Read Online A Biscuit, a Casket by Liz Mugavero - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Liz Mugavero
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the police get anywhere with that?”
Em hesitated. “Hal had trouble with everyone,” she said finally, dropping her voice
an octave. “Heck, he had trouble with me. He was difficult, stubborn, and he hated
manual labor. He was more interested in his drinking buddies and his get-rich-quick
ventures than he was in running this place. But he was smart as hell, too. And handsome.
Even charming, when he wanted to be. But there were days when I wanted to kick his
behind from here into next week. Asher Fink is one of our co-op partners. Matter of
fact, he’s here today helping. One of the first to show up. He and Hal argued more
than they agreed, that’s for sure. But it was never serious. And Asher stabbing him?
I couldn’t picture it. He can’t even slaughter his own beef cows.”
Before Stan could digest that lovely visual, they were interrupted by the back door
opening. A parade of people filed in. Stan could smell fall air and cow manure wafting
around them. The leader, a giant of a man with a cowboy hat and a beard reminding
Stan of ZZ Top, took his hat off and nodded at the three of them, his gaze settling
on Em. Stan remembered Kathryn McKitchum’s description of the man with his “big beard”
arguing with Hal. Asher Fink—it had to be. Char turned from the stove, where the first
omelet was sizzling away in the cast iron pan.
“Mrs. Hoffman, the morning chores are done,” the bearded man intoned in a voice more
suited for a Sunday sermon than a farm.
Stan watched him through narrowed eyes. Was this all an act? Was coming over here
this morning just to throw the authorities off his track and look like a concerned
friend? Maybe Em had no idea what he and Hal argued about. Maybe it had been serious.
Serious enough to kill over.
Em didn’t seem to think so. “Thank you, Asher. And thank you for coming personally.
And all of you, for coming to help,” she said, raising her voice to include the men
in line behind Asher.
“We’re honored to help, Mrs. H,” a younger man said. “Mr. H was, like, a super cool
guy.” He fell silent and shuffled his feet, looking at the floor.
“Thank you, Lee,” Em said. “He would be grateful to all of you.”
Asher cleared his throat. “A crew’ll be back tonight. You gotcher regulars out there
now, keeping things going.” With one last nod, he ushered the line of men back outside.
ZZ Top’s “Legs” ricocheted through her brain. She sighed. Her brain could be so predictable.
“That’s awful sweet of them,” Char remarked after they filed back out the door. “That’s
the man they questioned?”
“It is,” Em said.
“Huh.” Char slid the omelet on a plate and placed it in front of Em, hovering until
Em picked up her fork and took a bite. “I guess they decided he couldn’t have done
it.”
“Of course he didn’t,” Em said. She lapsed into silence again.
Char shrugged, unfazed, and kept whisking.
Stan shifted uncomfortably. She needed to make her exit. She tried to catch Char’s
eye to give her a heads-up, but Char was again intent on her eggs. And then the doorbell
rang.
“I’ll get it,” Stan offered, for something to do. She hurried to the front door and
pulled it open.
Two women stood on the porch, each carrying a casserole dish. One wore heels that
made Char’s look like flats. She had unruly frosted blond curls that had been left
loose to find their own way. She wore tight jeans and was nearly slim enough to do
so. She smiled at Stan, revealing small, straight teeth. Her lips were coral.
“Hello. I’m Leigh-Anne Sutton.”
“And I’m Mary,” the other woman broke in. “Mary Michelli. Pleased to meet you.” Mary
was not in the same style league as Leigh-Anne Sutton, Stan noted. She wore sweats
and sneakers and her hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail. No lipstick. No makeup
at all, in fact. Much more farmerish.
“We’re part of the Happy Cow
Em hesitated. “Hal had trouble with everyone,” she said finally, dropping her voice
an octave. “Heck, he had trouble with me. He was difficult, stubborn, and he hated
manual labor. He was more interested in his drinking buddies and his get-rich-quick
ventures than he was in running this place. But he was smart as hell, too. And handsome.
Even charming, when he wanted to be. But there were days when I wanted to kick his
behind from here into next week. Asher Fink is one of our co-op partners. Matter of
fact, he’s here today helping. One of the first to show up. He and Hal argued more
than they agreed, that’s for sure. But it was never serious. And Asher stabbing him?
I couldn’t picture it. He can’t even slaughter his own beef cows.”
Before Stan could digest that lovely visual, they were interrupted by the back door
opening. A parade of people filed in. Stan could smell fall air and cow manure wafting
around them. The leader, a giant of a man with a cowboy hat and a beard reminding
Stan of ZZ Top, took his hat off and nodded at the three of them, his gaze settling
on Em. Stan remembered Kathryn McKitchum’s description of the man with his “big beard”
arguing with Hal. Asher Fink—it had to be. Char turned from the stove, where the first
omelet was sizzling away in the cast iron pan.
“Mrs. Hoffman, the morning chores are done,” the bearded man intoned in a voice more
suited for a Sunday sermon than a farm.
Stan watched him through narrowed eyes. Was this all an act? Was coming over here
this morning just to throw the authorities off his track and look like a concerned
friend? Maybe Em had no idea what he and Hal argued about. Maybe it had been serious.
Serious enough to kill over.
Em didn’t seem to think so. “Thank you, Asher. And thank you for coming personally.
And all of you, for coming to help,” she said, raising her voice to include the men
in line behind Asher.
“We’re honored to help, Mrs. H,” a younger man said. “Mr. H was, like, a super cool
guy.” He fell silent and shuffled his feet, looking at the floor.
“Thank you, Lee,” Em said. “He would be grateful to all of you.”
Asher cleared his throat. “A crew’ll be back tonight. You gotcher regulars out there
now, keeping things going.” With one last nod, he ushered the line of men back outside.
ZZ Top’s “Legs” ricocheted through her brain. She sighed. Her brain could be so predictable.
“That’s awful sweet of them,” Char remarked after they filed back out the door. “That’s
the man they questioned?”
“It is,” Em said.
“Huh.” Char slid the omelet on a plate and placed it in front of Em, hovering until
Em picked up her fork and took a bite. “I guess they decided he couldn’t have done
it.”
“Of course he didn’t,” Em said. She lapsed into silence again.
Char shrugged, unfazed, and kept whisking.
Stan shifted uncomfortably. She needed to make her exit. She tried to catch Char’s
eye to give her a heads-up, but Char was again intent on her eggs. And then the doorbell
rang.
“I’ll get it,” Stan offered, for something to do. She hurried to the front door and
pulled it open.
Two women stood on the porch, each carrying a casserole dish. One wore heels that
made Char’s look like flats. She had unruly frosted blond curls that had been left
loose to find their own way. She wore tight jeans and was nearly slim enough to do
so. She smiled at Stan, revealing small, straight teeth. Her lips were coral.
“Hello. I’m Leigh-Anne Sutton.”
“And I’m Mary,” the other woman broke in. “Mary Michelli. Pleased to meet you.” Mary
was not in the same style league as Leigh-Anne Sutton, Stan noted. She wore sweats
and sneakers and her hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail. No lipstick. No makeup
at all, in fact. Much more farmerish.
“We’re part of the Happy Cow
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