A Biscuit, a Casket (3 page)

But the sighting that had generated the most interest on Pasquale’s part was Kathryn
McKitchum’s. Kathryn ran a local restaurant on the outskirts of town called Crystal’s
Country Kitchen. She appeared to be in her early fifties, with reddish hair frozen
high above her head with what seemed to be a large amount of hairspray. Her high-pitched,
nervous voice pierced the still night air, and Stan couldn’t help but overhear.

“There was two customers this mornin’,” she said. “Slow day, but typical for Fridays.
Saturday’s better for breakfast crowds, but Sunday’s always the best. Anyway, I see
Hal pull up and park. But he don’t get out of the car, just sat there. Didn’t think
nothing of it, but then a Ford Explorer drives up. Guy with a big beard’s driving
it. Hal gets out of his truck and goes over to the driver’s window.”

Stan glanced at Jake, who listened just as intently. She raised her eyebrow. He shrugged
as if to say,
I don’t know who she’s talking about.

“Could you hear what they were saying?” Pasquale asked.

Kathryn shook her head. “No, ma’am. It’s gettin’ chilly this time of year, so I had
the screens off the door. Besides, they were a ways away. But Hal didn’t look happy.
I did hear some yelling when someone opened the door, but I had to go back in the
kitchen and oversee Mr. Hallihan’s eggs. He gets cranky if the yolks are overcooked.”

Stan could see Pasquale tense with impatience at the long-winded story, but she kept
her voice even. “Then what?”

Kathryn shrugged. “Then nothing. Next time I looked out, they were both gone.”

Pasquale motioned to Kathryn to come with her, and they walked over to Em. The three
of them moved into a circle and Stan couldn’t hear anymore.

Who would fight with Hal in a public place? She turned to Jake, but he’d moved away
to talk quietly to Danny Hoffman, who had insisted on staying outside with his mother
even when Em’s sister had arrived and tried to usher him inside. Stan couldn’t tell
if the boy was responding to Jake or not—his face was sullen and he stared straight
ahead, but every now and then he swiped angrily at his eyes with the sleeve of his
sweatshirt.

Stan scanned the yard to see who was left. The crowd started to thin as Trooper Lou
and the other two cops released people. The poor guys had their work cut out for them,
taking down names and trying to make sure any potential witnesses hadn’t left the
premises before they did so. Stan would hate to see what Pasquale would do if they
screwed something up.

“I’m going to send a car over there right now to question him.” Pasquale’s voice floated
by as she walked away from Em and Kathryn. Stan inched closer to hear what she said
when she pulled out her radio. Something about dispatching officers for questioning.
She caught the name “Fink” and the town Woods Hole.

Abruptly, Pasquale turned, her eyes landing on Stan. Stan averted her eyes, pretending
she hadn’t been listening.

“Lou,” Pasquale said, pocketing her radio, “I’m taking these folks inside.”

Maybe now was a good time to leave. Stan tried to catch Jake’s attention, but didn’t
succeed. Before she could decide, Pasquale reached over and laid a hand on her shoulder.
“You’re joining us, right, Ms. Connor?”

Stan bit back a sigh. “I’d be happy to.”

Stan didn’t think she’d ever been so tired—or chilled—in her life. Even though the
troopers had moved operations into Emmalee’s living room, warmth eluded her. She had
been outside for a long time, since seven when she’d arrived with Brenna, and it was
now nearly two in the morning. Still, she was sure the chill of the fall night wasn’t
the only culprit. Just the thought of Hal Hoffman’s lifeless body, weapon still protruding
from his chest, lying half submerged in a puddle was enough to make her shiver despite
the mug of hot apple cider she held. The sweet liquid, prepared to serve to people
coming out of the maze, tasted slightly burned after being forgotten in the Crock-Pot
for too long.

Hal’s body had finally been removed. Pasquale had moved them inside so that job could
be done without the family watching. Stan had seen the slow, somber ambulance lights
as the vehicle pulled away from the farm. She wondered, randomly, how the cows were
handling all the excitement, or if they’d even noticed.

There were only a few people left at this point. Pasquale and Emmalee had disappeared
into the study to talk. Brenna sat on the cozy armchair, her legs curled up under
her. She played with her hair, viciously twirling a lock tight around her finger,
letting it go, twirling it again. She’d stayed inside with the youngest Hoffman boy
after the news had reached her, trying to shield him for as long as possible against
his family’s grief. Emmalee’s sister, Francine, sat on the love seat. Clearly a nervous
Nellie, she hadn’t stopped fidgeting the entire time. Her leg jiggled nonstop and
she picked at her fingernail until Stan wanted to get up and rip the fingernail out.
From her seat on the floor with Jake beside her, Stan watched Francine until she thought
she would scream. She tried to concentrate on Duncan, sprawled across their feet.
Despite not actually being on the farm when Hal’s body was found, Jake had remained
with them after everyone else had dispersed. Em had seemed comforted by his presence,
and he’d been a godsend for Danny. The boy had been trying to be strong for his mom
but deal with his own teenage grief at the same time. Watching Jake with him, just
offering support, had melted Stan’s heart. Not that she’d ever admit it.

Emmalee and Hal’s oldest son, Tyler, who had returned from college a few towns away,
sat on the couch. A soft-spoken, gentle boy, he’d finally gotten his little brother,
Joseph, to sleep. Danny had resisted going to bed, but he was curled up on the other
side of the couch now, dozing restlessly. Samson had curled up near him, his paws
on his young master’s leg. There was still one Hoffman son who had not been told.
Ten-year-old Robert was at a sleepover at a friend’s. Neither Emmalee nor Tyler had
the heart, or the strength, to go get him right now. They’d made the decision together
with no words, a moment Stan had witnessed and been touched by. In just a matter of
minutes, the student had realized and accepted his new role as man of the house. She
wondered what that would mean to his studies and the life he’d just started to get
used to away from home.

Tyler jiggled his knee, emitting sighs of frustration every few minutes. He clenched
his hands into fists and slammed them into his knees. “What are they doing in there?”
he burst out. “Can I go in and get them? I don’t want her bothering my mom.”

Trooper Pasquale and Emmalee had been locked in Emmalee’s study for the past hour
and a half. Stan understood the boy’s frustration. Having been on the receiving end
of a Pasquale interrogation in the past, she knew what Em must be feeling, listening
to the relentless questions and trying to formulate coherent answers that would satisfy
her.

“I wouldn’t do that, Tyler,” Stan said. “Trooper Pasquale is just trying to understand
what happened here tonight.”

“My father’s dead,” Tyler said, his voice flat. “And she needs to find out how it
happened, not stress my mother out.”

As if Pasquale had heard, the office door opened with a snap. All eyes in the room
followed it. Emmalee emerged first, clearly doing her best to hold it together, but
she looked exhausted and unfocused. Trooper Pasquale followed, her face still grim
but showing no signs of fatigue. Instead, her perfect skin glowed with the excitement
of the chase in front of her. She observed the people still in the room.

Tyler ignored her and jumped up to put an arm around his mother. “Are you okay, Mom?”
he asked.

Emmalee focused on him and smiled wanly. “Fine, honey. Why don’t you and Danny go
up to bed? It’s so late.” Em raised her wrist to check her watch but there was nothing
there. Her voice trailed off as she glanced around the room, maybe looking for a clock,
or just something steady to focus on. Brenna got up and hugged her. When Em pulled
away, she had tears in her eyes.

“You’re all so sweet to stay,” Em said, motioning to Jake and Stan, too.

“Of course we stayed,” Brenna said. “I can stay over if you want.”

“I would love that,” Em said.

Stan envied the younger girl’s ease with the family, an ease that came from knowing
them forever, growing up together, having a bond within the community. It was something
she’d never thought much about until she moved here. Maybe she’d become close enough
to people in Frog Ledge that these gestures would seem like second nature to her,
too.

Tyler ignored his mother’s suggestion to go to bed, instead directing his next question
to Pasquale. “So what’s next? How do you find out who killed my father?”

Pasquale met his gaze head on, unblinking. “We investigate. We talk to everyone we
can think of, just like we’ve been doing tonight. We find out what your dad did today,
before this happened. It might take some time, but we’ll find who did this.”

Tyler processed Pasquale’s response, then nodded. “So do you need us to help?”

“I absolutely will need you to help,” Pasquale said. “But not tonight. You and your
brother should go get some rest, and let your mother get some rest. I’ll come back
tomorrow and we can talk. Okay?”

Tyler looked at his mother. She nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll be here.”

Emmalee went over to Tyler, her eyes brimming with tears, and wrapped him in her arms.
They stood that way for a long time, while Danny slept on the couch next to them.
“Go upstairs,” she told him, finally.

Tyler kissed her on the cheek and obliged. Stan could hear his shoes, heavy on the
creaking staircase, as he disappeared from sight.

A fluffy calico cat wandered in from the same room Pasquale and Em had vacated. As
did most animals, she made a beeline for Stan, her erect tail reminding her of Nutty,
her own Maine coon cat. She missed him, and her two recently adopted dogs. Wanted
to go home. She stroked the cat’s back and checked her tag. Petunia. She remembered
the homemade treats she’d brought for Benny and his friends in her bag. She pulled
one out, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, and fed it to the cat. Duncan
perked up, and she tossed him one, too. Samson hadn’t woken.

Em looked at Pasquale. “Need anything else?”

Pasquale started to answer, but Stan cut in. “Sorry to interrupt. Did anyone talk
to the guy working tonight?”

“What guy working?” Pasquale asked.

“You mean Enrico?” Em asked. “The milker,” she explained to Pasquale. “We have someone
on all night.”

Pasquale looked at Stan. “Did you see him doing anything?”

“I saw him in the barn, so I just wondered,” Stan said. “He was watching all the action.”

“I’ll get Lou to talk to him, if he hasn’t already,” she said.

“That might be tough,” Em admitted. “He doesn’t speak much English. He’s legal, though.
All the papers are on file.”

“What time does his shift start?” Pasquale ignored her explanation about the worker’s
immigration status.

“He came on today around four. They work twelve-hour shifts.”

“Okay. I’ll need to talk to everyone on staff as well. First thing in the morning,
unless they’re here now. We talked about that, Em.”

“And I told you the boys would be difficult.”

“We can bring a translator.” The two women stared at each other for a few seconds,
leaving Stan to wonder what had occurred in the other room.

Em dropped her gaze first and nodded, weary. “Fine.”

Pasquale nodded. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Get some rest.” With one last glance
at Jake and Brenna, she walked out, shutting the door firmly behind her. Stan watched
her flashlight bounce across the grass as she collected Lou. They strode toward the
cow enclosures. Em watched them go.

Stan’s heart ached for the family. It was time to leave. Beside her, Jake shifted,
signaling he was ready to get up.

“Leaving?” Brenna asked. She looked more like Jake than their older sister. She had
the same dark blond hair he did, the same easy smile. Her eyes were a light hazel
instead of his multicolored, green-tinted eyes and she had a smattering of freckles
across her cheeks and nose. She laughed like he did, too, often and loudly, although
there was no mirth tonight. Pasquale, however, oozed cop all the time. If she had
even a quarter of the personality her brother and sister had, Stan had never seen
a glimpse of it.

They bid Emmalee good night. Stan looked back at her as they walked out the door.
She looked slightly bewildered, as if she had no idea how she’d come to be standing
in this room, in this situation, with such a long road ahead.

Outside, Jake motioned to his truck. “Come on, I’ll drop you off.”

“I live two houses down,” Stan protested.

“It’s two in the morning. Probably closer to three by now. Humor me.”

So she did. She really didn’t want to walk anyway after tonight’s events, but didn’t
want to look like a baby. The short ride was quiet. Even Duncan remained subdued.
When Jake pulled into her driveway, the sight of her house made her feel better instantly.
The mint-green Victorian with the white wraparound porch had seduced her from the
moment she saw it on a drive through town with her best friend, Nikki. Newly unemployed,
she had been miserable. And then she saw the F
OR
S
ALE
sign, and everything changed. Now it was home. She heard barking when she opened
the truck door. Henry the pit bull’s deep, strong bark coupled with Scruffy the schnoodle’s
sweet-sounding
woo woo woos
.

“Oh, my God, the dogs haven’t been outside in hours,” she said. “I’m a terrible parent.”

“No you’re not. You’re a good friend. Come on, I’ll take them out for you.”

“They can go out in the back. It’s fenced,” Stan said, then stopped when Jake gave
her that look. The one that said,
Shut up and let me help.
“Okay, come on in.”

They went inside, Duncan jumping up and down with the excitement of seeing his friends.
They finally made it into the hallway amid a flurry of barking, wagging, jumping,
and licking. Through the mayhem, Nutty watched with disdain from his perch on the
front windowsill.

“I know, they’re crazy,” Stan said, bending down to kiss Nutty’s head. “And you’re
probably hungry.”

Nutty arched his back and purred in response, fanning his brilliant tail, then jumped
down and trotted into the kitchen to wait for a snack. Jake took the dogs out back,
allowing Stan a few moments of quiet with her cat. She heated up a small bowl of his
chicken, rice, and broccoli mixture and added two homemade blueberry cinnamon treats
as garnish. Nutty waited in his usual spot on the counter. When Stan placed it in
front of him, he attacked it, flecks of food flying.

“Well, I guess you really were hungry.” She filled a fresh bowl of water and replaced
the old bowl in the corner of the kitchen. Jake and the dogs came in a minute later.

“All set,” he said, as the three of them bounded over to her and plopped on the floor,
waiting for their food.

“Thank you,” she said. His eyes met hers over the dogs’ heads, and she quickly looked
away. “So I guess I’m feeding everyone dinner, huh, guys?”

They all wagged expectantly. Duncan looked proud of himself for blending in with the
group so well.

“Good thing I’m prepared.” She pulled some bowls out of the fridge, and moments later
all three dogs were eating contentedly. Nutty, who had already finished his, jumped
down and nosed around to see whose plate he could bum something off of. The dogs,
even Duncan, understood that he was in charge, and grudgingly let him select a plate
to nibble from. He chose Henry’s.

“Thanks for feeding Dunc,” Jake said.

“No problem. Thanks for coming in. Want anything?”

“No. Thanks. It’s pretty late.”

She turned to the sink and began rinsing off dishes. “I can’t believe Hal’s been killed.
Who would do such a thing? To someone with four children? I feel so bad for them.”
She looked at Jake. “Was he really the type of guy someone could stab like that? In
his own yard?”

“That’s a good question,” Jake said. “Hal was a unique guy. You either loved or you
hated him. And plenty of people hated him.”