Kneading to Die (13 page)

And now, it was important to get these things back.

She moved down the hall and found the main desk, a wooden, circular affair with piles of colorful flyers stacked on it and the usual book drop slots cut into the front. A woman with long, curly black hair and overdone makeup looked up and beamed a smile at Stan. She had a smudge of lipstick on her front tooth.

“Good afternoon! Welcome to the Frog Ledge Memorial Library. Can I help you find something?” she asked, dropping the papers she was sorting through and coming to the front of the desk.

“I need a library card, and I wondered if Betty was here?”

“Wonderful on the library card, and, yes, Miss Betty is here! Let me page her for you.” The chipper librarian picked up her phone and pressed buttons. Her nails were longer than Nikki's, which was saying something.

“Betty! You have a guest,” she sang into the receiver. “Well, you know, I forgot to ask.” She cupped her hand over the mouthpiece. “What's your name?”

“Stan Connor.”

The woman frowned. “‘Stan,' you said?”

“I did.”

She repeated that into the receiver, then nodded and hung up. “Betty's on her way. Meantime, let's get that library card going!” She fussed on her computer. “Is your name really ‘Stan'?”

“It is. Short for Kristan.”

“Oh. Well, that's a relief. I was just about to ask what your momma was thinking.” She made herself laugh. “I'm Lorinda, by the way. What's your address?”

Stan gave it to her.

Lorinda paused. “That sounds so familiar.” Then it dawned on her. “Oh, I know who you are. You're the girl who bought the green Victorian.”

At least she didn't say the girl who maybe killed our vet. “Yes, that's me.”

Lorinda typed a bit; then she looked up at her. She scanned a key tag and handed it over. “Here you go. Now I'll show you to our sitting area. Betty will be right down.”

When she came out from behind the desk, Stan got a kick out of her outfit. She wore a short black skirt, gray leggings and a red sequined top. Teetering on impossibly high snakeskin heels, she led Stan to a small alcove behind the children's section. It looked out over a small flower garden area with benches.

“Enjoy!” Lorinda sang out. With a hair toss, she clicked back over to her post.

Stan didn't have to wait long for Betty. She came down the winding staircase and welcomed Stan with a hug.

“Did you get your card?”

Stan held it up. Betty clapped. “Marvelous! So glad you stopped by. Are you going to spend some time and look around?”

“I plan on it, but not today. I wanted to ask you a question.” Stan glanced around to see if anyone was within hearing distance. Satisfied there wasn't, she spoke but dropped her voice, anyway. “Turns out a friend of mine knew Carole when she was Carole Cross. She had some, um, problems with her work, too. This was in New Jersey. I wanted to see if you had any insights.”

Betty snorted. “‘Insights'? I gave you my insights. She was a terrible vet. Those state troopers should have enough suspects to interview for the next two weeks. What you just told me doesn't surprise me, not at all. Doesn't matter what name she used. But you should look up some reviews for her. You'll see it wasn't just me. Do you want to use a computer and do it now?”

“Oh, I can do it at home,” Stan said. “Thanks for the info.”

“Anytime,” Betty assured her. “Did you find someone to mow your lawn yet?”

“How did you know I needed a mower?” Stan asked; then she chuckled. She was forgetting where she lived. “Yes, I did. Gene sent his apprentice.”

“Gene has an apprentice?” Betty asked. “Since when?”

“I have no idea,” Stan said, “but he came and he mowed.”

“Well, that's good for you. I'm glad.” Betty patted her shoulder and stood. “I'm very glad you have your card. Visit us often. And check out books.”

Richard called as she was letting herself into the house. Shoot, she suddenly remembered, they were supposed to have dinner. She debated ignoring the call, because she really didn't want to go out in public, but at the last minute snatched it up.

“Hey, babe.” He sounded like he was in a good mood. “What are we doing tonight? I'm coming to you.”

“You are?” When he'd left her on moving day, it sounded like coming back to Frog Ledge was the last thing he wanted to do.

“I am. Anything interesting going on out there?”

Stan had to bite back a hysterical laugh.
Just a dead vet and a cop who thinks I killed her. And a whole bunch of unfriendly townspeople.
“Not really.”

“Find any good places to eat? Or do you want me to bring some food from your Thai place? That way we can talk where it's quiet. I know you had something to tell me.”

Her stomach felt like it had been in a constant state of nausea since Monday. The thought of food, even food she couldn't smell yet, made her want to be sick, especially combined with discussing the murder. She swallowed, forcing her voice to sound carefree. “That sounds great.”

“And then we can go out for a couple of drinks. I'm sure there are a few good places to have a beer or two.” Richard sounded like he had this all planned out. Stan knew she should be grateful he was engaged and trying, but she really just wanted to sit in the house and lock the doors until her life straightened out again. “It'll be fun.”

“Sure. Fun,” she echoed. Stan hung up, feeling like a trip to the firing squad was more imminent than dinner and drinks.

 

 

Richard was in a good mood. That meant he talked a lot. The sales conference had been quite successful. He wanted to tell her all about it, partly because she knew all the players and partly because he was excited about his new leads. They were sitting in the sunroom eating the Thai food he'd brought and drinking red wine. Stan half listened to his stories while forcing down as little food as she could get away with, grateful that she knew both him and the event well enough to know when to interject which reaction.

“And the food was crap as usual,” Richard said, winding up. He slurped up the last noodle from his pad Thai and paused, weighing his next words. “Lots of people were asking about you. I just told them you were on to the next thing.”

Stan shrugged. “True enough.”

“Do you remember Randall Bennett?”

“Of course.” Bennett was a big shot in gambling and casinos.

“He was very interested in what ‘the next thing' meant for you. He's looking for a PR person.”

“Really?” Stan laughed. “I'm not the Vegas type.”

“He's got stakes in lots of games, no pun intended. I told him I would pass the info along.” Richard pulled a card out of his wallet and tossed it on the coffee table. “If you're interested. I didn't make any promises, like you said. Just told him I'd pass it along.”

Stan left the card where it was. “Thanks.” She could see the annoyance flicker in his eyes, but he let it go.

“What's the story you wanted to tell me, Stan?” he asked, changing the subject.

She had been both wondering when he would give her his attention and dreading telling it. She placed her fork carefully on her plate. “The craziest thing happened the other day.” She explained about meeting Carole and her invitation to bring Nutty in. Richard's eyes were glazing a little like they did when she went on too long about the cat or something else he didn't have much interest in. He topped off his wineglass; she brought him back with a bang. “When I got there, she was dead.”

His eyes widened. “‘Dead'? Like, not breathing?”

“I mean
not alive.
Dead. Murdered, actually.”

“‘Murdered'?” He stared at her. “Are you serious?”

She nodded slowly. “Someone killed the vet. I found her. The police—well, the one cop who works in this town—have been questioning me about it.”

“Why? Do they think you did it, or something?”

“It's absurd, right? I think they just haven't spent a lot of time doing their homework on this lady yet. She had a lot of enemies.”

“How did she die?”

“They didn't release the autopsy results.”

“So maybe she just had a heart attack or something. Why would they think she was murdered?”

“Because she had a needle stuck in her neck.”

“You're kidding.”

Stan shook her head.

Richard studied her. “Stan, are you in trouble?”

“I didn't do anything! I didn't even know this woman. Why on earth would I kill her?”

He came to sit beside her on the lounger. “Do you need me to find you a lawyer?”

“I'm fine. I don't need a lawyer, and I can find one if I need one.”

“Are you sure?”

“I didn't kill this woman, and I'm not going to act like I have something to hide. I've been answering all their questions. I'm handling it, Richard. But thanks.” She didn't tell him how people were already whispering about her around town, or about her fight with Amara.

“Okay, then.” He nodded, as if the problem had just solved itself. “So where are we going for drinks?”

“You really want to go out?”

“Yeah, why not? It's early still. Not even eight. Wasn't there a brewery or something out here?”

She thought of McSwigg's and Jake's invitation to her and Nikki; then she immediately pushed it out of her mind. She didn't want to take Richard there. “I think so,” she said. “Next town over.”

Richard pulled out his iPad. “I'll look it up.”

Stan cleared the plates while he did. She should go change. Put on some makeup. Get excited about going out with her boyfriend. Plus, if she didn't show her face in public, it might look like she was hiding out of guilt. But she didn't want to socialize. Or run into Amara. Not to mention Jake's sister had practically arrested her in front of half the town yesterday.

She finished loading the dishwasher and turned around to tell Richard she was going to freshen up a bit. “Hey, look at this,” he said. “There's a place about two miles from here. Your favorite. An Irish pub. McSwigg's. Let's check it out.”

 

 

McSwigg's parking lot overflowed onto the street. People streamed in and out in various stages of laughter, and conversation loudly trickled through Richard's open window. The pub was about a half mile out from the center of town, a stone's throw from Carole's clinic and the town hall. The building stood alone and looked like it had once been some kind of historical landmark. Jake must have completely redone it. It was black, save for the stone front flanking heavy mahogany doors, with an Irish flag waving above them. Lights on each side of the doors gave off a welcoming, homey feel. One of Gene's creations, this time in the shape of an Irish top hat, pronouncing MCSWIGG'S, protruded from the side of one of the doors.

And the place was slammed with people. Friday night at the only game in town. Of course it would be busy. Stan wondered how many people would stare and whisper when she walked in. She felt like the woman with the scarlet
A
; only hers would be an
M
for “murderess.”

Richard was already out of the car, despite the fact he normally wouldn't consider leaving his beloved Jag parked on any kind of street. Despite Stan's tale about the murder, he must think the little town was safe enough.

Stalling, Stan pulled down the visor and checked her makeup in the mirror. She looked good, if not a little green. But at an Irish pub, no one would notice. Richard leaned in and smiled at her. “Ready?”

She pasted on a fake smile. “Ready.”

He took her hand as they walked up to the door. A heavyset man reminding Stan of a club bouncer opened it with a mock bow. Irish music poured out, reminding her of an Irish step-dancing show she'd attended a few years ago. She'd not yet made it to Ireland, but she had a suspicion this was how a pub there would feel.

McSwigg's knew how to pack them in. The room was full, but not uncomfortably so. And it was cozy. Wide-open, with tall and short tables scattered around, surrounded by padded stools in greens and golds with Celtic knots. The live band played in a small area near the back. Wooden floors gleamed, despite their obvious overuse. She could smell pub food and good beer. The bar itself was a shining mahogany masterpiece, accentuated by droplights positioned to shine on each person's space. Jake had another Irish flag displayed on the far wall behind the bar, and another carved wooden sign, with a Gaelic saying above it:
AN ÁIT A BHFUIL DO CHROÍ IS ANN A THABHARFAS DO CHOSA THÚ.
She wished she knew Gaelic to translate it.

The dim room was cozy in a way that announced,
I'm in my living room enjoying a glass of wine.
The whole scene looked like an ad for a bar at a fancy resort. If Jake had done all this, he'd poured a lot of time, money and heart into the place.

A couple who had been standing in front of them talking moved, and Stan saw Jake filling a pint behind the bar. He laughed at something. There were two other people working with him, a guy and a pretty young girl. She had long brown hair and white teeth that sparkled when she laughed. She was doing a lot of that with her customers. Izzy would probably say Jake stocked the bar with her ilk.

Jake placed the beer in front of its owner, turned and saw her as he scanned the room. He smiled when his eyes landed on her, and she felt her stomach flip a little. Probably her Thai food not agreeing with her. Then Richard leaned over and said, “Where do you want to sit?” She could feel Jake still watching her.

Richard didn't wait for her answer. “The bar,” he decided, and put his arm around her waist to lead her there.

She felt like a spotlight shone on her as she made the walk to the back of the room. Her imagination or not, she felt people turn and stare at her as she passed. Then a sleek ball of gray suddenly shot out from under a stool and bounded toward her in a full-on sprint. Somehow Duncan managed not to knock anyone over or spill any drinks on the way. Thank goodness Stan didn't have a drink in her hand, because Duncan jumped right up, paws on her shoulders, like he did when they met at the green. Richard stepped back, alarmed, and Stan wasn't sure if it was because he was afraid of Duncan or surprised to see a dog in a pub.

Jake shook his head. “Duncan!” he yelled over the music and chatter. “I don't know what it is about you,” he said to Stan when he reached them and pulled the dog off her. “He doesn't do that to anyone else.” He turned to Richard and held out his hand. “Jake McGee. I own the place. Welcome. This is Duncan. He's not well behaved, in case you haven't noticed.”

“Uh, hi. Richard Ruse.” Richard shook his hand.

“Should I be flattered or concerned that he's got some obsession with me?” Stan rubbed the dog's head. “I'm prepared this time.” She pulled a bag of treats out of her purse and handed him one. He gobbled it, still wagging his tail. He would love her with or without treats, she could tell. That was a dog for you. Sometimes she wondered if Nutty would stick around if she didn't cook for him.

“Come on over. We have a couple seats. What are you drinking?” Jake motioned for them to follow him. He nudged a guy sitting at the bar. The guy took a look at Stan, smiled and gave up his seat, which was next to an empty stool.

“That's not necessary,” Stan began, but the guy laughed.

“When the boss here says to move, we move,” he said. “And it couldn't be for a prettier lady.” He glanced at Richard, found nothing else to say, saluted and melted into the crowd.

Stan shook her head. “That's no way to keep customers.”

Jake grinned. “I have no trouble keeping customers. What are you two drinking?”

“I'll have a Sam Adams Summer Ale.” She looked at Richard. “Vodka and tonic with a twist,” he said primly. Stan wondered if he was sorry that he'd suggested going out.

Jake went behind the bar to get the drinks. Duncan plopped at Stan's feet, looked up and wagged his tail. “Not a Guinness girl, huh?” Jake commented.

“No. Too dark. So how do you get to bring Duncan in here?”

“I own the place.” He grinned and slid the bottle at her, following it up with Richard's drink.

“Thank you. Where's the restroom?” Richard asked.

Jake pointed to a hallway next to the kitchen door. “Right that way.”

Richard nodded. “I'll be back,” he told Stan.

Jake watched him walk away. “Boyfriend?”

Stan felt her cheeks heat. What? Was she in high school again? “Yeah.” She took a sip of her beer.

“Too bad.”

Caught between a laugh and a swallow, Stan choked on her beer. Jake poured a glass of water and placed it in front of her.

Stan drank some and shook her head. “You're crazy.”

“Just saying it like it is.”

She changed the subject. “This is a nice place. The music is perfect.”

“It is,” Jake agreed, following her gaze around the room.

“Was this a house?”

“Yep. Still is, if you want to get literal about it. I live upstairs.”

“Do you?” Stan glanced around, surprised.

“I don't have a sign pointing the way, if that's what you're looking for. Wouldn't want any of my customers wandering upstairs to my bed. You know what I mean? Well, in most cases.”

She rolled her eyes. “That might work on your bartender,” she said, nodding at the young woman.