A Biscuit, a Casket (8 page)

Stan smiled. “I have heard of you. Your sign is in the Hoffmans’ yard.”

Tony Falco sobered. “Yes. Yes it is. Hal is—was—a good friend.”

“I know. It’s terrible,” Leigh-Anne said, shaking her head. “Just terrible.”

“So how do you two know each other?” Stan asked.

“Oh, Tony was a dear friend of my late husband,” Leigh-Anne said.

“Yes. Good man. Well, lovely to meet you,” he said to Stan. “I’m having a fund-raiser
on Tuesday. At the hospital. Please come. Although you might’ve liked the one on Thursday
better. It was held at the local winery. Everetts’—do you know it? Anyway, it was
wonderful. Don’t you agree, Leigh-Anne?”

“Delightful,” Leigh-Anne said. “Lovely place. But the hospital will be lovely, too,
I’m sure. Do come, Stan.”

“I’ll try,” Stan said, noncommittal. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“I’ll see you on the farm!” Leigh-Anne tugged a short, purple leather coat on and
waggled her fingers at Stan, then followed Falco.

Stan said her good-byes back and watched them walk through the pub to the door. Their
seats were grabbed before they even got halfway there. She took the last swig of her
wine and thought it might be time to go, too, but before she could commit to that
decision, another glass landed in front of her. Behind it, Jake winked.

“The show’s not over yet,” he said. “Stella.”

“You’re
what?
”

Stan held the phone away from her ear to ward off Nikki’s high-pitched scream of protest.
Stan had called her first thing Sunday morning after she’d finally found the energy
to roll out of bed at eight—late for her—with the aftereffects of wine still lingering.
She’d had a great time at McSwigg’s, and stayed a lot later than she should have.
She’d enjoyed the step dancers, chatted with some of her fellow townsfolk, and spent
a lot of time watching Jake when he wasn’t looking. Hopefully he hadn’t noticed. She’d
also noodled the conversation she’d overheard among the group of onerous-looking men,
dissecting it in the back of her brain, looking for any clues that might help her
figure out who they were and if she could find out more about the money Hal owed.
There had to be a way. She had access to the books now. Or she would, shortly.

Which was what Nikki was screaming about. Stan had felt compelled to break the news
that she’d gotten roped into working at the dairy farm, knowing full well what Nikki
would say about it. She’d called early to get it over with.

“How can you work there?” Nikki continued. Her voice had come down a notch, and Stan
hesitantly put the phone back to her ear.

“I’m not really working there. I’m just . . . helping this woman out for a few days.
Well, a few weeks, I guess. I’m not really sure.”

“That’s working there, in my book. Jeez, Stan. Don’t you listen to
anything
I say? Hold on.” There was a minute or so pause, then Nikki came back on the line.
“Check your e-mail. I just sent you a video. You have to see what they do to these
cows.”

“Nikki. Please. Stop. I love cows. But I don’t know what to say. This is a farm town.
The woman lost her husband. She has four kids to feed and the cows are here and they
need care, too. What else can I do?”

Silence on the other end of the line. Braver, Stan continued. “Even if I did stage
a revolution and helped them, where would I take five hundred cows? Where could they
go? Seriously. Where do cows who don’t live on farms live? Who takes care of them?
It’s not like we can ship them to India.” She remembered Nikki had told her once that
cows were treated like holy objects in India.

“I’m not saying you should stage a revolution.” Nikki’s voice was sullen now. “I’m
just saying, it’s embarrassing to have my best friend supporting an animal torture
chamber.”

Stan sighed and rubbed her temples. It was already shaping up to be a long day. “Look.
I’m not supporting the farm. I’m not even taking any money. I’m just going to use
my spare time to help this woman get through the next few weeks and then I’m done.
I’m not condoning the farm. I’m not doing marketing for them. I’m not even drinking
milk.” She didn’t mention the cheese she sometimes bought for her treat recipes. Dogs
and cats both loved cheesy treats.

Nikki hmphed at her. “Fine. Don’t tell me about it, okay?”

“My lips are sealed,” Stan promised, and hung up. Why did she do it to herself? She
had a bad habit of needing to explain herself to people, friends and family included.
She needed to work on that.

Outside her window, the sky was gray and serious. Probably nice and cool out. She
could take the dogs for a walk around the green, then go for a bike ride. Then she
could start planning her treat orders. Brenna was coming tomorrow to bake, but she
could get a head start today. She glanced at the animals. Scruffy was still sprawled
out on the pillow next to Nutty. Nutty didn’t even blink. He liked to sleep in on
Sundays. From his bed on the floor, Henry lifted his head and woofed at her.

“Morning, guys. You wanna hit the green?”

Henry wagged his tail. Scruffy sat up and handed Stan her paw.

“Let’s get on with it, then.” She glanced at her phone, which had just lit up with
the morning local news alerts she had set up. Weather, cloudy with chance of showers,
high forties by noon. A water main had broken in the next town. And an early morning
dispute in a Frog Ledge café had sent one to the hospital and one to jail.

Stan’s mouth dropped open. A Frog Ledge café? There was only one real café in Frog
Ledge—Izzy Sweet’s Sweets. Stan scrolled to her contacts and hit Izzy’s name to dial
her cell. The phone went straight to voice mail.

“Huh,” she said to Henry, the only one who was actually paying attention to her. “What
do you think of that?”

Henry’s tail smacked the floor in excitement.

“I’m thinking the same thing,” Stan said. “We should take a walk down there instead
of around the green, right? That way, we can fill up the feral cat food, too.” Stan
and Izzy were feeding a colony of feral cats who lived behind her shop.

Scruffy sat up and
woo wooed
. Nutty came over and shoved his head against Stan’s hand, looking for rubs. “Well,
I’m glad we’re all in agreement,” she said. “Let’s go eat so we can roll.”

An hour later the cat food was packed up and they were ready to go, Stan in yoga pants
and a sweatshirt, Henry in his new plaid vest, and Scruffy in her pink sweater. Nutty
bid them farewell from his window spot. Stan knew when they returned he’d be curled
up in the sun spot, either on the hall floor or in his cat tree near the window. Being
a cat was a pretty good deal. He seemed to prefer having the house to himself.

On the way down the street, she glanced at the house directly next to hers. Amara
Leonard’s house. Stan hadn’t seen the homeopath in ages. Not that it mattered. Amara
hadn’t spoken to her since the day last summer that she’d come to Duncan’s rescue,
when he’d shown up sick on Stan’s porch. Their falling out earlier this year had been
silly, and Stan wanted to wave a white flag and get on with things. Maybe she’d stop
by this week. It would be nice to have a friend next door. Especially someone close
to her own age.

They hiked down to the corner of Main Street and Darling Lane and crossed over, continuing
down Darling. Scruffy led the way, prancing along, stopping to greet everyone she
saw on the street—mostly a lot of older folks coming and going from the senior center.
Izzy’s shop and upstairs apartment was a block farther. Scruffy knew exactly where
they were headed. She was used to going to the café to visit Izzy’s dogs. She dragged
Stan and Henry through the parking lot to the front door.

They came face to face with a C
LOSED
sign.

“What the devil?” Izzy usually had to be reminded to close, and not at nine in the
morning on a Sunday, the day people came to the shop to linger over lattes and the
New York Times,
and refill their mugs. Stan cupped her hands around her eyes and peered inside. No
one. Lights off, no delightful coffee or pastry smells drifting through the door.
Stan knocked. Nothing. Then, from a distance—probably upstairs in the apartment—the
faint sound of dogs barking.

Maybe Izzy was sick upstairs or something. But why wouldn’t the shop be open? She
had help. Stan pulled her phone out again and redialed. Still voice mail. Concerned
now, she pondered what to do. But before she could come up with her next move, a teenager
with a green stripe down one side of her hair and various piercings in her face strolled
around the corner with a trash bag.

“Hey. We had to close, uh, unexpectedly. Sorry ’bout that. We’re back tomorrow,” the
girl said when she noticed Stan.

“Thanks. Is Izzy okay? Are the dogs?”

The girl grinned. “She’s cool, but I’m not sure about the other guy. He wasn’t lookin’
too hot after she threw the chair at him and they had to call an ambulance. The dogs?
I think they’re fine. They were out back until the cops came.”

Stan gaped at her. “Izzy? Threw a chair at someone?”

“Yeah, well, the guy was messing with her. I’da done the same thing. I was gonna help
her, but, you know, the other guy called the cops.”

“Do you know who they were? Were they assaulting her?”

“Nah, just came in asking her questions. She didn’t wanna answer them, I guess.”

“Where is she now?”

“That lady cop took her away.” The girl hefted her trash bag to her other hand and
gazed wistfully at the sweet shop. “I hope they don’t throw her in the slammer for
long. I mean, like, I gotta pay my tuition soon.”

“Can you find out from your sister how much bond they’re holding Izzy on?” Stan demanded.
After her conversation with Mya, Stan had put her home-cooked food out in bowls for
the feral cats and immediately called Jake. Brenna had warned her he was sleeping,
but she didn’t care how grouchy he was.

“Izzy?” Silence. She could picture him, still in bed, rubbing his eyes, trying to
focus and understand what she was talking about this time. Then she blushed.
Stop picturing Jake in bed, for the love of God.

“Yes, Izzy. She threw a chair at someone at the café today and got arrested. The place
is closed.”

“Threw a chair at someone?” He sounded more awake now.

“That’s what her employee said. The guy’s friend called the cops and your sister arrested
her.”

“What, they didn’t like her blueberry muffin and wanted their money back?”

Stan sighed. “Seriously, Jake. I’m worried about her. I’m gonna run home and get my
car and drive down to the barracks.”

“Stan. Stay out of it. You do not want to get involved in another one of my sister’s
cases.” He didn’t say it, but she heard the unspoken
again
.

“I’m not. I just want to make sure Izzy’s okay. Never mind. Sorry to bother you.”
She disconnected and pocketed the phone, urged the dogs on. “Come on, guys. We’re
gonna go home and get the car.”

The dogs obediently jogged with her as she headed for home. She heard her phone ring,
distantly, but ignored it. But just as they reached her driveway, a truck careened
down the street. Much too fast for this neighborhood. Jake drove up behind her. Duncan
hung out the window, mouth wide open, tongue lolling, smiling at her.

Stan stared at him. “What are you doing?”

He sighed. “Get in the truck.”

“No. I was taking the dogs with me for the ride.”

He muttered what was probably a curse, then got out. Came around and opened the double
door of the pickup to make the backseat accessible, grabbed Duncan’s collar, and motioned
to the dogs. “Come on, guys. Jump in.”

Henry didn’t need a second invitation. Gracefully, he launched his stocky body into
the truck and kissed Duncan. Scruffy looked up at Stan. She scooped the smaller dog
up. “I know, too high for you.” After placing her in the truck with the boys, she
jumped into the passenger seat. Jake slammed both doors, went back around, and climbed
in. He took off down the street like he was in a NASCAR race.

Stan grabbed the door handle as he careened around the corner and back up the other
side of the green. “So what brings you here at this hour?”

He glanced over at her. She could see a laugh tickling the corners of his mouth as
he tried to hold it back. “Funny.”

“Hey, I’m a big girl. I can find my way to jail on my own.”

“Yeah, we know.”

“There’s no need to be snarky.” Stan also didn’t want to be reminded of how close
she’d come to being arrested for murder this past summer.

“So what did Izzy do this time?”

“I’m not sure. There was some fight at the café. She threw a chair at some guy and
he had to go to the hospital.” Duncan stuck his head between the seats and stared
at Stan adoringly. She rubbed his head.

Jake shook his head. “I knew that girl was nuts.”

“Oh, come on. She’s not nuts. Plenty of people deserve to have chairs thrown at them.
It’s kind of admirable to find someone who’ll actually do it.”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “You’re a weird chick, you know that?”

“I do. So what are we gonna do when we get there?”

“We? What ‘we’? I’m just driving you. I’m not taking my sister on this early in the
morning, after I’ve had about four hours of sleep.”

She glared at him. He stared straight ahead.

“I didn’t need a ride. I need someone to deal with her while I bail Izzy out.”

“You’re bailing her out?”

“If she’s arrested, she’ll need to be bailed out. That’s not important. Stop distracting
me. You need to come in and talk to your sister.”

“Yeah, yeah. Fine.”

Caught off guard, Stan opened her mouth again, then closed it. Looked over at him.
“Fine?”

“Yeah. I was just messing with you.”

“You’re such a jerk.”

“I know. And Izzy will keep reminding us both of that on the way home.” For some reason
Stan hadn’t yet figured out, Izzy hated Jake’s guts.

Jake pulled into the barracks parking lot and lowered the windows enough for the dogs
to stick their noses out to sniff. “There better be a coffee shop near here.”

They walked silently into the dingy gray building. The last time Stan had been here,
she’d been taken in through the back, where they brought the criminals. She hadn’t
seen this tiny, ugly room, with two chairs and a rickety table covered in magazines
that may have been from the nineties. Behind dark, bulletproof glass, a trooper watched
them.

Jake went to the window. “I’m looking for Trooper Pasquale. It’s Jake McGee.”

The cop picked up a phone and said something Stan couldn’t hear, then pointed at the
chairs.

“They don’t know you here?” Stan asked him in a low voice once they sat.

“I don’t exactly hang out here. On normal days.”

Before she could think of a retort, a door next to the bulletproof glass opened. Jessie
Pasquale appeared. She observed both of them, then focused on her brother. “What’s
up?”

He rose from his chair, the worn plastic creaking in protest. “Did you arrest Izzy
Sweet?”

Pasquale crossed her arms. Defensive. “You came all the way here to ask me who got
busted today?”
Translation: Why do you care?

“No. I came down to see if she needed bond posted.”

Pasquale cocked an eyebrow. “Seriously? The woman despises you.”

Stan covered her outburst of laughter with a cough. It was the most personality she’d
ever seen Jake’s sister demonstrate.

“I’m not posting it.” Jake jerked his thumb at Stan. “She is. So, come on. Can she
post bond?”

Pasquale’s lips thinned as her gaze flicked to Stan and back. “Izzy won’t need bail.
She’s cooling off. The guy dropped the charges.”

“Really?” Stan vaulted to her feet. “Can she leave, then?”

“She can do whatever she wants. Until the next time she assaults someone in her own
store.” Pasquale turned and disappeared, letting the door slam behind her.

Stan looked at Jake. “She definitely didn’t get the social skills in your family.”

“Yeah. Good thing she’s not the bartender.”

“So now what?”

“I guess we hang out and wait.”

Stan sighed and sat again. It seemed to be hours, but when she checked her phone only
fifteen minutes had gone by. When the door opened again, she braced herself for another
go-round with the disagreeable trooper.

But it was Izzy who appeared. She was alone. She looked exhausted.

“Hey!” Stan exclaimed, jumping up. “You’re free to go?”

But Izzy didn’t look delighted to see them. Tossing her long braids over her shoulders,
she crossed her arms and glared at Jake. “What is
he
doing here?”

Stan frowned. Izzy’s issue with Jake was none of her business. She probably didn’t
even want to know what had triggered it, especially if it had to do with some torrid
love affair between the two of them. But today he’d come at Stan’s request to help,
and he didn’t deserve to be treated like that. She took a step forward, hands settling
on hips. “What’s he doing here? We came to bail your butt out after we heard you were
acting out a
Jerry Springer
episode. That’s what he’s doing here, and if you continue to be rude, you can call
a cab back to Frog Ledge. The dogs are in the truck and we’d like to leave.”

“Stan, really, it’s fine,” Jake started to say, but she shook her head.

“It’s not fine. I don’t know what the deal with the two of you is, and I’m pretty
sure I don’t care, but at the very least she can be civil to someone who comes to
help her out. Do either of you disagree?” She looked at both of them.

Jake shook his head. Izzy still looked annoyed, but chastised. The dispatcher behind
the bulletproof window stared at Stan. When she met his gaze he quickly dropped his
head.

“Good. So, are you free to go?”

Izzy nodded.

“Would you like a ride?”

“I’d love one,” Izzy drawled.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

Jake, biting back a smile, rose and headed outside. Stan pushed Izzy in front of her.
“You want to tell me what happened?” she asked in a low voice.

“Nah. Later.” Izzy shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans. “It’s stupid.”

“Well, throwing a chair at someone doesn’t seem like the best way to solve a problem,”
Stan said. “Did you know these people?”

“Sort of.” Izzy clammed up as they reached the truck. Jake unlocked the doors and
wordlessly opened the passenger side. Izzy climbed in back, trying to fend the dogs
off as they threw themselves at her.

Stan settled in the front seat. “I went by the shop. The dogs were barking upstairs.
Your employee told me what happened.”

“Mya?” Despite herself, Izzy grinned. Stan caught a glimpse in the rearview mirror.
Now that looked like her friend. “Mya was ready to jump right in and help.”

“Yeah, she told me.”

“So, uh, hey. Thanks for picking me up,” Izzy said as Jake swung out into traffic
and headed back to Frog Ledge. “Both of you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Jake said, and Stan couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic.

“I can relate,” Stan said. “Well, not the chair part. But the being dragged out of
the café part. You’re lucky they didn’t press charges.”

“I guess. Whatever, I’m tired of the whole stupid thing.” Shutting up abruptly, Izzy
leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. Jake glanced at Stan, who shrugged.

Izzy didn’t say another word until they pulled up in front of her place. Leaning forward,
she muttered another “thank you” to Jake, then climbed out of the truck.

“Call me later. We can go for a walk or something,” Stan said through the open window.

Izzy nodded. “We’ll see,” she said, and Stan thought she looked incredibly sad. “Thanks
again, okay?” And she hurried inside, leaving Stan staring after her.