Eggs Benedict Arnold (3 page)

As that thought popped into her head like a bubble above a cartoon drawing, there was a sudden, sharp snap, like a freshly laundered towel jerking on a clothesline. A soft shuffle sounded behind Suzanne, then a cold, wet, foul-smelling rag was clamped viciously across her nose and mouth.

Throwing up her hands in protest, the pie flipped end over end and crashed to the floor. Struggling blindly, not thinking clearly now, Suzanne inhaled sharply and involuntarily
breathed
in the prickly chemical that soaked the
rag. Her heart lurched painfully in her chest and her lungs
burned like hot coals. Staggering drunkenly, Suzanne
’
s spinning mind spat out a single word:
Camphor?

Then her head was filled with the drone of a thousand angry hornets and her knees began to buckle like a cheap card table.

No . . . chloroform,
was Suzanne
’
s last semi-lucid
thought as blackness descended and she crumpled atop the
ruined cherry pie.

Chapter Two

“
Breathe
deeply,
”
urged a voice from above her. Suzanne
’
s eyes fluttered wildly for a few moments, then
peeped open. And Suzanne found herself gazing up into the face of a kindly-looking EMT wearing a blue uniform with
a red-and-white patch. He was young and good-looking,
with an olive complexion and curly, dark hair.

When did EMTs get so young?
Suzanne wondered to herself.
And when did I start thinking guys in their early thirties were young?

That brought a semblance of a giggle mixed with a few
hiccups.

“
She
’
s coming around,
”
said Petra.

At hearing her friend
’
s calming voice, Suzanne lifted
her head. Not a great idea. Her brain was still spinning like a centrifuge even though her body was laid out flat on the
floor, right where she
’
d fallen.

Cotton in my head,
Suzanne thought, crazily.
And bright
red cherry pie all over the floor.

The EMT, whose name tag read J. Jellen, held a plastic mask to Suzanne
’
s mouth and smiled encouragingly.
“
Breathe,
”
he instructed.

Suzanne fought to bat the mask away.

“
It
’
s only oxygen,
”
Jellen told her, calmly.
“
Help clear your head.
”

“
Breathe the Os, honey,
”
Petra pleaded, kneeling down
next to her.

Suzanne
breathed
in deeply and, a few moments later, really did feel better. She relaxed, inhaled a few more Os,
then raised a hand and pushed the mask aside.
“
What hap
pened?
”
she asked Petra.
“
How did you get here?
”

“
When you didn
’
t come back right away, I sent Sheriff
Doogie over to check on you,
”
explained Petra.
“
He
’
d been
hanging around the park, snarfing down hot dogs and cook
ies. After he left, and when I saw the ambulance heading
over there
—Doogie must have found you and called for it right away—I came running. Like the proverbial cavalry.
”
Petra put a hand to her ample chest.
“
Well, a cavalry that walks awful darn fast, anyway.
”

“
Doogie
’
s here?
”
asked Suzanne, struggling to sit up.

Petra nodded.
“
And a deputy.
”
She peered anxiously at
Suzanne.
“
How much do you remember, honey?
”

It was starting to come back to her now. Suzanne touched a hand to her head and sighed deeply.
“
Oh man. Ozzie ... ?
”

Petra gave a solemn shake of her head.

“
Dead?
”
asked Suzanne. Her mouth felt parched.

“
Afraid so,
”
Petra whispered.

Suzanne pushed herself into a sitting position, gritted her
teeth as her head spun wildly, then struggled to get her legs
under her. The paramedic, Jellen, curved an arm around her
waist and asked,
“
You sure you want to do this?
”

Suzanne nodded and suddenly found herself being lifted
with ease by the helpful paramedic. She continued to stare
down at the floor for a long moment, noting the sticky smear of cherry pie and a flattened hunk of golden crust
that seemed to carry the partial imprint of a shoe. Then she
raised her eyes.

Ozzie was still lying there, of course. That harsh reality hadn
’
t changed one iota. But now Sheriff Roy Doogie and his young deputy, Wilbur Halpern, were circling the metal table like coyotes surveying roadkill. Another fellow, George Draper, the Draper of Driesden and Draper, was standing there with them, making nervous, futile hand gestures. Obviously, Draper had been summoned posthaste.

“
Killed himself,
”
said the deputy. He shook his head
even as he hooked both fingers in his belt in a kind of post
mortem show of disapproval.

Sheriff Doogie, a big bear of a man in rumpled khaki, turned toward George Draper, Ozzie
’
s partner, now the sole owner of Driesden and Draper.
“
Had he been depressed?
”

Draper, who was tall, gangly, slightly stooped, and looked like
he
might be suffering a mild bout of depression, gave a slightly furtive shrug.
“
Maybe. A little bit.
”

“
What are you talking about?
”
Suzanne suddenly croaked as she staggered toward them. She was fighting mightily to get her feet and legs to coordinate with her brain. But walking a straight line wasn
’
t easy.

Sheriff Roy Doogie shifted his bulk and bobbed his
head at Suzanne. He was the duly elected sheriff of Logan county and had been in office for more than a dozen years.
With his meaty face, cap of gray hair, and rattlesnake eyes, Doogie only looked slow-moving. Truth was, not much got
past him.

“
You feeling better now, Suzanne?
”
Doogie asked as she continued to wobble toward him.
“
You must
’
ve had quite a start, seeing poor Ozzie like this. No wonder you fainted dead away.
”

“
I didn
’
t faint,
”
Suzanne protested.
“
I
’
ve never fainted in my life.
”

The young deputy let loose a slightly derisive snort.
“
Then how come you was sprawled on the floor?
”

“
If you give me a minute, instead of jumping to conclu
sions,
”
snapped Suzanne,
“
I
’
ll tell you.
”

“
Tell us what?
”
asked Doogie. A frown and something
else . . . curiosity? . . . had insinuated itself on his lined face.

“
Someone attacked me!
”
Suzanne told him in a rush.
“
From behind. Clamped some kind of damp clo
th
over my
mouth and ... and ...
drugged
me!
”
She touched the back
of her hand to her head, trying to recall the exact sequence
of events. But everything was still fuzzy, like a long-ago dream that could only be remembered in disjointed fragments.

“
Huh?
”
said the deputy.

“
What are you sayin
’
?
”
asked Doogie. His jowls sloshed
vigorously as he stared at Suzanne, his eyes suddenly wide
with surprise.

“
I came back here to deliver Ozzie
’
s pie,
”
explained Su
zanne,
“
and
th
at
’
s when I saw him. Just...
”
Suzanne grimaced as she glanced past Doogie.
“
... just lying there.
”

“
Was he dead?
”
Sheriff Doogie asked.

“
I don
’
t know,
”
said Suzanne.
“
Well, I
suppose
he was. I mean, he must have been. He was all white and waxy-
looking, just like he is now.
”
She felt hot tears prickle her eyes, but fought to keep them back. Men were funny about
tears: Disdainful really. If she could keep the waterworks
under control for the time being, her story would carry far
more credibility. Suzanne tried to emphasize the chain of
events with another hopefully cohesive statement:
“
Before
I had time to react and really get a decent look, someone
grabbed me from behind and slapped a rag across my face.
Drugged me,
”
she added again, for emphasis.

Sheriff Doogie seemed to be having trouble comprehending all this.
“
You mean they chloroformed you?
”

“
I don
’
t know if that
’
s the technical term,
”
said Suzanne,
starting to feel a little frustrated,
“
but yes. Someone chloroformed me. Like a friggin
’
bug dropped inside a Mason jar for biology class.
”

Doogie snatched his modified Smokey Bear hat from his head and slapped it against his knee.
“
Heck you say!
”
Doogie still seemed reluctant to buy into Suzanne
’
s story.

“
Sheriff Roy Doogie!
”
said Petra, in her sternest, steeliest
voice.
“
You listen to Suzanne. She doesn
’
t make up stories!
”

Sheriff Doogie ushered them all into the small parlor, the unoccupied parlor, where they sat on lumpy couches and love seats and Suzanne told her story again. Slowly, filling in the details.

Doogie went over a few parts with her.
“
So when you
came in carrying the pie, the boxes were spilled all over.
”
It
was a statement, not a question.

“
Yes,
”
said Suzanne.
“
Like maybe there
’
d been a struggle.
”

“
And then you saw Ozzie. With the ...
”
Sheriff Doogie
pointed an index finger at his own forearm.
“
. . . with the thing ... the needle ... stuck in his arm.
”

“
Yes,
”
Suzanne said again.

Doogie
’
s lined face sagged.
“
Well, shit.
”

Suzanne glanced around the semicircle of somber faces.
“
He was murdered, wasn
’
t he?
”
she said. But she really wasn
’
t asking a question, either.

“
We don
’
t know that for sure,
”
said Doogie, still hedging.

“
Whoever attacked me had probably just murdered Ozzie,
”
Suzanne said, forcefully this time.

Petra, who was perched next to Suzanne, gripped her forearm tightly.

“
Wilbur,
”
said Doogie, glancing at his deputy.
“
Go out to the truck and fetch my kit.
”

Wilbur rose hastily and left the room.