Read Online Kneading to Die by Liz Mugavero - Free Book Online Page A

play nice in the sandbox. Apparently, we’re supposed to care about each other around here. And buy locally.”
    â€œHard to care about someone you don’t even know, who shows up at your door like that. And I’m all about buying locally, but not when someone’s stalking me to do it. But you always were good at that political crap. Okay, so you went. And she was just dead? How do you know she was murdered?”
    â€œBecause she had a needle sticking out of her neck!”
    â€œHuh.” Nikki was silent for a moment, thinking about this. “You know, aside from the tragedy of it, it’s pretty funny. Like funny ironic, not actually funny . But all those years in Hartford, you never came across a dead body, and that’s where it wouldn’t seem so bizarre.”
    â€œWell, there was the time we got shot at.” She, Richard and another coworker had been at a red light shortly after leaving the office when someone had come running out of a house and started shooting at the car in front of them.
    â€œThey weren’t shooting at you.”
    â€œThey could’ve missed. And they didn’t hit the person they wanted to hit, either.”
    â€œTrue. Do they know who killed this vet?”
    â€œNo.” Stan didn’t mention the long questioning session that she endured.
    â€œAre you doing okay?”
    â€œI’m okay.”
    â€œNo, you’re not. Want me to come over? I’m doing a couple of drop-offs today, but my schedule isn’t too crazy. I can stop by later tonight.”
    She really didn’t want to see anybody. “Maybe tomorrow? I have a bunch of work to do here, and, honestly, I don’t feel good.”
    â€œOkay. Try to relax. And all kidding aside, be careful. Just because it’s a small town doesn’t mean everything’s wine and roses. This woman got herself killed.”
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    Frog Ledge seemed to have its share of hypocrites. Stan had gotten the loner vibe from Carole. And the flat-out disliked vibe from a number of people, too. But as dusk covered the town the day after the vet’s death, people flocked to the green with candles and stuffed animals and photos.
    She heard them through her open bedroom window. She’d hidden herself up there for most of the day, trying to sleep but not succeeding. Or sitting on the bathroom floor, waiting to get sick. Stan tried to ignore the murmur of voices first; then as the volume grew she gave up and dragged herself to the window. Holy crap. Was she supposed to make an appearance at this?
    Stan fought back tears for the millionth time that day. First in line to find a dead body. Now she had to put on her game face, get dressed and go pretend she was torn up about Carole’s death. Well, she was torn up, but she didn’t think it had to do with Carole personally. She couldn’t be. She’d had one conversation with the woman—if you could even call it a conversation.
    Then she saw Char and Ray joining the crowd. Char had traded in her brilliant colors for a billowy black dress. And was that . . . ? Stan leaned forward. Yes, it was. Amara Leonard had joined the flow of people heading to the green.
    If Amara put in an appearance after that screaming match she’d had with Carole, Stan knew she had no choice. She heard Ray’s voice in her ear: You live in a small town now. You have to care. Groaning, she forced herself to get up and dressed in a pair of black shorts, a light sweater and comfy flats. Tromping unenthusiastically downstairs, she ate a few Saltine crackers to settle her stomach and called Nutty. He didn’t respond or come running, so she figured he was sleeping.
    â€œI’ll be back,” she called to him, in case he cared. No response. Apparently, he didn’t. She shut the door behind her and twisted the handle to make sure it had locked. Slinking to the edge of the green, Stan followed the crowd up to the other end, near the