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

New business, new life, remember?”
    “I hope so,” Nikki said. “Dead farmers don’t seem like a good hobby to take up.”
    After Stan hung up, she checked her watch. Only nine. Plenty of time to make a stop
     before heading to Em’s. She needed to know if there had been any developments overnight
     in Hal’s murder. Since the pub wasn’t open yet, the next best place for information
     was Izzy’s coffee shop. She hurried upstairs to get dressed.

Chapter 6
    “Dead. I can’t believe it. How could this happen?” Izzy Sweet’s hand shook as she
     poured coffee into a to-go cup for Stan. The tremors caused the hot black liquid to
     splash on the counter. Izzy muttered a curse and swiped at the spill with a cloth.
     “Do you know how he died? I’ve heard it was horrible—that he was stabbed with an awful
     weapon.” She turned away, but Stan could’ve sworn Izzy’s eyes had filled with tears.
    Izzy Sweet’s Sweets buzzed with the news of the murder this morning, the chatter mixing
     with the jazz music playing softly through the speakers. Copies of the Frog Ledge Holler, many folded to Hal’s picture, littered the café tables next to pastries and lattes.
     The undercurrent seemed less fearful than Stan would’ve expected, considering there
     was a murderer on the loose. Instead, people seemed to want to talk about it, sharing
     and comparing what they knew with the lean details in the newspaper. Human nature,
     she supposed. At least we’re all alive to talk about it.
    Then again, there weren’t many true locals on hand in the café. Much of Izzy’s business
     rested with the local college crowd and their parents. There were two large universities
     within twenty miles of the sweet shop, and word had gotten out that Izzy’s coffee
     was to die for. And, it made the tourists feel good to buy local. Unfortunately, Frog
     Ledge’s old guard didn’t have the same loyalty—they’d been opposed to the shop, which
     they called “fancy, highfalutin, and overpriced.” They would’ve much rather seen the
     greasy spoon diner that had been there previously be resurrected.
    Not Stan. Coffee shops were as normal to her as breathing. Especially on a day like
     today. And this shop was so colorful, it was hard not to be cheery just setting foot
     inside it. Various shades of greens and purples collided on the walls, decorated with
     framed photos of coffee shops from around the world. Coco Chanel held an esteemed
     place on the back wall. Coco was one of Izzy’s idols. “Class,” Izzy would say, hand
     on hip, admiring the artwork. “Pure class. And so put together.”
    Izzy didn’t look so put together this morning. Her hair, woven into dozens of tiny
     braids, looked perfect as usual, and her smooth caramel skin still gleamed with hardly
     any makeup. But her eyes told a different story. She was shaken.
    Stan breathed in the scent of rich coffee and lemony pastry. “It smells so good in
     here,” she said, hoping to take Izzy’s mind off the murder. “What did you bake this
     morning?”
    “Thanks,” Izzy said. “Lemon pound cake with cream cheese frosting. Are they sure it
     wasn’t a farming accident? I’ve read about dairy farms—how they can be really dangerous.”
    Stan fitted a cover onto her cup and took a grateful swig, not even caring when she
     burned her tongue. She’d had plenty already today, but she still felt foggy and slightly
     headachy. The sure signs of no sleep. “There were a lot of people there last night,
     Iz. Including me. And I saw”—she lowered her voice and glanced around to make sure
     no one was paying attention—“the body. What they’re saying is true, as horrible as
     it is.”
    Izzy’s hand went to her mouth as if to hold back her horror, fresh tears blooming
     in her chocolate eyes. “I can’t believe it. I just can’t. Was it . . . painful?”
    Her reaction was oddly out of character. Izzy was normally the epitome of cool, calm,
     and collected,