The Icing on the Corpse (8 page)

Chapter 11

Stan woke at the crack of dawn Tuesday with her mind on weddings. Her upcoming meeting with Dede Richardson later this week would help her get to know the dogs and get a feel for their “party style.” But that was only a formality. With the exception of the dress and tux, which Dede's daughter was handling, Dede had not-so-subtly conveyed the message that she expected Stan to plan the entire party, from the fabulous gourmet cake right down to wedding “rings.”
Oy.

She couldn't help but feel like she was the wrong person for all of it except the cake. She had zero experience with weddings. She hadn't even been to one in about ten years. And now she was being trusted to send a couple of dogs on their happy ever after? She hoped the bride wasn't a bridezilla. At least Dede was securing the “wedding official.” She had no idea how to go about finding a doggie minister.

Stan rolled out of bed and checked out her window to see what was happening on the green. It was the first thing she did every morning, especially when spring was on the horizon. Not today, though. It was gray again. The town green was hidden behind a cloud of foggy drizzle. On the bright side, maybe it would melt the snow. It seemed like spring wasn't planning to make an early appearance in New England this year. It had been a long winter. With a groan, she dropped back on the bed and crawled under the covers. She didn't have to get up yet. The dogs hadn't even stirred—Scruffy was still sacked out at the foot of the bed, curled up with Nutty, and Henry hadn't even opened his eyes to peek at her from his bed across the room.

But it was too late for more sleep. Her mind had already kicked into high gear. She sat back up and grabbed her iPad. Opening the preliminary wedding list she'd made yesterday, she scanned it for priorities.

The bow vows made her smile. She'd found the term online when she Googled “doggie weddings” in a frantic attempt to assure herself this could actually be done. And had found mention of a number of other ceremonies, one on a beach with bow vows. Doggie wedding vows? Whoever would think of such a thing?

She had forgotten to add setting up the green and figuring out if they could use the gazebo to the list. Whom was she supposed to ask about that? Jake would probably know. She should call him. Who had time to sleep? She needed to get to work. She got up, found her slippers, and went into the bathroom to brush her teeth. Nutty and the dogs still hadn't budged—they must've still been too full from sampling the treats she and Brenna had power-baked yesterday—so she headed downstairs alone to make her coffee.

It just started to spew into the pot when her phone dinged, signaling a text message. Now, if only she knew what she'd done with it. After riffling through pockets and her pile of stuff on the table, she finally located the phone in the bottom of her purse. She had to get better about keeping track of the silly thing.

The text was from Jake.
Want to take the dogs for a walk? Wondering what happened with Mum
.

He was up early. Was that good or bad? She texted back.
Sure, can you give me an hour?
Not that she really wanted to recap the discussion with her mother, but she did have to tell him about the doggie wedding. She hadn't even gotten to tell Brenna.

He responded:
Meet me at eight, the new building
.

The
clackety-clack
of nails on the floor signaled the arrival of the pups—they had a sixth sense for when she was in the kitchen.

“Morning, guys.” She bent down for kisses, then let them outside just as Nutty chose to make his appearance. He eyed her hopefully and wound around her legs.

“Hi, handsome.” She scooped him up and nuzzled his nose. “Turkey potpie this morning.”

Nutty purred. Stan set him down and went to let the dogs in. Once the three were gathered, she fed them her new turkey potpie-style dish she was testing for the clinic's display, then filled her Vitamix with fruits and veggies for a smoothie. Drink in hand, she turned to find the dogs eagerly watching her. They always seemed to know when a walk or car ride was in their future.

“You guys want to go for your walk?” She smiled at Scruffy's excited squeals and Henry's tail thumping. “I'll go shower. Go wait by the door,” she instructed.

Of course they didn't listen, and followed her upstairs. Having multiple pets meant she never got to do certain things alone anymore. Like shower or use the bathroom.

Oh, well. Good thing they were cute.

 

 

The building Jake and Izzy co-owned had, among other uses, been the former site of the Frog Ledge Library. In the late 1980s, the town had received a state grant to build a new library building adjacent to the town green, which allowed for more accessibility during events and such. Betty had told the story of the relocation at an event last year. She'd been librarian back then, too, and she talked about how excited she was at the prospect of setting up a brand-new building and how the entire town had pitched in to help.

Betty had championed Jake and Izzy's plans to build a bookstore. Frog Ledge didn't have one, and Betty was such a staunch supporter of reading and literacy programs that it was a no-brainer. Stan wondered if she ever had a bit of nostalgia, though, for her old library. Sometimes when people were attached to things or traditions, even the most positive change seemed like a negative. Especially during the remodeling process.

The block was hopping with activity this morning when she, Scruffy, and Henry walked up. Trucks were parked all over the street, and workers hauled supplies inside. They looked cold, wearing heavy gloves and hooded sweatshirts. The building must not be much warmer inside. Sure, they had electric heaters and other equipment, but it was drafty and old, and they probably hadn't reached the insulation point yet. Stan shivered thinking about being in there five days a week, eight hours a day in this weather.

Seeing new development in town was exciting, though. While still small and rural, Frog Ledge was getting a reputation as the new mecca on the eastern side of the Connecticut River—a small, farming town cast in a different light. After years of being known for agriculture and history, its reputation was changing. New businesses were springing up all the time, from the flower shop on the other side of the vet clinic to a new Thai restaurant down by Izzy's place. The locals were split between loving it and hating it. There were some who flocked to the new establishments, loving the idea that they didn't have to go all the way to West Hartford or east to the casinos for some culture. Then there were others who were outraged at the thought of Thai food and gourmet coffee—and all the yuppies who went with it—taking over Frog Ledge, a simple farming town where the cows and goats and other farm friends could easily outnumber the people.

Betty and her feelings about reading aside, there had been some upheaval in town when Jake and Izzy announced their plans for the building. Izzy was one of those “troublesome newcomers,” a nickname coined at a public hearing about the project, but most likely earned during her first go-round when she opened the café. Her partnership with Jake quelled a lot of the voices, but there were people who didn't want their Main Street winning any awards in
Connecticut
magazine for “best of” something or “unique places to see.” The less strangers, the better, in some folks' opinion. Stan couldn't see the sense in letting Main Street fester with falling down properties, either, but there was no reasoning with some of these people. That nostalgia thing again.

Stan knew Izzy would put her heart and soul into the new store, as she did every day at Izzy Sweet's Sweets. She couldn't wait to spend a Saturday afternoon there. But first the darn thing had to get built, and it seemed to be slow going.

“I don't get the holdup, Frank,” she heard Jake say as she walked up, Scruffy leading the way and almost yanking her arm out of the socket when she saw Duncan, Jake's Weimaraner, who barked furiously when he saw them. “You had to expect some of this. It's an old building.”

Frank Pappas looked frustrated. And angry. Unless it was simply the way the majority of construction workers and contractors looked. Frank could've passed for a bouncer at the rowdiest nightclub, especially with his perpetual scowl. He had a lot of hair. Unkempt, long, curly hair on his head and an overgrown beard on his face. That much hair had to translate to the rest of his body. Stan was a little grossed out just thinking about it and quickly pushed the thought away. Frank's jeans were weighed down by a huge tool belt, and his work boots were covered in some kind of dust. A cigarette hung out of his mouth, and he puffed furiously on it when he wasn't speaking. In this case, speaking was mostly in the form of indignant grunts.

“I told you. We're running into a lot of unexpected problems,” Frank said, shooting a dirty look at Duncan, whose barks were escalating in volume. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his sweatshirt pocket and slammed it against the palm of his other hand. “The wiring is garbage. I had to call the electrician back two days in a row just so we could use our equipment.”

“Sounds like you need a new electrician,” Jake said. “Dunc. Easy, boy.” He met Stan's eyes and motioned to her, then dropped the leash and let him go. Stan sighed. She'd been trying to get Jake to stop doing that. It was dangerous. Luckily, Dunc ran right toward her, almost bowling her over giving her kisses.

“Then find one,” Frank said, his gravelly voice rising a notch. “It took me a week to get this guy out here. Not to mention the days we lost talking about putting the job on hold.” He took another cigarette out of his pack and shoved the box back into his coat pocket.

Stan's ears perked up. This is what Izzy had been talking about yesterday morning. Jake apparently didn't like Frank's response. Or maybe his tone. He turned slightly so Stan couldn't hear him, but she could tell from his gestures the conversation had gone south.

It didn't look like she was about to hear anything else interesting, and she didn't feel like sitting here watching a testosterone battle today. She pulled her plastic baggie filled with treats out of her jacket pocket. Duncan, Henry, and Scruffy gathered around her like worshippers at a church seeing their favorite priest. She passed out banana oatmeal treats to each of them and couldn't help but smile watching them wolf them down.

“Another?” she asked when Henry came up and nudged her hand with his nose. She fished second helpings out of her bag. “I'm glad you like these. I think I'll make this kind and maybe a batch with apple, too, for the bakery case at that new store Auntie Nikki sold my treats to.” She looked up and realized both Jake and Frank were watching her. Jake grinned. Frank looked at her like she had three heads.

“What?” she asked, reddening.

“Nothing,” Jake said. “I like how you talk your orders out with the dogs.”

“Duncan appreciates the recipes, too.”

“You don't have to tell me that.”

Frank rolled his eyes, not bothering to hide it. “Anyway, the electrician's gonna be an added charge. Should I put it in a change order?”

“Yeah, of course we'll need a change order,” Jake said. He sounded annoyed with the question.

“I told Izzy about it,” Frank said defensively. “She already okayed it.”

“That's great. Izzy's a whiz at running a business. But I have a stake in this, too, so I'd appreciate you running that sort of thing by me, also.”

“You think I'm screwing you? After all these years?” Frank's voice rose, attracting the attention of a young couple walking by. He stared right back at them until they moved on.

Jake fixed him with a withering stare. “Calm down, Frank. I'm doing what any responsible owner would do and asking that you get approval on certain things first. That's all. Send the paperwork and I'll take care of it. Ready, Stan?”

Stan pushed herself to her feet and pocketed her treats. “I'm ready.”

Jake took Duncan's leash back and they started down the street. Stan looked over her shoulder. Frank hadn't gone inside yet. She turned back. “I know he's supposed to be your friend, but he's kind of creepy,” Stan said. “Why is he so angry?”

Jake brushed it off. “No big deal. Frank's Italian. He's never been the calmest person I know. And when he's on a big job he tends to get a little nuts. He's had a lot of extra expenses, and I'm trying to make sure I'm tracking them well.”

“So are you mad at Izzy?”

“Not at all. She just wants the building done as fast as possible. I get it.” He hit the button for the walk signal. “Frank's a good guy. This is a complicated building. It'll all work out.”

Stan glanced behind them again. Frank watched them go, his stare unnerving. He met Stan's eyes, threw his cigarette down and ground it out slowly with his heel, then turned and went inside. She shivered. “I hope so. Do you think the push to stop the construction will happen?”

He glanced at her. “You knew about that?”

Stan shrugged. “As of yesterday. Izzy mentioned it.”

“Not gonna happen. I told her she shouldn't worry about it. So tell me what that thing was about with your mother last night.” His way of brushing her question off. Before she could circle back to it, a black van turned down the street, slowed, then pulled over behind Frank's van. A guy leaned out of the passenger window and called out to one of Frank's crew, who'd taken the spot Frank had vacated and was having his own smoke. “Hey. Okay to park here?”