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bad for them.”
     She looked at Jake. “Was he really the type of guy someone could stab like that? In
     his own yard?”
    “That’s a good question,” Jake said. “Hal was a unique guy. You either loved or you
     hated him. And plenty of people hated him.”

Chapter 5
    Stan woke mere hours later to a giant face inches from her own, eyes boring into her
     like they were trying to suck out her brain. This was followed by a paw hovering over
     her nose. She rolled away and came face to face with two more sets of eyes—one glaring,
     the other innocently blinking.
    Ugh. Saturday morning already. She was exhausted. And a glance at her Zen alarm clock
     next to the bed told her she had good reason to be. It was only seven. She hadn’t
     gone to bed until nearly four.
    “What, are you all ganging up on me?” She pushed herself up on one elbow and surveyed
     her audience. Henry had now put both front paws on the bed and pushed his head closer,
     trying to nuzzle her arm. Nutty, owner of the glaring eyes, stayed where he was, conveying
     his displeasure at having to wait for breakfast. Scruffy snorted and rolled over on
     her back, kicking her pretty little paws up in a plea. How quickly they forgot they
     had eaten less than four hours ago.
    “Okay, I get it, I get it. You’re hungry. And you two have to go out,” Stan said to
     the dogs. Scruffy woo-wooed in agreement. Henry sat back down and howled.
    Stan looked at Nutty. He returned her stare. His gaze seemed reproachful, his flicking
     tail saying, Why did you have to bring these dogs here? They’re so loud. And now I’ll have to wait
     for my breakfast.
    Reaching over, Stan stroked him, all the way to the tip of his tail. “Ah, come on,”
     she said. “You know you love them. Well, at least Scruffy. Henry’s growing on you.”
    Nutty turned his head and jumped onto his window bed. Crossed his paws and put his
     head on them.
    “You can deny it all you want, but it’s true.” Stan tossed the covers off and swung
     her legs over the side of the bed. With one hand she scratched Scruffy’s belly; with
     the other, she rubbed Henry’s head. She understood Nutty’s position, even though a
     lot was bravado. But so far, Henry had been nothing but deferential to his feline
     counterpart. Stan figured Nutty would keep the game going until Henry unequivocally
     got the message: Nutty was in charge. The posturing had to last in case Henry was
     slow.
    It had been just the two of them, Stan and Nutty, when they’d moved to Frog Ledge
     in June. Nutty had wandered into Stan’s life a few years back as an injured stray
     cat when she lived in her condo in West Hartford. He had parked himself on the lawn
     until she went out to investigate. A visit to the vet revealed Nutty had possibly
     been hit by a car, so Stan had taken him in and nursed him back to health. He also
     suffered from irritable bowel disease, which had triggered Stan’s interest in baking
     homemade treats and preparing food for him. They’d decided they liked each other,
     his homemade diet improved his health, and they had gone on to live happily ever after,
     so far.
    Now, a mere four months after moving to Frog Ledge, their family had doubled with
     Scruffy first, then Henry. Scruffy was a southern transport who stole Stan’s heart.
     Henry had claimed Stan after he tasted her homemade treats when they’d met at the
     pound. The brown pit bull with the white spot on his face was a muffin. Stan had subsequently
     learned the depth of his loyalty during a hairy situation. After that, she couldn’t
     leave him languishing there, homeless.
    “Let’s go, then.” She stepped into her furry pink slippers and pulled a sweatshirt
     over her pajamas. It was chilly today. She herded the dogs out the back door and headed
     into the kitchen to make coffee.
    Stan loaded organic beans from Izzy Sweet’s Sweets, the local coffee and chocolate
     shop, into her grinder. She filled up the water, popped a