The Icing on the Corpse Read online

  Seeing new development in town was exciting, though. While still small and rural, Frog Ledge was getting a reputation as the new mecca on the eastern side of the Connecticut River—a small, farming town cast in a different light. After years of being known for agriculture and history, its reputation was changing. New businesses were springing up all the time, from the flower shop on the other side of the vet clinic to a new Thai restaurant down by Izzy’s place. The locals were split between loving it and hating it. There were some who flocked to the new establishments, loving the idea that they didn’t have to go all the way to West Hartford or east to the casinos for some culture. Then there were others who were outraged at the thought of Thai food and gourmet coffee—and all the yuppies who went with it—taking over Frog Ledge, a simple farming town where the cows and goats and other farm friends could easily outnumber the people.

  Betty and her feelings about reading aside, there had been some upheaval in town when Jake and Izzy announced their plans for the building. Izzy was one of those “troublesome newcomers,” a nickname coined at a public hearing about the project, but most likely earned during her first go-round when she opened the café. Her partnership with Jake quelled a lot of the voices, but there were people who didn’t want their Main Street winning any awards in Connecticut magazine for “best of” something or “unique places to see.” The less strangers, the better, in some folks’ opinion. Stan couldn’t see the sense in letting Main Street fester with falling down properties, either, but there was no reasoning with some of these people. That nostalgia thing again.

  Stan knew Izzy would put her heart and soul into the new store, as she did every day at Izzy Sweet’s Sweets. She couldn’t wait to spend a Saturday afternoon there. But first the darn thing had to get built, and it seemed to be slow going.

  “I don’t get the holdup, Frank,” she heard Jake say as she walked up, Scruffy leading the way and almost yanking her arm out of the socket when she saw Duncan, Jake’s Weimaraner, who barked furiously when he saw them. “You had to expect some of this. It’s an old building.”

  Frank Pappas looked frustrated. And angry. Unless it was simply the way the majority of construction workers and contractors looked. Frank could’ve passed for a bouncer at the rowdiest nightclub, especially with his perpetual scowl. He had a lot of hair. Unkempt, long, curly hair on his head and an overgrown beard on his face. That much hair had to translate to the rest of his body. Stan was a little grossed out just thinking about it and quickly pushed the thought away. Frank’s jeans were weighed down by a huge tool belt, and his work boots were covered in some kind of dust. A cigarette hung out of his mouth, and he puffed furiously on it when he wasn’t speaking. In this case, speaking was mostly in the form of indignant grunts.

  “I told you. We’re running into a lot of unexpected problems,” Frank said, shooting a dirty look at Duncan, whose barks were escalating in volume. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his sweatshirt pocket and slammed it against the palm of his other hand. “The wiring is garbage. I had to call the electrician back two days in a row just so we could use our equipment.”

  “Sounds like you need a new electrician,” Jake said. “Dunc. Easy, boy.” He met Stan’s eyes and motioned to her, then dropped the leash and let him go. Stan sighed. She’d been trying to get Jake to stop doing that. It was dangerous. Luckily, Dunc ran right toward her, almost bowling her over giving her kisses.

  “Then find one,” Frank said, his gravelly voice rising a notch. “It took me a week to get this guy out here. Not to mention the days we lost talking about putting the job on hold.” He took another cigarette out of his pack and shoved the box back into his coat pocket.

  Stan’s ears perked up. This is what Izzy had been talking about yesterday morning. Jake apparently didn’t like Frank’s response. Or maybe his tone. He turned slightly so Stan couldn’t hear him, but she could tell from his gestures the conversation had gone south.

  It didn’t look like she was about to hear anything else interesting, and she didn’t feel like sitting here watching a testosterone battle today. She pulled her plastic baggie filled with treats out of her jacket pocket. Duncan, Henry, and Scruffy gathered around her like worshippers at a church seeing their favorite priest. She passed out banana oatmeal treats to each of them and couldn’t help but smile watching them wolf them down.

  “Another?” she asked when Henry came up and nudged her hand with his nose. She fished second helpings out of her bag. “I’m glad you like these. I think I’ll make this kind and maybe a batch with apple, too, for the bakery case at that new store Auntie Nikki sold my treats to.” She looked up and realized both Jake and Frank were watching her. Jake grinned. Frank looked at her like she had three heads.

  “What?” she asked, reddening.

  “Nothing,” Jake said. “I like how you talk your orders out with the dogs.”

  “Duncan appreciates the recipes, too.”

  “You don’t have to tell me that.”

  Frank rolled his eyes, not bothering to hide it. “Anyway, the electrician’s gonna be an added charge. Should I put it in a change order?”

  “Yeah, of course we’ll need a change order,” Jake said. He sounded annoyed with the question.

  “I told Izzy about it,” Frank said defensively. “She already okayed it.”

  “That’s great. Izzy’s a whiz at running a business. But I have a stake in this, too, so I’d appreciate you running that sort of thing by me, also.”

  “You think I’m screwing you? After all these years?” Frank’s voice rose, attracting the attention of a young couple walking by. He stared right back at them until they moved on.

  Jake fixed him with a withering stare. “Calm down, Frank. I’m doing what any responsible owner would do and asking that you get approval on certain things first. That’s all. Send the paperwork and I’ll take care of it. Ready, Stan?”

  Stan pushed herself to her feet and pocketed her treats. “I’m ready.”

  Jake took Duncan’s leash back and they started down the street. Stan looked over her shoulder. Frank hadn’t gone inside yet. She turned back. “I know he’s supposed to be your friend, but he’s kind of creepy,” Stan said. “Why is he so angry?”

  Jake brushed it off. “No big deal. Frank’s Italian. He’s never been the calmest person I know. And when he’s on a big job he tends to get a little nuts. He’s had a lot of extra expenses, and I’m trying to make sure I’m tracking them well.”

  “So are you mad at Izzy?”

  “Not at all. She just wants the building done as fast as possible. I get it.” He hit the button for the walk signal. “Frank’s a good guy. This is a complicated building. It’ll all work out.”

  Stan glanced behind them again. Frank watched them go, his stare unnerving. He met Stan’s eyes, threw his cigarette down and ground it out slowly with his heel, then turned and went inside. She shivered. “I hope so. Do you think the push to stop the construction will happen?”

  He glanced at her. “You knew about that?”

  Stan shrugged. “As of yesterday. Izzy mentioned it.”

  “Not gonna happen. I told her she shouldn’t worry about it. So tell me what that thing was about with your mother last night.” His way of brushing her question off. Before she could circle back to it, a black van turned down the street, slowed, then pulled over behind Frank’s van. A guy leaned out of the passenger window and called out to one of Frank’s crew, who’d taken the spot Frank had vacated and was having his own smoke. “Hey. Okay to park here?”

  Jake followed Stan’s gaze. The worker stepped over and said something to the guy in the van. He motioned for the guy to get out. The passenger door opened and he hopped out, followed the other guy around the side of the building.

  Jake frowned. “That doesn’t look like Frank’s typical supply van,” he muttered. “Hang on, I want to check this out,” he said to Stan, and started back down the block with Duncan. Stan followed. Something about the van was familiar to
her, though she couldn’t quite place what.

  The van’s engine shut off and two other people climbed out. They walked over in the same direction their friend had gone, though one of them lingered in the front of the building, looking up.

  Jake reached the lingerer first. “Can I help you with something?”

  Stan reached the van. New York plates. She circled it, noted the discreet logo with no accompanying words.

  Holy crap.

  “I’m one of the owners,” she heard Jake say. “And I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

  Stan walked over to them, Scruffy straining at the leash to meet the new person. Stan kind of felt the same way, but had to hold on to some level of decorum. As she got closer and saw his face up close, her heart pounded with excitement. She was totally right. She couldn’t help the smile that escaped onto her lips.

  “Hi, Stan Connor,” she broke in. “And you’re . . .”

  “Adrian Fox. Pleased to meet you,” he said, offering his hand.

  Stan shook it, trying to contain her excitement. He bent to pet Scruffy, who preened at him. Henry sniffed his hand, then sat down, disinterested. Fox gave the dogs just enough attention to make Stan swoon, then turned to Jake and held out his hand.

  “Adrian Fox,” he said, in case Jake hadn’t heard the first time

  Jake looked from Stan to Adrian, eyes narrowing. “Jake McGee. Co-owner. Sorry—do you know each other?”

  Fox chuckled. Stan reddened. “We don’t know each other, but I watch the show. I love it,” she said to Fox before she could stop herself.

  “Thank you. I love to hear feedback.”

  “Wait. Show? What show?” Jake interrupted.

  “Sorry.” Fox turned back to Jake. His shockingly white teeth gleamed when he smiled. “I’m a paranormal expert. Stan is referring to my show, Ghosts in Your Neighborhood. My team investigates sites around the country with known or suspected paranormal experiences.”

  “Okay,” Jake said, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “I don’t watch. Why are you looking for me?”

  “We came to check out this site.” Fox turned, motioned to Jake and Izzy’s building. “Someone sent in a tip that this building might be experiencing some paranormal activity.”

  Chapter 12

  Despite Jake’s obvious and immediate cynicism about the subject matter, Stan’s primary thought was that Adrian Fox looked exactly like he did on TV every week. Tall, dark, and bad. Bad in a good way. Like a man who could take a poltergeist and chase it out of your house with a combination of ghostbusting tools and pure physical force. Stan had harbored a secret addiction to his show—and him—for years. It was her one true guilty pleasure, unless you counted coffee and sweets. She’d always been a fan of anything scary. Sometimes living alone with no security system made it hard for the post-scare enjoyment to linger, but it had to be pretty hardcore to cause her a real sleepless night. Fox and his ghost-hunting compadres were the only ones who’d really come close, unless you counted the old Halloween movies. One of their recent episodes, about a haunted, abandoned asylum in New York, had sent Stan scurrying to turn on every light in the house. Fox definitely knew how to turn up the creep factor.

  Now here he was in all his tattooed, black-garbed glory. In Frog Ledge. At Jake’s building.

  Jake wasn’t as easily impressed. “Activity?” he asked at the same time Stan breathed, “Here? Wow. That is so cool.” He raised an eyebrow at her.

  She shrugged. “It is.” She wondered why Izzy hadn’t mentioned this to her.

  He ignored her and focused on Fox. “What exactly do you mean by ‘activity’?”

  “Great question,” Fox said, like he was encouraging a new student. “Activity can mean a number of things, like unexplained happenings. Voices, or footsteps. Missing or relocated objects. In some cases, the activity is destructive. But there was no record of blatantly destructive activity in this report.” He pulled out a notebook and flipped through it to confirm.

  Inside Stan’s pocket, her phone rang. She ignored it and listened to Fox finish his explanation of paranormal activity, her mind racing the entire time. Who phoned in the tip about this building? What kind of ghosts were in there? Didn’t Stevie Nicks have a song called “Ghosts”? Her brain searched for the lyrics as all the thoughts tumbled together. She tried to focus, hoping this wasn’t bad news for Jake and Izzy’s plans—and their construction schedule. From her pocket, chimes sounded. Voice mail.

  Jake’s skepticism was written all over his face. “Voices and footsteps, huh? I get lots of tips, too, but I only pay attention to the cash ones. How do you weed out the real possibilities from the nuts? And what report are you talking about?”

  It was Stan’s turn to frown. Jake usually wasn’t rude, but he didn’t seem enthralled by Fox at all. Maybe he, like Frank, was worried about construction delays. Or ghost enthusiasts breaking in. That happened sometimes after a place was featured on these shows. Especially at the old asylum sites—people seemed fascinated with those places.

  Still, he could at least pretend to be excited. Stan had always dreamt of being part of a ghost hunt, and one had just potentially walked into town. If the place was featured and they exorcised a ghost, it would be a total tourist attraction. Which would make Izzy the happiest girl on the planet once the store was open. It might also make a lot of people in town angry.

  But Jake shouldn’t be one of them.

  Fox must’ve been accustomed to attitude in this line of work. His easygoing, conversational demeanor didn’t change. “Another great question,” he said. “Of course we get a lot of fake tips, or what I like to call ‘hopefuls.’ But when we think a place really has potential, we make a trip out to get a feel for what may be happening. We do an investigation to determine if there is activity, what kind, and what to do about it, depending on the type of spirit. If we feel we have a strong presence, we’ve got ourselves a show—if the folks want to sign on.

  “Our whole fall lineup this year is going to be New England sites, from October through December. Perfect to kick off the Halloween season. New England is prime for ghosts, if you didn’t know. We’re in the process of selecting the sites right now, so this was perfect timing.”

  Stan’s phone rang again. She grabbed it out of her pocket, glanced at the caller ID. Char. Well, she’d have to wait. She switched the phone to silent and shoved it back in her pocket.

  “I’m still missing how you have a report. Since this is the first I’m hearing about any of it,” Jake said, crossing his arms.

  “We came in and spoke with the workers,” Fox said. “We got to town yesterday and caught up with a few members of the crew. They took us around, told us about tools going missing, lightbulbs blowing out. Typical stuff we see during rehabs. Great place, by the way. Must’ve been amazing in its heyday. What are you doing with it?”

  Uh-oh. Stan recognized the darkening of Jake’s eyes, the tightening of his jaw. Little clues to anger she didn’t see often in him, but when they appeared, it was for good reason.

  “First of all, no one should set foot in here without permission from the owners. There are liability issues. If one of your people got hurt here, we’d be in big—”

  “Mr. McGee,” Fox interrupted. “I completely understand all that. We did get permission.”

  “From who?” Jake asked; then it dawned on him at the same moment Izzy walked up.

  “From me, of course.” Izzy winked at him. “I love me a good ghost story.” She turned to Fox. “Good morning, Adrian. So, what’s the verdict?”

  “We definitely heard enough from the crew to support conducting an investigation. There’s a great possibility, my friends, that you have bought yourself a building with some unsettled spirits. This could do wonders for your future prospects.” Fox grinned.

  Jake didn’t. “Izzy, we need to talk about this,” he said through gritted teeth. “Why didn’t you mention it last night?”

  “Don’t be a hater.” Izzy flung her scarf over her sho
ulder, dismissing his words. “I knew you wouldn’t want to hear about it. We might have ghosts. Frank’s been trying to tell you about the setbacks the workers encountered. Although I’m sure ghosts aren’t gonna be easy for Frank to swallow. But the evidence is real. All those things Adrian mentioned, that’s why we need some of these change orders. I didn’t believe it at first either when Adrian tracked me down yesterday, but it makes total sense now. We need to deal with it.”

  I listened, fascinated. Izzy hadn’t know either until yesterday. So who had reported ghostly activity?

  “And Adrian’s right,” Izzy added. “Once a place is featured on this show, people are obsessed—they flock to it. We’ll have so much traffic when we open you won’t even remember there were ghost hunters here. Or you’ll thank them.”

  “That’s great, but this might not even be for real, Izzy. You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

  “Hold on a second,” Fox said, stepping forward. “My team doesn’t invent paranormal activity for the sake of a TV show. We have a TV show because the work demands it. From what the workers are seeing, it sounds like you have some kind of activity you may want to be aware of.” He looked at Stan, who hadn’t said a word during the exchange. “Did you know about the murder that happened here back in the late forties?”

  “Murder?” Stan looked at Jake. “In this building?”

  “Crazy, right?” Izzy said. “I almost died when he told me. No pun intended.”

  Jake said nothing.

  “Yes, you had a murder here. We researched it after the tip. Another piece of our due diligence,” Fox said with a pointed look at Jake. “If we have a site to consider, we look to see what its past was like. That’s usually another indication. And we found that this place had a real story behind it.”

  Most older buildings in town had some story or other behind it—after all, many had been here for hundreds of years and been through different iterations. Stan had heard about famous people passing through town who contributed to history books, but she hadn’t heard about murder. “Who was killed?” she asked.