Eggs Benedict Arnold (36 page)

Draper squinted at the chalkboard.
“
Does that really say
‘
green eggs and ham
’
?
”

“
Yes, but only the eggshells are actually green,
”
Suzanne
told him.
“
A lovely mint color. Laid by Araucana hens.
”

“
Mmm,
”
said Draper.
“
I think I
’
ll have the chicken salad.
”

“
Good choice,
”
said Suzanne, jotting the order down on
her order pad. But she wasn
’
t finished with George Draper
yet.
“
Have you spoken with Sheriff Doogie today?
”
she asked.

George shook his head. He seemed to sense where Su
zanne was going.

“
I know he
’
s been busy with the two murders ...
”
began
Suzanne.

Now George looked downright unhappy.
“
That
’
s all folks want to talk about. The murders.
”
His voice became a raspy whisper.
“
And both victims from Driesden and Draper...
”

“
Must make business rather difficult,
”
offered Suzanne.

George threw her a sharp glance.
“
Business? There hasn
’
t been any business, unless you count Ozzie.
”
He
curled his fingers around the side of the table as if to steady
himself.
“
I don
’
t know if I
’
m ever going to be able to conduct business in this town again.
”

“
Unless you sell out,
”
said Suzanne.
“
And isn
’
t it amaz
ing that the Roth Consortium is conveniently standing by?
”

“
I know what you
’
re saying,
”
said Draper,
“
but I still don
’
t believe they
’
d resort to murder. They
’
re a . . . well, the company has a solid reputation.
”

“
Still,
”
continued Suzanne,
“
the
y
’
re suspects. Of course,
not the only ones.
”

“
No,
”
allowed Draper.

“
I understand Sheriff Doogie questioned Earl Stensrud at some length,
”
said Suzanne.

“
Because of his connection to Missy Langston,
”
said
Draper.
“
And Missy
’
s former involvement with Ozzie.
”

“
Mmm,
”
said Suzanne.

“
But Earl
’
s involvement still feels like a long shot to me,
”
said Draper.
“
In fact, the only thing I
’
ve heard about Earl is that he
’
s contributing heavily to Mayor Mobley
’
s reelection campaign.
”

Suzanne nodded, thinking that a hefty campaign dona
tion might buy a guilty man a good deal of protection.

“
The last thing I heard from Sheriff Doogie,
”
said Draper,
“
was that he was looking for some homeless guy who was spotted in the park last Sunday.
”

“
I heard that, too,
”
said Suzanne, thinking about the guy
Petra had given a handout to.

“
So you see?
”
said Draper.
“
The wheels of justice turn
slowly, but they do turn.
”

“
Let
’
s hope so,
”
said Suzanne, flipping her order book closed and edging away from Draper.

Back in the kitchen, Suzanne called out,
“
Hey there,
”
to Petra.

“
Yes?
”
Petra, pepper shaker in hand, was liberally sea
soning the chicken salad.

“
You remember that homeless guy who stopped by here
yesterday? The one you gave the sandwiches to?
”

Petra set down the pepper and grabbed for the salt.
“
Uh-
huh.
”
She let fly a couple of quick sprinkles.

“
Do you remember what he looked like?
”

Petra wrinkled her nose.
“
Oh gosh, not really.
”

“
Think hard,
”
said Suzanne.

“
Well,
”
said Petra, wiping her hands on her blue-checked
apron,
“
for one thing, he was sad and ragged-looking. And
definitely seemed hungry.
”

“
Okay,
”
said Suzanne.
“
What else did you notice about
him?
”

Petra thought for a couple of moments, then gave a sad
smile.
“
His skin looked awfully weathered and worn and
he wore a faded green jacket, kind of like an army jacket.
”
She paused.
“
Now that I think about it, I suppose that
’
s why I felt so sorry for him. Because I thought he might be a veteran.
”
A shadow crossed Petra
’
s face.
“
Donny was a veteran, you know. Served two tours in Vietnam starting
with the Tet Offensive. The doctors at the VA won
’
t admit
it, of course, but I think the chemicals, the so-called rainbow herbicides they used over there, are to blame for his Alzheimer
’
s.
”

“
I know you do, honey,
”
said Suzanne.
“
And I don
’
t think you
’
re far from wrong.
”
She paused.
“
Anything else come to mind about this guy you saw?
”

Petra shook her head.
“
Nope.
”
She slid her hand into
an oven mitt, pulled open the oven door, grabbed a pan of
oatmeal muffins.

“
Okay,
”
said Suzanne.
“
You
’
ve been a big help.
”

“
Is that homeless guy a suspect in the murders?
”
Petra asked.

“
I don
’
t know,
”
said Suzanne.
“
Maybe.
”

“
Too bad,
”
said Petra.
“
He seemed awfully despondent
and . . . vulnerable.
”
She tumbled the steaming muffins onto a bright orange Fiesta platter, righted them, then arranged them in a tight cluster.

“
He could still be a killer,
”
said Suzanne.

“
I suppose,
”
said Petra. She balanced the plate in one
hand, then handed it to Suzanne.
“
You want to put these in
the case out front?
”

“
Sure,
”
said Suzanne. She grabbed the plate, turned, and
bumped against the swinging door with her right hip.

“
Oh,
”
Petra called after her,
“
you know what? There is
another thing.
”

Suzanne stopped short.
“
What
’
s that?
”

Petra touched a tentative hand to her blouse, as if that small act helped her to remember.
“
I think there was a name stenciled on his jacket.
”

“
You remember what it was?
”

“
Maybe something like ... Dilley or Dillon?
”

The
Knit-In was still going strong. Leticia Sprague, who
lived outside Jessup and raised her own sheep and alpacas,
showed up with a basket full of her wonderful, lustrous yarns. A throwback to a simpler, more hands-on era, Le
ticia sheared her animals herself, spun her own yarn, then
hand-dyed the fibers. When she announced that some of her precious yarns were for sale, a joyful hubbub ensued and they were gone in about half a minute.

With lunch almost finished, Petra finally stepped out of
the kitchen to honcho the Knit-In, while Toni schmoozed, served desserts, and rang up customers at the checkout.

Feeling guilty, Suzanne ducked out the back door, head
ing for her fitting at Alchemy. As she dashed for her car, big fat raindrops splattered down, kicking up the dust like
a spray of bullets. She prayed the bad weather would blow
over for the weekend.

Chapter twenty one

Just
as Suzanne scrambled from her car, obsessing about
how she was going to squeeze her bod into a tiny camisole or
supertight miniskirt, Mayor Mobley waylaid her. He planted
his stocky body on the pitted sidewalk outside Alchemy and
grinned crookedly like some weird Easter Island statue.

“
I hope I can count on your vote this election, Suzanne,
”
he said in a flinty voice.

Suzanne fixed him with a cool smile.
“
Voting
’
s a private
matter
, Mayor.
”
And none of your frickin
’
business.

“
I understand that,
”
said Mobley,
“
but I also believe in
asking people for their support.
”

“
I can see that,
”
said Suzanne.

“
No harm in campaigning,
”
said Mobley. Now his voice
was raised in a false hearty bray.

“
Mmm,
”
responded Suzanne.

Mobley curled a lip and nattered on.
“
Doogie
’
s up for reelection, too, you know. But I
’
m fairly certain that if he drops the ball on these two murder investigations, it
’
ll be the end of him.
”

“
I have faith in Sheriff Doogie,
”
said Suzanne.

“
You and about two other people in Kindred,
”
came
Mobley
’
s hard laugh.