A Biscuit, a Casket (22 page)

They were all still in the barn when Roger arrived five minutes later.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, barging in. His mouth dropped as he took in the
scene. “Enrico?”

The boy, who looked like he was going to have a nervous breakdown, began babbling
in Spanish. Pasquale frowned. “English, please.”

“He doesn’t know much,” Roger said.

Pasquale turned to Roger. “When was the last time you saw him?”

“Saturday. He had Sunday off and never showed up Monday.”

“So as far as you’re concerned, he shouldn’t be on the farm tonight.”

Roger looked at Enrico. “Did you come back to work?”

Enrico hung his head, shook it slowly.

“What did you come here for, then?” Pasquale asked.

Enrico looked at her blankly.

Pasquale motioned for the kid to come forward. He did, hesitant, his hands still up,
sweat beading on his forehead. Next to Stan, Henry growled. Pasquale pulled her radio
out of her belt and gave her location, asked where her backup was.

“Arriving now. Just asking the cows for directions,” the voice on the other end of
the radio crackled back, and sure enough, a minute later two troopers strode in. Stan
didn’t recognize either. Trooper Lou must have had the night off.

“Either of you speak Spanish?” Pasquale asked.

They both shook their heads. She rolled her eyes. “Fantastic. He’s gonna have to cool
his heels until we get a translator.” Pasquale stepped forward and fastened loose
handcuffs on the kid. Stan almost felt bad for him, despite the throbbing pain in
the back of her legs. He looked more scared than she’d felt when she hit the ground.

She tried to reach Emmalee on her cell, to no avail. Pasquale was tied up with the
kid, so she and Asher went with Roger back to the cow pens.

“What happened, Stan? Why were you here?” Roger asked.

“I had to come back and feed Samson and Petunia. Em left for a few days.”

“Yeah, she left me a message.” Roger looked grim. Stan could barely keep up with them
as they hurried across the dark grass.

“So I was leaving and heard a noise outside. Saw a flashlight. Then Henry took off.
I checked the cow pens and got whacked.”

Roger looked at Asher. “You didn’t hear anything?”

“I was in the back barn with the door shut. I didn’t want to disturb anyone while
I worked on the engine.” Asher, despite his monotone voice, looked troubled. “What
was that boy doing, Roger?”

Roger didn’t answer. He went into the barn and straight to the sick pens. Cursed.

“I noticed when I came in,” Stan said. “That’s when I got hit.”

“Noticed what?” Asher asked.

“The two sick cows. They’re not here,” Roger said. He went into the main barn, moved
slowly down the row of cows, looking at each of them. A few minutes later, Stan heard
him call to Asher. They both hurried over.

Roger pointed at one of the cows. “That’s one. She was in the sick pen.”

Stan looked from one to the other. “So what does that mean?”

“If they’re back in the general population, they’d get milked next shift,” Roger said.
“And then the whole supply would be tainted.”

Party day. Stan groaned and pulled her pillow over her head. Saturday. Over a week
since Hal’s murder, and things were crazier than ever, especially after the scene
on the farm last night. After Roger’s discovery, the cops had brought Enrico down
to the barracks. No one had been able to reach Em. Stan hadn’t heard a word since.
Would charges against Tyler be dropped now? Had Enrico murdered Hal? First kill the
farmer, then taint the milk supply?

Her legs ached. She hoped it wouldn’t hamper her ability to throw this party. Her
business’s reputation depended on it. She had to finish icing the cake, which waited
in the freezer. She hoped it was big enough. Benny was expecting five to seven friends,
in addition to her own dogs. They were all, according to Benny’s mom, looking forward
to the party at one o’clock. She also had to bake a couple extra batches of treats.

Then she sat straight up, panic coursing through her veins. Costume party. She had
no costume for Henry or Scruffy! She was a horrible pet parent. The other dogs would
make fun of them, and they would be miserable in their own house. What was she going
to do?

She grabbed her cell phone and dialed Char. “I need doggie costumes,” she said when
Char answered.

“Doggie costumes? For when?” Char asked.

“This afternoon. It’s Benny’s party, and it’s here at my house. My own dogs don’t
have costumes and I haven’t frosted the cake yet! This is going to be terrible. I’m
going to get a bad review and no one will want me to do another party for them.” She
was on the verge of tears, but Char’s rational, soothing voice of reason took over.

“Honey. This isn’t like you, to be so worried. Your party is going to be lovely!”

“What about the costumes, though? And how’s my mother? I didn’t make dinner with her
last night. There was . . . some excitement.”

“Excitement? What kind?”

“I need to deal with costumes first,” Stan said, not wanting to get sidetracked.

“I don’t have any, but I bet Betty could help. She does costumes for the local theater
company.”

“Betty from the library?” Wow. The people of Frog Ledge led their share of double
lives. “When does she find time to do that?”

Char chuckled. “Oh, Stan, honey, people find time to do what they love. You of all
people know that, don’t you? Anyway, call her. Maybe she can dig up something from
one of the plays. They must have some doggie outfits in their repertoire. Then call
me back and tell me the gossip.”

Stan hung up and called Betty while she brought the dogs down to go outside. No answer
on the cell. She checked the clock. Nearly nine on a Saturday. Betty was probably
in her office at the library. Sure enough, she answered on the first ring. “Frog Ledge
Library, Betty speaking,” she chirped.

“Betty, it’s Stan.”

“Good morning, dear! How can I help you?” She lowered her voice. “Are you researching
potential murderers? I’d love to help. What can I do?”

Betty had a thing for crime. Stan figured she’d been a detective in a previous life.
“No, not researching murderers. I need your help for the dogs, actually.”

“Oh, well, that’s just as fun. What do those cutie-wooties need?”

“Costumes. Benny’s party is this afternoon at my house and I have nothing for them
to wear. Char said to call you. I’m desperate, Betty. I still have to finish the cake
and I don’t want my dogs to hate me for making them different.”

“Oh, have no fear,” Betty said. “Give me an hour.”

 

 

True to her word, Stan’s doorbell rang exactly an hour later. The treats were in the
oven after one minor incident with Nutty diving into the batter for a taste—an incident
that had set Stan back about fifteen minutes, the amount of time it took her to chase
Nutty, wash his paws, and clean the batter trail. She was finishing the peanut butter
cake with her special cream cheese frosting. The original cake she’d prepared for
the party had vanished in the aftermath of Hal’s murder, although Stan had a sneaking
suspicion Benny had ended up with it. She’d seen him on the green the other day and
he looked a little chunkier.

Betty followed up her ring with a rap on the screen, impatient as always. “Yoo hoo!
Stan!” Stan had the front door open to let in the crisp, fall breeze. It felt delightful.
Nutty thought so, too. He’d squished himself on the windowsill and had his fluffy
face pressed against the screen. The breeze ruffled the hair in his ears.

Stan headed down the hall, the dogs trotting behind her. “We’re coming,” she called
out, then slowed as Betty proudly held up a glittery pink and green sequined vest
with fringes. “What the . . .”

“It’s for Henry!” Betty beamed, clearly proud.

Stan unlocked the screen and pushed it open. “That’s for a dog?”

“Well, no,” Betty admitted, stepping into the hall and shaking the vest out. Loose
glitter and dust rained down on Stan’s hardwood floor. Nutty sneezed and jumped off
the sill. He stalked off, tail in the air. “It was for Len Crowley. His original play
about a singing real estate agent. It wasn’t one of our best, but we have to give
people creative license.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I thought this would fit Henry. And
this”—she reached into her shopping bag and proudly thrust a black getup with whiskers
at Stan—“is for Scruffy. From when we did an adaptation of
Cats
.”

Stan tentatively took the outfit from her. “Um, thanks, Betty. This is lovely of you.”
She looked doubtfully at Scruffy, who was on her hind legs trying to sniff the clothing.
Henry had taken one look at the sequined vest and dropped to his belly in the hall,
covering his eyes with his paws.

“I’m glad you called. And I wanted to ask you a favor. How would you like to judge
the pet costume parade tomorrow evening?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you, silly. You’re a perfect choice. All the animals in town love you. There
are two other judges. It’s quick—forty-five minutes tops. It’s right before we start
showing the movies on the green for Halloween.” Betty smiled. “Tomorrow’s going to
be a great day. So what do you say?”

“Sure,” Stan said. “It sounds like fun.”

“Excellent! I knew you would do it. Say, how’s the cake coming?” Betty marched into
the kitchen to see for herself, and let out a squeal when she saw the perfect ghost
shape. “It’s gorgeous! Benny will love it.”

“Thanks, I hope so.” Stan glanced at her watch. “I still have to clean and get the
decorations up.”

“You should try on the outfits first. Want me to help?”

Stan cringed inwardly. “Oh, that’s not necessary. They can be fresh about putting
clothes on. I’ll do it.”
There’s no way they’ll be wearing these outfits.

“Excellent,” Betty declared. “And did I mention Nancy invited me to take pictures?
I’ll be able to see how adorable they look! I may even post them to the theater company’s
Facebook page.” She squeezed Stan’s arm. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours, then.”

There was nothing like a doggie party to take your mind off murder. By the time Benny’s
party was in full swing, Stan realized she hadn’t thought about Hal Hoffman or the
farm in hours. The party had commenced in the backyard with tennis balls and Frisbees
galore. Duncan and Jake were there. It was slightly unsettling to Stan to see Jake
sitting so casually on her back deck, chatting with Ursula Schumacher, a local historian
and mom to Tessa the beagle. Stan could feel Jake’s eyes on her, though, as she ran
around tending to the guests.

Duncan wasn’t into the games. He followed Stan around hoping for extra treats. Benny
wasn’t into the games either, possibly due to his chunkiness. He preferred sitting
in the grass, guarding his goods. Betty, who apparently had a third career as a photographer,
snapped more photos than paparazzi. Henry, embarrassed in his sequined vest, had begged
to go inside. Stan relented and took the vest off him before setting him free to go
nap. Scruffy, however, was torn between wanting to play with the other dogs and ripping
the cat suit off. Betty thought she looked adorable and wouldn’t stop taking her picture.

After conferring with Benny’s mom about bringing the cake out, Stan headed inside
to get the cake. She was excited for the dogs to try it. She hoped they loved it.

“You should add party planner to your resume.” Jake’s voice appeared near her ear.
He caught the door and held it for her as she stepped through.

Stan pushed back a lock of hair that kept falling into her eye and tried to smile.
“I don’t think I want to advertise this. It’s much harder when you have to run the
party instead of just catering. Need something?”

He held up his glass. “Just going to top off my water.”

“I can get it for you.”

“No need. I’m used to pouring drinks.” He winked at her and moved into the kitchen.

“So you’re off tonight?” Stan pulled the cake out of the fridge where it had been
thawing.

“I may go in later and see what’s going on. My people have everything under control,
but if I have nothing else going on . . .” He shrugged.

Stan didn’t know what to say to that, so she focused on the cake. She’d done the ghost
in honor of Halloween, which happened to be Duncan’s costume. Stan had a sneaking
suspicion that was because Jake had found it easier to drape a sheet over the dog
so he wouldn’t have to hear Stan’s criticism rather than because he had an affinity
for ghosts, but she kept that opinion to herself.

Jake filled his water, then stood next to her, checking out the cake. “Looks like
Dunc,” he said, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Stan laughed. “I think he’s the only one with a homemade costume. If you want to call
that homemade.”

“The abuse never ceases.” Jake shook his head. “At least I got him a costume this
time.” He started to walk back outside, then turned. “So. After you wrap up this shindig,
any interest in having dinner?”

The knife dropped from her fingers and clattered to the floor. Luckily no animals
were underneath it. Unruffled, Jake bent and picked it up, rinsed it, and placed it
next to the cake on the counter. “You can let me know,” he said, that same amused
smile lurking on his lips. “You have your hands full right now.” And he disappeared
outside.

Ugh.
Stan rapped her fist against her forehead. Why couldn’t she get it together in front
of him? She could hold a conversation just fine—until it got personal. Or until he
asked her out. Which, admittedly, had not happened before today, so she had an excuse
for reacting the way she did. Didn’t she?

So, what to do? After missing each other last night, she and her mother were supposed
to have dinner tonight. But she’d much rather have dinner with Jake. Which made her
a terrible daughter.
Think about it later. The doggies are waiting for cake.
She put the cake and knife on a tray and headed outside. Duncan and Benny waited
at the door, tails wagging, ears on alert.
Cake?
their hopeful expressions said.
We get cake, too?

“Yes, you guys get cake. Come on over.” She led the parade of dogs to the table and
placed the cake on it. Nancy joined her.

“Oh, this is delightful!” she crowed. “I love it. However do you get so
creative?”

Stan blinked. She didn’t really think of herself as creative. She’d simply ordered
a cake pan in the shape of a ghost from her new favorite supplier. But she didn’t
tell Nancy that. Instead, she winked. “I can’t tell you all my secrets,” she said.
“Come on, Benny, let’s get you the first piece.”

 

 

At three o’clock, after only two doggie fights over cake, the party wrapped. Benny
had finagled two pieces, Nyla the poodle had gotten a stint in time-out for stealing
Toby the dachshund’s piece, and every last crumb had been cleaned up. Goodie bags
with cow trachea had been distributed. Nancy declared the day a success and promised
to tell everyone she knew how great Stan’s parties were, which had Stan floating on
air. Henry had come back out now that he didn’t have to wear his costume, and he contentedly
sniffed around the fence with Scruffy in tow. Stan packed up the remaining treats
and tried calling her mother to find out about dinner. She didn’t answer. Again. And
Jake was waiting.

He hadn’t left yet. She saw him collecting paper plates the dogs had licked clean
from the grass and other areas. Duncan followed, making sure each plate had no frosting
left that was going to waste. Stan watched him for a minute, envying the ease in which
he moved through life. Nothing much seemed to bother Jake, although Stan knew that
despite his laid-back exterior, he wasn’t lackadaisical. He knew everything he needed
to know, and he cared a lot about the town and the people in it. Which is probably
why he gave Izzy the advice he’d given her about her deal with Hal, and look what
he’d gotten for it.

Crap. She needed to see if he could offer any suggestion for Izzy’s situation. She’d
promised.

He turned then, and caught her watching him. She flushed and busied herself pulling
down the “Happy Birthday” banner she’d hung for Benny on the back porch.

“I think your yard is back to normal,” he said. “Nice job, Stan. The dog lovers in
town are impressed. Your business is going to do well here.”

Sweet words to hear. Especially from him. Ah, screw it. “If you still want to go to
dinner, I’m in,” she blurted before she could change her mind. Could she be more socially
awkward?

He looked almost as surprised as she felt, but recovered quickly. “Excellent,” he
said. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Seven,” she repeated stupidly.

He nodded, then clipped Duncan’s leash on and exited through the gate to the driveway.
Stan finished taking down her decorations. She had four hours to figure out what to
wear.