A Biscuit, a Casket by Liz Mugavero Read Free Book Online Page A

around with no one noticing?”
    “Wikipedia says it’s used to cut corn,” Nikki said.
    “Makes sense. There’s a corn maze there. That’s where they found the body.”
    “Maybe the farmer was using it and someone turned it on him. That’s hardcore.”
    Stan could hear Nikki chewing on the other end of the line, probably her usual granola
     and fruit combo. Then she piped up again, presumably after swallowing. “But maybe
     he deserved it. Dairy farms aren’t nice places in general. Please tell me this isn’t
     a factory farm.”
    Stan should’ve expected that. There was no greater animal advocate than Nikki Manning.
     She’d started her animal transport business on a shoestring when they were in college
     and over the years built up her reputation, community support, and a network that
     extended from Maine to Georgia. The rescued dogs—and sometimes cats—were brought safely
     to her home in Rhode Island, or to other shelters that helped get them adopted. Although
     her transport mainly helped dogs on death row in southern states, she advocated nonstop
     for everything four legged and was quite outspoken about it. She was a staunch vegan
     who preferred the company of animals to most people. She was also Stan’s oldest friend,
     which in Nikki’s mind gave her certain liberties. Like lecturing her.
    “It’s not a factory farm. I know what factory farms are, Nik. Give me some credit.”
     Stan rose and went to her coffee bar, topped off her cup. It was Izzy’s special bold
     blend, something Colombian and delightful. “This is a local farm. The cows walk around.
     It’s a huge piece of land. They even have a spot down the hill in back with all these
     little ponds.”
    Nikki grunted. Stan could picture her in her usual outfit of jeans and cowboy boots,
     sitting at her messy kitchen table surrounded by cans of dog food, paperwork, and
     a few cats. “Don’t believe everything you hear. They still have a crappy life.”
    “The farmers or the cows? Kidding,” she said when Nikki started to protest. “I get
     it. Can we go back to the dead farmer for a second?” Stan got up and walked around
     her bright kitchen. The tangerine-colored walls put a smile on her face even on the
     gloomiest of days. She’d decorated with yellow and red accents and all red appliances,
     and hung wind chimes over the sink in front of the window and in all four corners
     of the skylight. They sparkled when the sun shone on them and cast extra light around
     the room. She’d wanted a room that made her feel good. Since she started baking for
     a living, she was glad she’d made the kitchen so Zen with all the time she spent there
     these days. She straightened the stack of mail she’d been neglecting while she planned
     Benny’s party over the last week, promising to get to it today. She pulled the blinds
     up on the window to let the hazy sun in. Better than nothing.
    Nikki dropped something with a clang that resonated through Stan’s eardrum. “Sure
     we can. So who did it? Maybe an animal activist.” Her tone grew thoughtful. “That
     would be pretty cool, actually.”
    “Nik! It wouldn’t. That would give animal activists a bad name.” She waited until
     Nikki grumbled an assent. “I have no idea who did it.” Well, that wasn’t true. She
     remembered the Ford Explorer, the man named Fink—if the name was any indication, maybe
     they already had their man—and Pasquale sending someone out to question him. She wondered
     what had happened with that. She told Nikki about it. “I haven’t heard if anything
     came from it yet.”
    “Stan . . . You’re not getting involved in this, are you?” Nikki asked.
    “Involved? No. Why would you think that?”
    “Because I know you? Look, after what happened last time . . . maybe you should just
     go about your business. Read about it in the newspaper.”
    “You’re silly.” Stan laughed. “I’m not planning on getting involved. I have enough
     going on.