Eggs Benedict Arnold (35 page)

“
Ah,
”
said Toni, grinning.
“
Le chocolat therapie.
Always a tried-and-true treatment.
”

“
Swiss, I think,
”
said Suzanne with a laugh.

By
ten o
’
clock Petra
’
s knitters began arriving in droves. Some of them hustled into the Knitting Nest, where doz
ens of extra chairs had been installed. The overflow set up
camp in the Book Nook. And a dozen or so knitters plopped
down at tables in the cafe where they ordered up coffee,
tea, muffins, scones, and slices of Foggy Morning
Soufflé
.

“
So all the knitters have sponsors?
”
Suzanne asked Petra
as she deftly plated breakfasts.

“
Right,
”
said Petra.
“
Kind of like the dog walk you participated in last spring,
”
said Petra.
“
You took pledges for
every mile you walked, right?
”

“
Sure,
”
said Suzanne. Although, after three miles, Bax
ter had pretty much made it clear he was bored out of his skull.

“
The Knit-In works almost the same way,
”
explained Petra.
“
All my knitters have sponsors who
’
ll pay so many cents for each row knitted.
”

“
That
’
s pretty cool,
”
said Suzanne, as she pulled a tin of
blueberry breakfast squares from the oven.

“
And then, once the items are finished ...
”

“
That
’
s right,
”
said Suzanne,
“
it
’
s all coming back to me now. Whew, guess I had a senior moment.
”

“
Happens to me all the time,
”
said Petra.

“
All done,
”
said Toni, bursting into the kitchen. She made a big show of dusting her hands.
“
I made the call.
”

“
I don
’
t want to know,
”
said Suzanne.

“
Neither do I,
”
said Petra.

“
Then mum
’
s the word,
”
said Toni, putting her thumb and index finger to her mouth and making a little zipping motion.

Just
before lunch, amidst the low hum of conversation and
gentle clacking of needles, Suzanne took a quick tour of
the Knit-In. And was charmed by what she saw. One knit
ter, who was curled up in a cozy armchair in the Knitting
Nest, was working away on a cranberry red cardigan with
cable accents down the front. Delicious!

Another knitter was using an almost iridescent green and
gold-flecked mohair yarn to knit a shawl-collar sweater.

In the Book Nook, Suzanne fell in love with an indigo
blue sweater vest with a generous flounce of ruffles down
the front. She wondered if she could ever learn that type of stitch, then quickly relegated it to that part of her brain
where she secretly nursed a desire to
parlez-vous Frangais,
take classes in ballroom dancing, and learn how to snow-
shoe
—none of which had come to pass yet. Petra
had
tried
to teach her to knit, but she hadn
’
t been the most gifted student.

“
Hey, Suzanne,
”
one knitter greeted her.
“
Grab a pair of
needles and join us.
”
Suzanne glanced over and recognized
Toby Baines, who worked part time at the phone company
and wrote a fun advice column for the
Bugle.
She was in
her mid-fifties with smiling brown eyes and shoulder-length
brown hair pulled back into a loose, low ponytail. Though
she didn
’
t wear a speck of makeup, her complexion was smooth, clear, and practically unlined.

“
Hey, Toby,
”
Suzanne said as she eased over to see what
she was working on.

“
Hasn
’
t Petra taught you how to knit yet?
”
Toby asked,
with a mischievous smile.

“
She tried, but I
’
m a poor student,
”
confessed Suzanne.
“
I
tried a couple times, then flunked out.
”

“
You didn
’
t flunk knitting class, you just flunked at
tendance,
”
Toby told her.
“
You didn
’
t put in enough time. There
is
a bit of practice involved, you know.
”

“
Probably right,
”
agreed Suzanne.

“
I heard about the other night,
”
said Toby, lowering her
voice.

“
About... ?
”
said Suzanne.

“
You finding that young man swinging from a tree. And,
of course, helping out the sheriff and all.
”

“
Who said I was helping Doogie?
”
asked Suzanne, her curiosity roused. Did everyone in Kindred know she was looking into things?

Toby gave a benign smile.
“
Oh, that
’
s just the talk
around town. You know how folks gossip.
”

Yes, she did.

“
And such an awful thing about Ozzie,
”
whispered Toby.
“
It
’
s very strange . . . two murders . . . two people who worked together . . .
”
Her voice trailed off as she seemed to gather her thoughts as well as her stitches.
“
People are
locking their doors at night, giving strangers an extra-wide
berth.
”

“
What else are people saying?
”
asked Suzanne.

“
Lots of speculation,
”
said Toby, as she continued
to
work on what was taking shape as a beret.
“
Of course, there
’
s always the chance the deaths aren
’
t connected.
”

“
Maybe not,
”
said Suzanne,
“
th
ough I
’
m still wondering why Bo Becker ended up at that abandoned church.
”

“
You
’
re a smart lady,
”
said Toby.
“
I
’
ll bet you figure it out.
”

Chapter twenty

Because
of the Knit-In, the luncheon menu at the Cackleberry Club was fairly simple. Cackling Chicken Salad, corn and red pepper pancakes, and green eggs and ham.

Nothing put a damper on customers, though. In addi
tion to the twenty-five knitters who
’
d poured in earlier, the
ladies
of the Cackleberry Club also found themselves with
a full seating by the time eleven thirty rolled around.

And wouldn
’
t you know it? Ozzie
’
s partner, George Draper, was one of them.

“
George,
”
said Suzanne, as she hastened to his table to take his order. She hadn
’
t known him all that well, had always referred to him as Mr. Draper. But since their terse
conversation following Ozzie
’
s funeral, it just seemed eas
ier to call him George.

“
Suzanne,
”
he said back to her. Obviously, they were on
the same wavelength.

“
I understand you
’
re thinking about leaving the business,
”
said Suzanne.

Draper hunched forward and puckered his lips.
“
Well...
perhaps.
”

“
What happened?
”
asked Suzanne.
“
What made you change your mind? Did Ray Lynch get to you? Were you threatened?
”

“
No, no,
”
said Draper, frowning slightly.
“
I
’
m just rethinking things. Getting my priorities straight.
”

“
And one of those priorities might be to accept the Roth
Funeral Home Consortium
’
s offer?
”

“
Could be,
”
Draper responded. He was trying to appear agreeable, but seemed unhappy deep down.

“
Sounds like you
’
re drinking the Kool-Aid, George.
”
Suzanne smiled at him, but not all that warmly.

“
Not at all,
”
said Draper.
“
Fact is, I
’
m entertaining an
other offer, too.
”
He managed a hoarse chuckle.
“
When it
rains it pours.
”

“
You
’
re talking about Carmen Copeland?
”
asked Suzanne.

George looked slightly taken aback.
“
How would you know about that?
”

“
Everybody knows about Carmen
’
s offer by now,
”
said Suzanne.
“
She
’
s probably Facebooking and Twittering her little head off.
”
And if someone hasn
’
t heard, Carmen will
make it a point to inform them personally.

Draper nodded.
“
Carmen told me her offer was pretty
spur-of-the-moment. That she was toying with the idea of opening some kind of bookstore or art gallery.
”

“
Is that so?
”
said Suzanne.
“
I heard restaurant.
”

“
Really,
”
said Draper, sounding surprised.

“
She
’
s quite the busy little bee,
”
said Suzanne.
“
Her clothing boutique, Alchemy, has its grand opening tomorrow.
”

“
Maybe Carmen
’
s trying to buy up the town,
”
said Draper, letting loose a weak chuckle.

That was one angle Suzanne hadn
’
t thought of. A rather
unpleasant angle at that. Carmenville.