A Biscuit, a Casket by Liz Mugavero Page A

leaving, Ms. Connor. I won’t be long. It’s nothing
     you won’t hear about anyway.”
    “Okay, but can you please call me Stan? I mean, now that you don’t think I killed
     anyone anymore. I hope. Oh, God, you don’t think I killed Hoffman, do you?” A vicious
     wave of déjà vu washed over her. It hadn’t been that long ago that Pasquale had considered
     her at the top of the suspect pool for the unfortunate murder of the local veterinarian.
    Now Pasquale looked annoyed. She gave Stan the stink-eye for a minute as if to say, Are you done? Then turned back to her brother. “I need to know if Hoffman was here yesterday.”
    “Not sure. I wasn’t working. I was bringing Duncan to the birthday party.”
    “The dog party? At the Hoffmans’?”
    Jake nodded.
    “You didn’t come down at all?”
    “For a few minutes, but I was mostly in the kitchen making sure everything was good
     with the menu. We’ve got a new dish. Bangers and mash. You should try it.”
    Stan wrinkled her nose. Her dad’s family had been a fan of the traditional Irish sausage
     dish, loaded with mashed potatoes, Irish beans, and thick gravy. Her mother had never
     touched it with a ten-foot pole. It was one of those rare instances where she and
     her mother were completely on the same page.
    “Who was on? Was Brenna here?” Pasquale didn’t care about the new dish either.
    “No. She was helping Stan with the party.”
    Pasquale shot another sidelong glance at Stan. She seemed to want to ask a question,
     then changed her mind. “Can you ask your staff if they saw him? I really need to know.”
    “You can ask them. The waitresses are here already. Travis and Desiree were on the
     bar. Des is in tonight. Travis is here tomorrow. Do you need an official statement?”
    “Don’t be a jerk.”
    “I’m not. I’m just going by what you’ve told me a hundred times about your work.”
    “Jake, seriously. I’m not in the mood.” Pasquale sounded tired all of a sudden.
    “Me either, Jess,” he said. “Me either.”
    Pasquale looked at Stan again, then back at her brother. Stan couldn’t help but feel
     she was intruding.
    “I can go,” she offered again.
    “No. Maybe you can help, too.” Pasquale took a deep breath and dropped her voice.
     “This stays between us. I need to place Hal Hoffman with someone yesterday. It shouldn’t
     be that hard, considering the man’s habits. But Emmalee Hoffman wasn’t where she was
     supposed to be yesterday afternoon—her kid’s parent-teacher conference—and I have
     no sightings of her husband after noon. He didn’t seem to see anyone, which isn’t
     like him.”
    “What are you getting at, Jess?” Jake asked.
    Jessie leveled him with her most piercing stare. “If Hoffman can’t be accounted for,
     his wife could be in big trouble. Since she can’t be accounted for either.”

Chapter 9
    Jake was used to his sister, and Stan could tell even he was caught off guard. “Wait—what?
     Em? Jess, stop it. That’s going too far.”
    Jessie shook her head slowly. “It’s not me, Jake. My boss is very interested in this
     case. Probably because he knows my history with the family. He immediately pounced
     on Em. I’ve been tracking her day, and . . .” She trailed off. “There are some missing
     pieces.”
    “Did you ask her?”
    “Of course I asked her. She swears she was at the farm. Forgot about the conference
     and was running late when she remembered it, so she drove over there but allegedly
     couldn’t locate the teacher. Said after that she returned to the farm, but none of
     the workers remember seeing her. The ones we’ve been able to talk to, that is. But
     the teacher says she was there until at least three-thirty, waiting for the Hoffmans.”
    “Did you talk to the worker who was at the farm last night?” Stan asked.
    Pasquale grimaced. “Sort of. He spoke enough English that we didn’t get the translator
     out of bed, but I think we’re going to need a longer