someone
to help tonight.” She nodded, smiled, and touched his cheek. “Go on, now.” She turned
to Stan and handed her a key ring. “Keys to the house. Hold on to them, okay?”

Stan reached out to accept them and squeezed Em’s hand.

Tyler stared at his mother as she started walking toward the cruiser. “Mom?”

“Do as I say, Ty,” Emmalee called without looking back.

Tyler raced forward and grabbed his mother’s wrist. “Mom!”

“Tyler,” Jessie said. She opened the cruiser’s passenger door—at least she didn’t
make Em sit in the back like a criminal—and waited. Tyler didn’t let go. Jessie stepped
forward, as if to remove his hand. Emmalee pulled it away first.

“Don’t touch him,” she warned.

“Please get in, Emmalee.”

Emmalee extracted her hand from her son’s. “It’s okay, Tyler,” she said.

But Tyler didn’t think so. He put himself between Jessie and his mother and said,
“It’s me you want.”

“Tyler!” Emmalee exclaimed. “Go in the house right now.”

“No, Mom. They’re trying to arrest you for something you didn’t do.” He faced Jessie.
“I did it. I killed my dad.” He turned back to his mother. “I’m sorry.”

Stan’s mouth dropped open. What in the world was Tyler doing?

Emmalee’s face had drained of color. “Tyler,” she whispered. “What are you talking
about?”

Her son ignored her. “Go ahead. Handcuff me if you want. I’m confessing. Leave my
mother alone and I’ll get in the car. Seriously. Ask anyone at school. I wasn’t there
that day.”

“Tyler. Be absolutely certain this is what you want to do,” Jessie warned.

Tyler shrugged. “I did it. So let’s go.”

“Do not take my son,” Em hissed at Jessie. “He’s lying! Neither of us killed Hal!
My God, for all his faults, we loved him. He was our family.” Her voice broke. “He
was our family.” She grabbed Jessie’s arms, pleading with her. “You’re like our family,
too. You can’t do this.”

“Mom, just be quiet.” Tyler’s eyes remained on Jessie. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

Jessie yanked the back door open, muttering something under her breath, and waited
for Tyler to duck in. “You have the right to remain silent,” she began.

Emmalee looked like she was about to pass out. Stan moved to her side and slid an
arm around her. Em started to cry. “What is he doing?” she asked, but Stan knew she
wasn’t expecting an answer.

Jessie didn’t look at them again. She shut the back door, got in the car, and drove
away. Stan could see the back of Tyler’s head through the rear window of the disappearing
car. He didn’t turn around.

As quickly as the news had spread around Frog Ledge about Hal Hoffman’s death, the
news of his wife’s would-be arrest and son’s confession seemed to hit the wires even
faster. Cyril Pierce must have been up at the crack of dawn the morning after the
scene at the Hoffmans’ to get his news printed and out the door. It was the only article
in the edition. When Stan had first moved to town, she’d been told the
Frog Ledge Holler
came out twice per week. Now it seemed Cyril had thrown his schedule to the wind
and was printing papers whenever he felt like it. Stan wondered who tipped him off
to Tyler’s arrest. According to the story, the arraignment was scheduled for ten this
morning.

Stan had gone back to the farm after Tyler’s arrest to bring dishes of seasoned turkey,
rice, and butternut squash for the Hoffman animals. She’d been worried about Samson
since Em told her he hadn’t felt well. Samson and Petunia had both been grateful for
the food, because Em and her children were gone. The house had been empty. Stan had
wondered if she should take the dog home with her, but decided to see how he seemed
the following day.

Now she and the dogs were up early, dressed for a walk on the green. Nutty was sleeping
in. Stan couldn’t sleep. She wanted exercise. She also wanted to hear what people
were saying. She was as bad as Char.

There was a crowd on the green already when she, Henry, and Scruffy crossed the street.
They were doing yoga. When Stan got closer, she recognized Amara teaching the class,
twisting herself into some kind of crazy pose. Most of the others struggled to follow
her and keep their balance. She saw Stan from her upside-down pose and waved.

Stan was so surprised she almost forgot to wave back. Maybe Amara was ready to drop
the grudge?

Frantic barking jolted Stan from her thoughts. Bracing herself for the inevitable,
she turned in time to see Duncan racing down the green at top speed, tongue lagging,
aimed straight for her. Scruffy and Henry saw him, too, and began their own barking
and wagging celebration. Behind him, Stan could see Jake loping along, halfheartedly
calling the dog. She really needed to make him understand how important a leash was.

But first, she needed to keep her balance as Duncan launched himself at her. She was
better at preparing for it, though. When he jumped and threw his paws on her shoulders,
she didn’t even fall. Henry and Scruffy clamored around him, yelping for joy.

Stan grabbed Duncan’s collar and coaxed him to the ground. Duncan had a tendency to
get himself in trouble. He was slick, sneaky, and obsessed with Stan and her food,
and went to great lengths to be with her—including busting out of his house and finding
his way to hers, which he’d done on a number of occasions. She turned to look for
Jake. Someone had stopped him to talk along the way, which was usually the case. Townspeople,
young and old, loved him. The elderly folks adored him because he helped them do things
they couldn’t do anymore. The younger folks liked him because he ran a cool bar. And
most of the females in town liked him because, well, he was damn cute. She could see
him in half-listening mode, one eye on their group, as he nodded in response to the
little old man with the plaid sweater talking animatedly.

When Jake finally broke free and jogged over to them, Stan was handing out treats
from her ever-present treat bag. Duncan sat at her feet, gazing at her adoringly,
waiting for the next goodie to tantalize his tastebuds. Henry and Scruffy were following
his example.

“Wow, you guys look like poster children for good dogs.” Jake came up behind them
and clipped Duncan’s leash on.

“Why don’t you do that
before
you go outside, instead of after you have to chase him?” Stan asked.

Jake sighed. “I know, I know. Bad doggie parent. I’ve heard it all before.”

“Hmmph.” Stan shook her head. “You’re a slow learner.”

“Jeez. We haven’t even gone on a date yet and we’re already fighting like an old married
couple.” He said it so matter-of-factly Stan was left gaping at him, her ability to
form words completely vanished.

“Kristan!”

She groaned inwardly. Her mother. On the green. Was nothing sacred? She turned to
greet her. The words died in her throat when she saw Patricia, wearing a pink velour
jogging suit that looked like nothing she would ever wear, walking with Leigh-Anne
Sutton, who was dressed in an equally ugly identical velour suit in teal. What on
earth had come over her mother?

“Crap,” she muttered, then pasted on a smile and waved back. “Morning!”

Jake followed her gaze with interest. “Isn’t that other woman the one helping Em at
the farm? Who’s that with her?”

“That,” Stan said, repressing a sigh, “is my mother.”

“Your mother? I didn’t know she lived around here.”

“She doesn’t. She showed up for an alleged visit the other day and decided she was
afraid of my dogs. So she’s staying with Char.”

“Really.” Jake’s lips took on that hint of a smile, the one that meant he was trying
not to laugh. “You sound thrilled.”

“Terribly.” Stan pasted on a smile as her mother and Leigh-Anne reached them and chirped
greetings. She saw them both appraise Jake, from his backward Yankees hat to his unshaven
chin. His typical morning look. “How are you, Mom, Leigh-Anne? You guys look like
twins.” She indicated their outfits.

“Oh, I had nothing to walk in. Leigh-Anne was sweet enough to offer me her extra suit.”
Now that she was closer, Stan could see her mother wasn’t thrilled with the outfit
either. That, at least, made her feel a little better. She had started to think her
real mother had been stolen by zombies. As much as they disagreed on everything, it
was still unsettling to see her acting so strangely.

“I needed a walking partner and thought your mom would love to see the green,” Leigh-Anne
said. “Isn’t it beautiful? We don’t have one like it where I live. This is the best
one in the state.” She turned a full-watt smile on Jake. “Hello, you sexy bartender,
you!”

Stan didn’t know whether to burst out laughing or sputter in protest. Was Leigh-Anne
old enough to be a cougar?

The look on Jake’s face was priceless, too. He mumbled some kind of response that
Stan couldn’t even make out, and busied himself straightening Duncan’s collar. It
was the only time Stan had ever seen him at a loss for words.

Patricia squinted at Amara’s group. “What are they doing?”

“Yoga,” Stan said.

“Outside? Why would they do that?” Patricia wrinkled her nose. “It’s so dirty. And
so many allergens.”

There she was. Despite herself, Stan smiled. “This is Jake McGee. Jake, my mother.
Patricia Connor.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” Jake shook her hand. “Are you enjoying your stay at the B
and B?”

“It’s delightful,” Patricia said. “The only damper is that murder.” She shook her
head, her gaze turning to the Hoffman farm. Stan turned to look, too, almost expecting
to see the house with the empty, eerie look of other homes that had held murderous
or murdered occupants. Of course, it didn’t look that way at all. It looked like a
run-down farmhouse that needed some TLC.

“Scary,” Patricia went on. “To think your own child could do that to you. My goodness,
I’ve had my challenges with my girls”—here she sent Stan a knowing look—“but I never
once feared for my life. How terrible.”

“You know,” Leigh-Anne confided, stepping closer and dropping her voice, “I’m not
surprised, to be honest. After my experience with that boy.”

Stan could feel Jake stiffen next to her. “What do you mean?” he asked. His tone was
pleasant but his eyes were on fire. Whoa. Stan had never actually seen Jake mad, but
he looked suspiciously like Jessie.

Leigh-Anne chewed on her bubblegum-pink lip. She looked genuinely worried. “I hate
to say anything, but I’m afraid it will come out anyway. Especially during the trial.
Oh, dear.” She glanced around the green, saw no one close enough to pay attention,
then spoke softly. “Tyler Hoffman came to my farm the weekend before Hal . . . died.”

Silence. Stan spoke first. “What for?”

“He asked if he could tour the farm, see how we did certain things. I couldn’t figure
out what had prompted him, other than our cheese and ice-cream-making capabilities,
which his family doesn’t have. And that’s the future of the farming industry, you
know. Or, I thought perhaps he was taking a late interest in the business. I know
that was one of the things that disappointed Hal—his oldest had no desire to go into
the family business.”

Patricia clucked sympathetically. “I felt the same way when Kristan fled the nest
and chose her career.”

“Mom, there was no family business,” Stan said through gritted teeth.

Patricia looked offended. “Not a business, per se, but family
traditions,
Kristan. Fund-raising. Committees. Fulfilling a higher purpose.”

Leigh-Anne watched them with interest. Stan opened her mouth to respond, then closed
it again.
Let it go.
She certainly didn’t need Jake and Leigh-Anne witnessing what would surely turn into
a sparring match. But she didn’t agree with Leigh-Anne about Hal and Tyler. Disappointed?
Stan had gotten enough of a sense of Hal over the last week that she felt she understood
him on a basic level. Being that farming wasn’t his top priority, she doubted Hal
would be disappointed over his son’s choice to go to school and find a different career.
Maybe he kept up the charade for his farming acquaintances. Or maybe she was giving
herself too much credit for reading into a dead man’s psyche.

Leigh-Anne, obviously realizing she wasn’t going to witness this family drama play
out, continued her story. “So when I brought Tyler to admire the new barn I’m building,
he dropped a bombshell.” She paused for dramatic effect. “He demanded I buy his parents
out of their farm.”

Stan’s mouth dropped. “What?” She looked at Jake. “Did Hal put him up to that?”

Jake looked equally as surprised. He shook his head. “I doubt it.”

Leigh-Anne shook her head. “Heavens, no. He looked very jumpy—almost like he was on
something—and told me I needed to buy it. That his family needed cash, his mother
needed health insurance, and he knew I could afford it. He got very belligerent. Had
me pinned against the wall in my barn. I felt quite threatened. Luckily one of my
staffers came in and broke it up.”

“Then what?” Jake asked.

Leigh-Anne stared at him blankly. “Then he left.”

“And did you call his parents? File a complaint with the police? Tell anyone?”

“Well, no. I felt terrible being the one to relay that message to Hal and Em.” She
cast her eyes to the ground. “I should have, I know. But I thought perhaps he was
just acting out. Stressed. I know there were worries about tuition payments.” She
shook her head. “Being a farmer is so difficult these days. Believe me, I know. I
can almost sympathize with the boy. But it was frightening.”

Stan watched Leigh-Anne twirling her thick gold chain around her fingers and thought
she probably didn’t know. At least not what it was like to be Emmalee Hoffman. Clearly
Leigh-Anne’s farm was a business venture above all else, run by other people until
it came down to the dollars. And who knew, maybe that was the way to do it. She certainly
didn’t look like she struggled through life like the Hoffmans because of family tradition
or loyalty. Or maybe Zen Garden Farm simply had more capital.

Jake wrapped Duncan’s leash tighter around his hand as the dog started to stray behind
Henry, who had lost interest in the conversation and was sniffing the base of a tree.
Stan could see the stress in his knuckles. They were bone white.

Patricia shuddered. “How unnerving. Let’s finish walking, Leigh-Anne. Kristan, will
I see you for dinner?”

“Sure, Mom,” Stan said, her mind on Tyler and Leigh-Anne’s story. “I’ll call you later.
See you, Leigh-Anne.”

“Yes, I’ll see you at the farm, I’m sure.” Leigh-Ann reached over and squeezed Stan’s
shoulder. “I’m sorry. I should probably tell that state trooper who’s leading the
investigation, shouldn’t I?”

She didn’t seem to realize that was Jake’s sister, and Jake didn’t offer the information,
or even answer. Stan followed his lead. She waited until Leigh-Anne and her mother
had gotten a quarter of the way around the loop, then looked at Jake.

“Wow,” Stan said slowly. “Maybe Tyler confronted his dad about asking Leigh-Anne to
buy them out and things got out of hand. Although I hate to believe it. He seems like
such a smart kid with places to go.” Another thought dawned on her. “I wonder if that’s
why I haven’t been able to get anywhere with the financial work at the farm. Em put
Tyler in charge of getting me the information. I don’t have any history yet. I hate
to say it, but maybe they do have the right guy.”

Jake’s face was grim. “I have a hard time seeing Tyler lashing out in a rage and killing
his father, no matter how frustrated he was. I’ve known that kid forever, Stan. I
just don’t see it.”

 

 

Fresh out of fresh vegetables, Stan walked to the Frog Ledge food co-op. She grabbed
a basket, heading down the fresh produce aisle. She picked out some kale for her morning
smoothies, along with organic pears and some raspberries. Rounding the corner into
the local honey aisle, she almost crashed right into Amara Leonard.

Amara looked as startled as Stan. She still wore her yoga clothes. Her hair was scooped
back with a hair band. Her glasses were perched on top of her head and she held ajar
of brown rice syrup in her hand.

Well, here was her chance. “Sorry,” Stan said.
Brilliant start.