Read Online A Biscuit, a Casket by Liz Mugavero - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Liz Mugavero
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co-op.” Mary shook her head, looked at Leigh-Anne. “We
could hardly believe it when we heard the news.”
Leigh-Anne nodded in agreement. “We’re just devastated,” she said. “How is Em? Are
you a friend?”
“Oh, sorry, yes.” Stan reached out her hand to shake theirs. “Stan Connor. Em’s neighbor.
Please, come in.” She led them to the kitchen.
Em’s eyes didn’t brighten when she saw her visitors. In fact, Stan could swear she
heard her sigh. “Leigh-Anne. Mary.” She rose for the obligatory hug, taking the casserole
dishes and depositing them on the counter. She didn’t even try to fit them in the
fridge. “You’ve met Stan. This is Char.”
“Pleased to meet y’all,” Char said, waving her whisk. Egg yolk splattered on the floor.
Mary had pulled Em back into a suffocating hug. “We are so, so, so sorry,” she crooned.
“Emmy, how are you holding up?” Despite the saccharine oozing from her voice, Stan
didn’t get the sense that Mary felt all that sad. She could see it in the way Mary’s
eyes assessed the room over Em’s shoulder, taking in the clutter and disorganization.
Which begged the question—how well did all these co-op farmers really get along?
“I’m okay,” Em said, trying to pull away. “I have to be. For the boys.”
Leigh-Anne clucked sympathetically. “Of course. The boys. How terrible. You must be
feeling so overwhelmed right now!”
“A little,” Em admitted, though Stan couldn’t tell if she meant by Hal’s death or
by the outpouring of sympathy.
“And terrified,” Leigh-Anne went on. “I mean, these are things that happen in big
cities! New York and Chicago! Not in Frog Ledge.” She shuddered. “It makes me nervous
and I don’t even live in this town. But I feel like it’s becoming an epidemic. After
all, I’m only an hour away. No one is safe anymore. Imagine, a crazed killer wandering
onto a farm and stabbing a farmer! What is our world coming to?”
“It’s just unfathomable.” Mary shook her head in agreement. “And Amy sends her regrets,
Emmy. She had some things to attend to. Don’t think she’s upset, because she isn’t,”
she added hastily. “She completely understands the police have to do their jobs.”
Stan glanced at Em. Em didn’t respond. She just gazed at Mary as if to say, I don’t really care if she understands or not. She folded her arms and tapped her foot.
“Amy?” Stan asked. “Amy who?”
All eyes turned her way. “Amy Fink. Asher’s wife,” Mary said. “Of course it was very
difficult for her to be woken up in the middle of the night to have her husband dragged
in for questioning in a murder case. And something about his shoes being confiscated.
But of course, we want the innocent people identified early so they can focus on finding
the real killer. I, for one, can’t imagine who would do such a thing,” Mary went on,
oblivious to Em’s body language.
“Me either,” Char broke in, always the peacemaker. “But I think Leigh-Anne’s right.
This had to be a random, horrible act. You know, Cyril—our newspaperman—has been keeping
tabs on a rash of break-ins, both in Frog Ledge and some of our little towns around
it. I wonder if this was a burglary attempt gone wrong.”
In the corn maze? Unlikely. Stan kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want to get in the middle of this discussion,
which seemed to have undertones galore. But she was intrigued by the confiscated shoes.
What were they looking for? Evidence of dirt? They were all farmers, for goodness’
sake. Dirt was a way of life. Stan made a mental note to ask Jake if Jessie had mentioned
anything about a shoe to him. Or perhaps a suspicious footprint. But with all the
people walking around the farm, that seemed like a long shot.
“They’ll find whoever did it,” Leigh-Anne declared. “The police won’t let it rest.
Especially in a close-knit town like this one. Emmy, please
could hardly believe it when we heard the news.”
Leigh-Anne nodded in agreement. “We’re just devastated,” she said. “How is Em? Are
you a friend?”
“Oh, sorry, yes.” Stan reached out her hand to shake theirs. “Stan Connor. Em’s neighbor.
Please, come in.” She led them to the kitchen.
Em’s eyes didn’t brighten when she saw her visitors. In fact, Stan could swear she
heard her sigh. “Leigh-Anne. Mary.” She rose for the obligatory hug, taking the casserole
dishes and depositing them on the counter. She didn’t even try to fit them in the
fridge. “You’ve met Stan. This is Char.”
“Pleased to meet y’all,” Char said, waving her whisk. Egg yolk splattered on the floor.
Mary had pulled Em back into a suffocating hug. “We are so, so, so sorry,” she crooned.
“Emmy, how are you holding up?” Despite the saccharine oozing from her voice, Stan
didn’t get the sense that Mary felt all that sad. She could see it in the way Mary’s
eyes assessed the room over Em’s shoulder, taking in the clutter and disorganization.
Which begged the question—how well did all these co-op farmers really get along?
“I’m okay,” Em said, trying to pull away. “I have to be. For the boys.”
Leigh-Anne clucked sympathetically. “Of course. The boys. How terrible. You must be
feeling so overwhelmed right now!”
“A little,” Em admitted, though Stan couldn’t tell if she meant by Hal’s death or
by the outpouring of sympathy.
“And terrified,” Leigh-Anne went on. “I mean, these are things that happen in big
cities! New York and Chicago! Not in Frog Ledge.” She shuddered. “It makes me nervous
and I don’t even live in this town. But I feel like it’s becoming an epidemic. After
all, I’m only an hour away. No one is safe anymore. Imagine, a crazed killer wandering
onto a farm and stabbing a farmer! What is our world coming to?”
“It’s just unfathomable.” Mary shook her head in agreement. “And Amy sends her regrets,
Emmy. She had some things to attend to. Don’t think she’s upset, because she isn’t,”
she added hastily. “She completely understands the police have to do their jobs.”
Stan glanced at Em. Em didn’t respond. She just gazed at Mary as if to say, I don’t really care if she understands or not. She folded her arms and tapped her foot.
“Amy?” Stan asked. “Amy who?”
All eyes turned her way. “Amy Fink. Asher’s wife,” Mary said. “Of course it was very
difficult for her to be woken up in the middle of the night to have her husband dragged
in for questioning in a murder case. And something about his shoes being confiscated.
But of course, we want the innocent people identified early so they can focus on finding
the real killer. I, for one, can’t imagine who would do such a thing,” Mary went on,
oblivious to Em’s body language.
“Me either,” Char broke in, always the peacemaker. “But I think Leigh-Anne’s right.
This had to be a random, horrible act. You know, Cyril—our newspaperman—has been keeping
tabs on a rash of break-ins, both in Frog Ledge and some of our little towns around
it. I wonder if this was a burglary attempt gone wrong.”
In the corn maze? Unlikely. Stan kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want to get in the middle of this discussion,
which seemed to have undertones galore. But she was intrigued by the confiscated shoes.
What were they looking for? Evidence of dirt? They were all farmers, for goodness’
sake. Dirt was a way of life. Stan made a mental note to ask Jake if Jessie had mentioned
anything about a shoe to him. Or perhaps a suspicious footprint. But with all the
people walking around the farm, that seemed like a long shot.
“They’ll find whoever did it,” Leigh-Anne declared. “The police won’t let it rest.
Especially in a close-knit town like this one. Emmy, please
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