Custom Baked Murder Page 3

  “Executive coaching for political campaigns? Tell me more. Although Tony just won his election last year. I guess you’re getting an early start?” Stan pasted on her best interested expression, but she was curious. Why was Tony already campaigning again for a small-town mayor gig three years away? Unless he really thought his brand was in need of an added boost.

  “Well, just you wait.” Eleanor leaned in, as if about to drop a huge secret. “I can’t talk about it now, but you’ll hear soon enough.”

  Oh, boy. This didn’t sound good at all. Stan managed to not cringe and kept her smile pasted on.

  Eleanor straightened. “Anyway, I can’t believe your mother didn’t tell you. She sought me out over the winter through some of our mutual friends. Tony needed some assistance. She mentioned that you didn’t have the time. Understandable, since that’s also not your area of expertise.” She patted Stan’s arm. Stan fought the urge to recoil. “I hear you have a new business? Dog food, was it?” The words carried a typical Eleanor inflection: condescending amusement combined with false interest.

  Stan bared her teeth and opened her mouth to respond when Jake appeared, handing her a pink martini. Thank God. “It’s actually gourmet pet food,” she said, letting go of any pretense of polite. “Fancy enough for the Food Channel.” True story. Sheldon Allyn’s botched summer retreat could’ve secured them a contract with the national network, if someone hadn’t been murdered during their big pitch to investors.

  The TV angle caught Eleanor’s attention. Stan saw all the possibilities running across her face as she pondered the pros and cons of rekindling this relationship. “How interesting,” she exclaimed. “I never would’ve guessed there was such a market. You’ll have to tell me all about it.” Her gaze shifted to Jake, who was silently listening to the exchange. Immediately forgetting about Stan, she turned on the charm. “Eleanor Chang,” she said, offering a hand. “Stan and I are former colleagues.”

  “Is that right?” Jake shook Eleanor’s hand. “Good to meet you.”

  “You as well.” Eleanor’s piercing black eyes scanned Jake’s face. Then she seemed to remember the pathetic-looking girl standing next to her, desperately trying to disappear inside that ridiculous dress. “And this is my daughter Monica. I’m sorry, I neglected to make the introductions.” She shoved the girl forward. Monica’s foot slipped and she stumbled. Jake reached out a hand to steady her before she fell on her face. Red-faced, Monica fixed her gaze on the floor, missing the nasty look her mother sent her.

  “Monica is learning the business,” Eleanor said. “She loves politics and will make a fabulous coach once she’s got some experience under her belt. She graduated from college this past spring. Magna cum laude from Princeton with a double major in politics and economics.” She beamed, but Stan got the sense it was less a proud mother moment and more personal bragging. “Monica, Stan Connor and Jake . . .”

  “McGee,” Jake supplied.

  “Nice to meet you,” Monica said in a voice barely above a whisper. When she shook Stan’s hand, her grip was limp and damp. Stan felt sorry for her. Her mother would eat her alive if she presented this way to clients.

  “Eleanor! So lovely to see you.” A man in a pin-striped suit with a pink pocket hankie appeared at Eleanor’s elbow.

  “Harold! You as well.” Eleanor turned back to Stan and slipped a card into her hand. Stan hadn’t even seen her pull it out of her evening bag. “In case you don’t have my contact information any longer. Please be in touch. I’d love to understand more about your business. And perhaps even work together again!” With one last bright smile at both of them, she turned to Harold and promptly forgot all about them.

  Stan steered Jake away. “Wow,” Jake said once they were out of earshot. “And you think your mother’s bad. That poor kid.” He glanced at Stan. “You didn’t look happy to see her.”

  “Was it that obvious? Darn.” Stan sipped her martini. Nice and strong.

  “Frenemy?” he asked with a small smile.

  Stan gave up trying to be polite and made a face. “She’s horrid. And she’s got my old job.”

  “How do you feel about that?” Jake asked.

  Stan spread her arms wide. “I couldn’t care less. It feels great.”

  Jake laughed. “I’m glad. So what’s she doing here?”

  “Apparently, my darling mother hired her to coach Tony after I turned down her oh-so-generous offer over the winter.” Stan made a face. What was her mother thinking? And why hadn’t she told her? She took a larger swig of her martini.

  “Easy,” Jake said. “Pace yourself.”

  “Easy for you to say.” As much as she didn’t care what Eleanor did, she didn’t want to know about it. And she definitely didn’t want her old life invading her new one. Seeing Eleanor here in Frog Ledge felt . . . wrong.

  “Come on.” Jake slid an arm around her waist. “Let’s go find some food. You must be starving. Don’t worry about her. After tonight you won’t have to see her again. Let’s just have a good time, okay? I see Izzy over there.”

  Stan let him lead her through the crowd. He was right. She didn’t own Frog Ledge. It was a free country. A free town. Eleanor and anyone else could hang out here all they wanted. But really, she wished Eleanor would find another small town to terrorize.

  Chapter 5

  Izzy Sweet stood near a baby grand piano in a silver-spattered dress, looking for all the world like a cocktail lounge singer about to slink on top of it and belt out a tune. The glittery outfit set off her caramel-colored skin and dark, intricately braided hair. Izzy took Frog Ledge by storm a few years ago when she dropped in on a whim with a vision of a gourmet chocolate and coffee shop, which soon became reality. Stan adored her, both for her personality and because she offered the best coffee, homemade pastries, and chocolates Stan’d ever had.

  “Did you find the food yet?” Izzy muttered when they walked over. “I’m absolutely starving.”

  “We were heading that way,” Jake said. “Alcohol first.”

  “Ha! I like the way you think.” Izzy high-fived him.

  Stan smiled at their easy banter. Jake and Izzy had a rocky history that culminated in an unlikely real-estate partnership earlier this year. They still didn’t always see eye to eye, so it was nice to see them on good terms.

  A waiter stopped, brandishing his tray to offer samples of bruschetta crowned with fresh mozzarella, slivers of tomato, and wisps of fresh basil on top. Izzy plucked two of them off the silver tray and inhaled them.

  “Thank goodness. I was about to pass out. I worked all day at the bookstore and barely had five minutes to eat.” Izzy’s new bookstore, the product of the real-estate partnership with Jake, was opening around the same time as Stan’s shop. She looked curiously at Stan. “Did you just get here?”

  “I did. Long story,” Stan said.

  A look of panic crossed Izzy’s face. She grabbed Stan’s arm as they drifted back toward the great room. “Then you haven’t . . . seen a lot of people?”

  Stan looked at her strangely. “No. I was busy getting lectured by my mother. I saw Char, Ray, Jessie, and Marty. And this awful woman I used to work with. Why?”

  Izzy opened her mouth to answer, but Char’s bright orange hair appeared behind her. She waved frantically at Stan.

  “Stan! There you are. I’ve been meaning to introduce you to someone.” Beaming, Char reached behind her ample body and pulled a red-faced woman into view. She looked somewhere in her mid-fifties, although Stan’s ability to judge ages was poor. Her black hair was shot through with gray and hung in loose curls framing her face. She wore an apologetic smile. Her simple black dress looked well worn, likely to less fancy events.

  “I’ll catch you in a few,” Izzy said. “Meet us over there.” She grabbed Jake’s arm and steered him away.

  Stan watched them go, wondering why her friend was acting so oddly, but turned her attention back to Char when Char loudly cleared her throat. “Sorry.”

 
“This is Francie Tucker,” Char announced. “I believe you met at the fundraising dinner for the theater over the summer?”

  “Yes, of course,” Stan said, mortified that she didn’t remember. Her name sounded familiar, though.

  Francie shook her hand enthusiastically. “I’m so happy to meet you. My dog loves your treats. I buy him some every week from the general store when I do my shopping. He knows the routine now and waits for them.”

  “Oh, I love that.” Stan beamed. “Thank you so much. What’s your dog’s name?”

  “Cooper. He’s a golden.”

  “Francie does personal training, too,” Char said. “It’s exercise with mindfulness and meditation built in. She’s been helping me get in shape.” She picked up her skirt and did a slow twirl to show off her figure, which didn’t look any different to Stan than it had a few months ago. She doubted that was Francie’s fault, knowing Char’s loyal and long-term relationship with Southern food.

  “That’s wonderful,” Stan said. “Maybe you can help me, too.”

  “I’m so glad you said that, honey!” Char beamed. “That’s the point. I think you two can help each other! You remember what we talked about with your mother a few weeks ago. About getting your new staff squared away early?”

  Stan had a vague recollection of her mother yammering on about how she needed to hire people and have them in place before the café opened. “Yes,” she said.

  “Well, here you go.” Char pointed at Francie. “Your new employee.”

  Francie’s face turned an even brighter shade of red and she poked Char. “You’re so blunt!”

  “Hey. You have to ask for what you want. Otherwise things happen slower than molasses running uphill in the winter. Well, Stan? You’re hiring, right? You’ll need all kinds of help when you open. And Jake just told me about your new client. Congratulations!”

  “Thank you,” Stan said, thinking fast. Brenna worked full-time for her now, and they had an efficient baking routine down. But she’d need to staff the store once it opened, and keeping her pastry cases full would take a lot of extra baking. Getting people in place early would definitely not hurt. “And yes. I need to figure out my plan, but I do need help.”

  “Problem solved. Francie is perfect. She can bake, man the counter, play with the dogs, whatever you need. Right, Francie?”

  Francie nodded. “Right.”

  “I’m flattered,” Stan said. “And grateful. I’m not opening until December, though.”

  Francie looked at Char, who nodded encouragingly. “I know,” Francie said. “But I can help before then, too. With recipes, or setting up the shop, or baking things in advance. I’m just looking for a couple of days a week. Like Char said, I have my personal training business and I still work as the receptionist at the Unitarian Church. I’m looking to further supplement my income, though.”

  “That’s right!” Stan snapped her fingers as she realized why she recognized the name. “The church. You’re helping with my mother’s wedding. She’s spoken very highly of you.” Which was weird. Patricia usually found something to complain about.

  “I am.” Francie smiled. “She needed a little extra nudge before she felt ours was the right church, but she’s happy now. She’s lovely.”

  Stan didn’t know if that were true, but she let it go. “Let’s talk Monday, okay? Give me a call. Or stop by my house. I live—”

  “Across the green,” Francie finished. “Yes, I know. Your mother pointed it out to me. I always loved that house. And you’ve made it so inviting.”

  “Thank you,” Stan said. “Yes, do come by. We’ll talk.”

  Francie clasped her hand. “Thank you so much.”

  Char winked and led her away. Stan heard her say, “See now? She wasn’t that scary!”

  Chuckling, Stan waved at Izzy and Jake, beckoning them over. They still needed to find food. As they approached, Izzy almost bumped into a woman with a head of big, blond, bouncy curls. As she touched the woman’s shoulder in apology, Stan noticed the curls looked familiar . . . but it couldn’t be. Could it?

  As the blond turned to acknowledge Izzy, Stan saw her in profile. That pit she’d felt in her stomach when she saw Eleanor deepened as she recognized another former colleague, Michelle Mansfield. The last time she’d seen Michelle she’d been with Stan’s ex, Richard Ruse, before they were ex. What was this, a Warner Financial reunion disguised as an engagement party? If so, she wished her invitation had gotten lost in the mail.

  Eleanor’s presence was one thing, but how did Michelle know Tony? And if Michelle was here, did that mean . . .

  “Stan?”

  So perfect it could’ve been scripted. Stan cringed. She turned in slow motion and came face to face with her ex.

  Richard Ruse looked mostly the same: preppy sweep of thick, wavy, brown hair grazing his baby blue eyes; that charming dimple; the anal-retentive crease in his pants and spit-shined shoes. She’d always thought Richard was handsome. Charming, too. Typical salesman, with a gift for easy camaraderie and a golden tongue. What she hadn’t realized for most of the years they were together was his lack of substance. He was still handsome, but . . . different. He looked tired. Thinner. More edgy.

  She regarded him coolly. “Richard,” she said. “This is a surprise.” She felt Jake’s eyes on her as he approached, watching the scene with interest. He’d met Richard once, right after Stan moved to Frog Ledge when they went to McSwigg’s for a drink. Brenna spilled a drink on Richard. Accidentally, of course.

  Richard shrugged, his eyes cutting left before returning to Stan’s. “Eleanor and your mother must’ve coordinated invites.” He stepped closer. She could smell alcohol on his breath. “S’good to see you, though. How you doing? You look great.” He looked her up and down.

  Surprised, she took a step back. Richard didn’t typically act so crass. Maybe he’d been drinking to get through the night, too. “I’m fine. I have to go. Enjoy your evening.” She spun on her heel to walk away, but Richard grabbed her arm.

  “Wait, Stan.”

  Jake grabbed Richard’s arm so fast, Stan didn’t even see it happen.

  Chapter 6

  Jake removed Richard’s hand from her arm, holding it in the air between them. “Don’t,” he said, his voice low and pleasant, but Stan heard anger lurking underneath.

  Michelle, who’d watched the whole scene, glided over. “What’s going on?” she asked, a puzzled smile on her face as she looked from Jake to Stan to Richard. “Hi there, Stan.”

  Richard’s jaw twitched with unspoken words as he regarded his opponent, completely ignoring Michelle. Eyes flashing, he opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again and snatched his arm away.

  Michelle reached for him. “Richard?”

  “Forget it,” he snapped, pulling away from her, too. He melted away into the crowd, heading straight for the front door, shoving past a small crowd to get out. Stan watched the maid catch the door before it slammed.

  Michelle watched him go, chewing on her lower lip. She clearly wasn’t going after him. When she turned back to Stan, her smile was gone. “What happened?”

  “Just giving him advice to keep his hands to himself,” Jake said.

  Michelle sized him up. Her allegiance to Richard seemed to falter in the face of Jake’s good looks, and she offered her hand. “I’m sorry, we haven’t met. Michelle Mansfield. Stan and I used to work together,” she added. “Before she was let go.” She enunciated the words, wanting to make sure Jake heard them loud and clear.

  “Jake McGee,” he said, unenthusiastically shaking her hand.

  Michelle offered her best big-hair toss. “It’s lovely to meet you,” she purred. “Who knew little towns like this had residents who looked like movie stars! And here we were feeling badly for Stan, losing her job and moving way out here.”

  Stan could see the glint in Jake’s eye. “Believe me, you don’t need to feel bad for Stan,” he said. “She got the better end of the deal, in every aspect. Come
on, babe.”

  He led her away, leaving Michelle standing there with her mouth open. They fell into step beside Izzy, who’d been watching from the wings. She grabbed Stan’s hand. “I’m so sorry. I wanted to tell you when I realized you didn’t know, but we got interrupted.”

  “No worries,” Stan said. “It wouldn’t have made much of a difference anyway.”

  Izzy still looked pained, but she turned to Jake. “What’d you say to Richie? He ran away like a little boy. Nice work, McGee.”

  Jake didn’t look amused. “Maybe I should call him a cab,” he said. “Since he’s clearly had his share of booze.” He slipped an arm around Stan’s shoulders. “If you want to go home, we’ll go,” he said. “And you don’t need to feel guilty about it. Did you know he’d be here?”

  “Nope,” Stan said. “You think I’d have come?”

  Jake’s tight jaw and narrowed eyes signaled his unhappiness with this evening. Stan knew the feeling. They’d given up a night in their cozy house where they could turn on some jazz, cuddle on the couch, and watch their pets sleep, for this?

  “You know,” she said, about to take him up on his offer, “I think you’re—”

  Someone grabbed her arm from behind, causing her martini to slosh over the rim of the glass. If it was Richard, Jake would lose it. She turned, but found her mother instead. Patricia held her sister’s arm with her other hand. “Kristan, a moment,” she said.

  Stan glanced at Jake and Izzy. Izzy raised an eyebrow, turned, and headed for the food. Stan could hear her: You’re on your own with this one, girlfriend.

  “Actually,” Jake started, but Stan cut him off. Getting into it with her mother would only result in a suboptimal experience for everyone.