The Icing on the Corpse Read Free

capital T. Raymond!”
    Ray Mackey turned from the group of people he huddled with. “What can I do for you, Betty? Hello there, Stan.”
    Stan gave him a hug. Ray and Char Mackey, owners of the Alpaca Haven Bed-and-Breakfast, were her first and most trusted friends in Frog Ledge. They knew all the gossip, were always supportive of her, and the fact that Char was from New Orleans originally didn’t hurt. She made the best food and strongest drinks in town, though Stan wouldn’t tell Jake that. As the owner of McSwigg’s, the local Irish pub, he would find that assessment offensive.
    But Betty was in no mood for niceties. “Where’s Helga?”
    Ray, in his usual slow and steady manner, thought about that long enough that Betty looked about ready to pop. “I’m afraid I don’t know, Betty.”
    â€œAargh,” Betty muttered. “She’s got to be around here somewhere.”
    â€œDo you need a replacement historian?” A man with a scraggly beard and tiny eyeglasses appeared behind Betty. “I’m happy to jump in if Helga is neglecting her duties. I’m quite an expert on our town’s Groundhog Day legacy.” He smiled at Stan and held out a cold, thin hand. “Dale Hatmaker. I’m—”
    â€œWe’ll be fine, Dale,” Betty cut in, stepping in front of Stan before she could shake his hand. “Thanks for offering.”
    Despite Betty’s curt tone, Dale Hatmaker didn’t look offended. Instead, he smiled at them both, clasped his hands together, and bowed his head at Betty, then walked away.
    Stan looked from Betty to Ray. Both were glowering after Hatmaker. “Who was that?”
    Betty rolled her eyes. “That’s Dale. Self-elected historian. He wants Helga’s job and doesn’t make it a secret. Shameless, if you ask me.”
    â€œCompletely shameless,” Ray added, snapping his suspenders. “As my wife would say, he ain’t got the good sense God gave a rock.”
    Stan smiled at the southern phrase so common to Char. “Her job? You mean you get paid to be the historian?” she asked.
    â€œWell, of course you do!” Betty looked at Stan like she was slow. “It’s not a fortune, but it’s a small salary. Dale just wants the title. He knows some things, sure, but he’s not a lifer in town like Helga and her family. He’s only lived here about fifty years.” Betty sniffed, as if that were equivalent to about two weeks. “He just wants his name in the paper. Anyway, I must go find her. If you see her, please find me right away.” She hurried off, leaving Stan and Ray staring after her.
    â€œWhat’s Betty so frantic about finding Helga for? The ceremony isn’t in danger of starting without her.” Ray looked at his watch. “Although we are getting close. Holy smokes,” he interrupted himself. “Is that Arthur Pierce?”
    Stan turned to see Cyril and his dad engaged in a serious discussion under a tree. “I think so. Cyril called him dad.”
    â€œWell, of course it is. It’s wonderful to see him. They just had some devastating news.” He leaned close to Stan, and whispered, “Arthur has terminal cancer. Diagnosed just last month.”
    Stan made a sympathetic noise. Poor Cyril.
    â€œAnyway, I apologize. I sidetracked you. What’s got Betty so up in arms?”
    â€œThere was a strange episode with Helga’s daughter. She said something was wrong and we had to find her,” Stan explained.
    â€œAhh. Sarah?”
    Stan nodded. “What’s her deal? She seemed a little . . . spacey.”
    â€œShe does tend to appear that way,” Ray said. “But, actually, she’s a medium.”
    Stan’s eyes widened. “A real one?” That explained the energy comment.
    Ray pulled a pack of chewing gum out of his pocket, unwrapped a stick, and offered it to Stan. She declined. He