Kneading to Die (8 page)

Nikki arrived promptly at seven with her hands full of goodies: two bottles of Stan's favorite Merlot, take-out sushi, cannoli for dessert and a buttercream-scented Yankee Candle.

“Housewarming,” she announced, sweeping through the front door. “Wow, it looks great in here! You've been busy.”

Nikki had cleaned up after her long day in the kennel. She wore knee-length denim shorts with a sequined T-shirt and her trademark cowboy boots. Her black hair was streaked with candy-apple red, cropped short in the back with longer pieces framing her face in front. Her nails were painted a wicked purple. Stan always wondered how she took care of the dogs without breaking a fingernail. Those suckers were long.

“I hung some pictures. That's about as far as I got.” But the long hallway did look great with the framed photos of New York City in various stages of night telling its story all the way to the kitchen. “Where's Justin tonight?”

“Diving conference in California.” Nikki's boyfriend, a dive instructor and surfer dude, spent a lot of time on the West Coast. He always tried to bring Nikki, but she resisted leaving the transport for too long. “I have to go look around again, now that it's really yours. Then we can chow.”

She dropped her messenger bag on the floor and took off down the hall. Stan followed, anxious to see the rooms again through her friend's eyes. Though very different, each room was cozy and inviting and had so much potential. She loved the glorious orange kitchen, with its tan soapstone counters and matching deep sink to offset the bright walls, an economy-sized stainless-steel dishwasher, and even a hanging rack for pots and pans, poised over the island in the middle of the room.

Dining room, living room, with a gas fireplace, office, den and half bathroom made up the rest of the downstairs. Three bedrooms upstairs. Hers had a master bathroom, and there was another full bathroom down the hall. A huge difference coming from a two-bedroom condo.

“This is so great.” Nikki finished her tour back in the kitchen. “I can't wait to see what you do with the place. Come on, let's bust open this wine and eat. Then we can get some work done.”

“If we drink too much wine, that might be tough,” Stan said. “Honestly, I'm not feeling much like decorating.” And after the bike ride and the blue-car incident today, her nerves were even more shot.

“I know,” Nikki said sympathetically. “Do people know you found her?”

“I think the better question would be, does anyone
not
know I found her.” Sighing, she pulled out plates and wineglasses. “I guess Richard was right about small-town people.”

“What does Richard know about small towns?”

Nikki's back was to Stan as she unpacked the sushi and arranged it carefully on one of the plates; then she did the same with seaweed salad and edamame. She tried to keep the edge out of her voice, but Stan could hear it, sharp as a sushi chef's knife.

“I don't know. Common knowledge? He just made a comment. Forget it. Come on, let's go sit out there.” She motioned to the sunroom, where it had already cooled off from today's eighty-plus temps.

“I just don't want him to make you second-guess yourself. I think coming here will be good for you.” Nikki grabbed the plates and chopsticks and went to sit.

“Dead bodies and all?” Stan poured the wine and followed; the candle and lighter were tucked under her arm.

“Well, that's just a fluke.” Nikki placed the sushi in front of her with a flourish and handed her a set of chopsticks. “Spicy tuna, avocado, shrimp tempura, and the fancy one you like with eel and tuna and mango.”

“You're awesome.” Stan popped a spicy tuna into her mouth. “Haven't eaten all day. Or really, since it happened.”

“Hear anything new about the murder?”

“No, but I'm sure I will tomorrow. The
Frog Ledge Holler
reporter showed up at my door today.”

“
Frog Ledge Holler?”
Nikki sneered.

“Yeah. It comes out once or twice a week. Or whenever there's news. It's a one-man show, but it's still the press.”

“You know how to handle the press. Here, toast. To your new life.” Nikki held up her wineglass.

Stan clinked it, trying to keep her smile in place. “Not when I'm the subject of the inquiry.”

“What do you mean?”

She sipped her wine, watched her friend wolf down sushi and salad, popping edamame between bites. “They're suspicious of me. Carole never wrote in the appointment. I found the body. At first, I thought the cop was being overly argumentative because it was the murder scene, but she was watching me last night at the vigil.”

“I'm sure she was watching everyone. Don't they figure their murderer will show up at stuff like that? It was a candlelight vigil?” At Stan's nod, Nikki waved her chopsticks dismissively. “You're reading too much into it. Cops are supposed to stare at people during events like that.”

“I don't know, Nik. It freaked me out, to be honest.”

“Don't let them get to you. You didn't do anything wrong. They're just floundering right now. Plus, it's a small town. Anytime people die in small towns—especially if they're offed—people get crazy. Believe me, I've lived in small towns forever, unlike Richard. It's how it works. It'll die down. Oops, sorry.”

Despite herself, Stan smiled. “Hopefully.”

“It will.” Nikki popped her last piece of sushi in her mouth. “Delish,” she pronounced. “Tell me, what do we need to unpack? When you're done, I mean. Take your time.” She looked pointedly at Stan's still-full plate. “Keep eating.”

Stan took a bite of seaweed salad and forced it down. “I did the clothes in the spare bedroom. Even my poor, sad suits. They're like orphans now. Oh, and I organized my shoes. And wrote grocery lists. Hey, that's what I need to do. Go to the store for ingredients for treats. Want to go? There's a little general store down the street.”

“Sure, let's go. We might need another bottle of wine.” Nikki drained her glass as if to prove the point. “And you've hardly touched yours.”

“I'm working on it. And we're not going to a package store. It's a general store. You know, supplies, cutesy things. Probably lots of spoon rests shaped like cows.”

“My idea of a good time.”

 

 

The general store, like the rest of the buildings in Frog Ledge, had that New England small-town feel. Nothing like the small food markets in her old neighborhood. The general store had one of Gene's signs out front announcing their hours. Plants and flowers cluttered the porch, and an old whiskey barrel had been carved out and crammed full of outdoorsy baubles. A bench completed the welcoming feel. A small group of teenagers putzed around in the near-empty parking lot with their skateboards.

“Wow, they're open until eight. That seems late for around here,” Nikki said. “It's late where I live, that's for sure.” Nikki's property in nearby Rhode Island, only forty or so minutes away, was perfect for her rescue operation. It was not a metropolis. Her farm-style house had enough room for her own four dogs and five cats to live apart from any inside foster animals. She'd turned the barn out back into separate dog kennels, where her transport rescues lived until adoption, and her land was large enough and far enough away from her neighbors that no one bothered her. The property had been in her family for years, and her parents gave it to her when she started the transport business in earnest. Then they'd hit the road and moved to Florida.

“It must be because they serve coffee, and everything else is closed.” Stan pushed the front door open, setting a bell jingling. She could smell still-fresh coffee and pastry in the air, mixed with the faint scent of apples. The woman behind the counter looked up and beamed.

“Good evening! Can I help you find something?” Plump and motherly, her salt-and-pepper hair stood out in frizzy curls around her head. A small fan positioned right at her wasn't keeping up with the beads of sweat on her forehead.

Stan smiled at her. “Hi, I'm just looking for some local honey and rolled oats.”

“Right over there.” The woman stepped out and pointed down the middle aisle. “I have local bee pollen, too, if you need some.”

“Bee pollen?” Nikki repeated.

“Oh, yes, it's wonderful. Great for allergies. We get ours from our local beekeeper right down the road.” She smiled. “I'm Abbie, the owner. Holler if you have any questions.”

“Do you have organic meats, too?” Stan asked.

“Chicken, beef, turkey and lamb, right in that freezer.” Abbie pointed to the back of the store.

The bell dinged and Gene Holdcroft walked in. His overalls were covered in wood dust and his work boots left little puddles of it. He nodded at the three of them.

“Evenin', ladies.”

“Hi, Gene!” Abbie lit up. “I have some more of those cakes you like. Just got fresh ones in today. Aisle two.”

“Thank ya,” Gene said, and headed that way. Abbie watched him adoringly.

“Actually, I do have a question.” Stan turned to Abbie. “Do you know anyone who mows lawns?”

Abbie thought about that. “Most folks do their own round here. How much lawn? And how you been getting by so far?”

“Oh, I just moved to town this weekend. The lawn isn't that big.”

Abbie's face changed, almost imperceptibly, but Stan could see the flutter of recognition in her eyes, the wariness replacing the warmth. “This weekend, eh? The green Victorian?”

“Yes,” Stan said.

Abbie fought to keep the smile in place, obviously thinking about her sale. “Well, that's a lovely house. No one comes to mind for the lawn, but I'll keep an ear out.”

The bell over the front door clanged again, breaking the awkward moment. Stan could almost feel Abbie's relief as she turned to greet her new customer.

A young man stumbled in, hair sticking up in what could either be a chic new hairdo or evidence of him rolling out of bed and coming to the store. Despite it being nearly night, he wore dark sunglasses that hid most of his face. He hitched up his falling-down denim shorts and nodded at the three women staring at him.

“'Lo,” he muttered, then lurched down the aisle to the far right.

Abbie shook her head.

The bell clanged again and Perri Galveston hurried in, looking like she wanted to take someone's head off. She was much shorter without her ginormous heels.

“Hi, Abbie, sorry, did Paul just barge in here?” She stopped and smiled at Stan and Nikki. “Hello.”

Stan realized the skinny boy who couldn't keep his pants up was the same boy who'd gotten out of Perri's convertible yesterday at the vigil. She still hadn't seen his face. He'd been wearing dark glasses then, too. And pants that didn't fit.

“He did,” Abbie said, pointing in the direction he'd gone. “He looks like he's having a rough night.”

Perri raised her hands, palms up, in a gesture that conveyed,
What can you do?
Then she went off to find her brother. Abbie clucked and muttered something about drugs being terrible; then she busied herself with something behind the counter. Nikki stared in the direction of Perri and Paul. Stan poked her arm.

“Let's get the stuff.”

Nikki turned back, distracted. “Huh? Oh, sure. Coming.” She followed Stan down the aisle.

“I can use the honey in my peanut butter treats. I'm trying to mix up my recipes.” Stan surveyed her honey choices and chose a bottle from Clover Hill Farm. “I hope the dogs like it, although the cats will probably be harsher critics.” She turned for Nikki's response to find the aisle empty behind her. Stan grabbed her rolled oats and a small bottle of bee pollen, took some ground turkey out of the freezer and hurried up front.

Nikki was nowhere to be found. Stan checked down the other couple of aisles. Gene was perusing the cakes in aisle two. When he saw her, he beckoned her over.

“Heard you ask 'bout mowing. My apprentice can do it for ya. I'll send him over. Just add it to the egg bill.” He smiled.

“Really? That would be wonderful. But I don't have a lawn mower.”

“He'd bring mine. Twenty-five bucks.”

It sounded like a bargain to Stan. She agreed. Gene promised to have Russ there in the morning. Stan returned to the register, catching a glimpse of Nikki outside the front door. She was engaged in an intense conversation with Perri Galveston.

Nikki knew the mayor's daughter? It didn't look like a conversation of
I just met you. How do you like the local honey?
Abbie steadfastly rang up her purchases, eyes averted. Afraid to make eye contact with the suspected murderess, lest she end up like Carole.

“Thank you so much,” Abbie said, fumbling with the receipt tape and finally handing the slip of paper to Stan, eyes focused just over her left shoulder. “And come again!”

Stan grabbed her bag and shoved the front door open. Nikki and Perri had disappeared off the porch, which meant Stan had to search for her and prolong her stay. She gritted her teeth and rushed out the door. In her haste she almost knocked someone off the porch.

“Shoot, sorry,” she said. “Not paying atten . . . Oh, hi.”

Jake McGee grinned at her. “I probably deserved that for letting my ill-behaved mutt almost knock you over every time he sees you.”

“No, I'm much more evil with my payback than that.”
Evil? That isn't a good thing to say, especially now.
Then she remembered who his sister was, and cringed even more. Jessie Pasquale had probably sent him to catalogue her purchases in case she planned to poison anyone next. She held the door for him, hoping he'd just go inside.