Eggs Benedict Arnold (42 page)

Suzanne woke up a little more, remembering there weren
’
t such things as ghosts roaming about. Just... dangerous people.

Climbing out of bed, Suzanne tiptoed to the window, the
Chinese carpet feeling warm and smooth underfoot. She
pressed her face to the cool glass and looked down into the
backyard.

Nothing.

She sighed, turned, and eyed the bed. Overwhelmed by
fatigue, she desperately wanted to slide back under that mound of feathery covers.

But... she
’
d heard
something.

Padding silently downstairs, Suzanne paused on the landing to try to get a sense of things, to figure out what person or thing had disrupted her sleep, had pierced the membrane of calm in her house. The antique clock in the hallway ticked steadfastly away. The faint, mechanical hum of the refrigerator reassured her.

Still...

Suzanne came all the way downstairs, turned, wandered
through the living room. A faint blue light from a button
on the TV cast an eerie glow as harmless shadows loomed
up at her.

When she got to the kitchen, Suzanne paused and looked around. Nobody in the house. But, like an animal whose guard hairs have been riffled, she had the sensa
tion that
something
had gone on. Moving to the back door,
she peered out into the backyard again. Dark, quiet, nary a
thing moving.

Maybe she
’
d heard a raccoon tippy-tapping at a garbage
can lid? One of the neighborhood
’
s masked bandits on a nighttime errand?

Suzanne gave a low snort, was about to turn, when, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flutter of something.

What?

Her hand crept up to the super-duty Schlage lock she
’
d
installed on the back door, hesitated for just a moment, then
turned the latch. Pulling open the door, Suzanne stared at a piece of paper that had been taped to the outside storm door.

She drew a quick breath, opened that door, snatched the paper, slammed both doors, and clicked the lock. All in the
space of about two seconds.

Carrying the piece of paper with both hands, Suzanne walked over to the stove, punched on the night light, laid the paper down,
smoothed
it out.

It was a typed note. Probably composed on an old-fash
ioned typewriter. All it said was
Back Off.

Chapter twenty four

“
Who
do you think left the note?
”
asked Toni. It was Flapjack Friday at the Cackleberry Club and they were all in the kitchen, shredding potatoes, pulling tins of muffins from the oven, stirring pancake batter, pondering Suzanne
’
s rather amazing account of her encounter with
the mysterious Dil last night and her subsequent discovery
of the note taped to her door.

“
I
’
ve no clue about the note,
”
Suzanne told them. She
’
d moved on from shredding potatoes to frosting cinnamon
rolls.
“
Could have been anybody. Between George Draper,
Earl Stensrud, Ray Lynch, and those two drug dealers, seems like we
’
ve got a whole cast of suspects.
”

“
Don
’
t forget Missy,
”
said Petra.

“
Missy ...
”
said Suzanne.

“
I thought the drug guys were in custody,
”
said Toni.

“
They probably still are,
”
said Suzanne, licking a bit of
frosting from her thumb.
“
So, okay, that narrows the list somewhat.
”

“
Well,
”
said Petra, looking nervous as she added golden
raisins and chopped walnuts to her pancake batter,
“
the
note was obviously from someone who knows you
’
ve been
investigating.
”

“
Which is pretty much everybody in Kindred,
”
added Toni. She draped an apron over her hot pink T-shirt and
blue jeans, piled her hair on top of her head, and popped
on a pink scrunchie.

“
You haven
’
t been all that subtle,
”
she
told Suzanne as she washed her hands at the sink.
“
Asking
questions and all.
”

“
I thought I was the height of discretion,
”
said Suzanne,
rolling her eyes.

“
What I want to know,
”
said Petra,
“
is what you plan to
do with Anson Dillworth?
”

“
Talk to him, for one thing,
”
said Suzanne.
“
I get the
feeling that he saw something or knows more than he
’
s let
ting on.
”

“
Maybe you should turn him over to Doogie,
”
said Petra.

“
In this particular case,
”
said Suzanne,
“
I
’
m not sure I trust Doogie
’
s interviewing skills.
”

“
More like interrogating skills,
”
said Toni.
“
If you turn
him in and . . . say . . . nothing comes of it, Doogie might still lock your guy up as a vagrant.
”

“
Now that I think about it,
”
said Petra,
“
there
’
s another
scenario. A bad one.
”

“
What?
”
asked Toni.

Petra wiped her hands on her apron.
“
If Doogie
’
s des
perate to find a fall guy, he could browbeat this Dil fellow
into confessing to Ozzie
’
s and Bo
’
s murders.
”

“
I wouldn
’
t put it past Doogie,
”
said Toni,
“
since the
entire town is breathing down his neck, hoping for a break
in the two cases.
”

“
I just don
’
t believe Dil was involved,
”
said Suzanne.
“
And there
’
s no evidence, even circumstantial, that would
link him.
”

“
Hah!
”
said Toni.
“
When did Doogie ever need evidence?
”

“
Toni
’
s right,
”
said Petra.
“
You need a plan.
”

“
An escape plan,
”
said Toni.
“
Get your poor sol
di
e
r boy
out of town fast.
”

“
What I
’
d like to do,
”
said Suzanne,
“
is hook him up with some sort of veterans
’
group.
”
She glanced at Petra.
“
You know any groups that might lend a hand?
”

“
Not personally,
”
said Petra,
“
but Donny
’
s case worker
at the VA might be able to put us in touch with one. I could
give her a call.
”

“
Would you?
”
asked Suzanne.
“
I
’
d really appreciate it.
”

“
What a crazy week,
”
lamented Petra.
“
Murders, book signings, the Knit-In, and now we
’
ve got Take the Cake happening tomorrow.
”

“
Along with our gourmet dinner,
”
Toni pointed out.
“
And Suzanne
’
s gotta go strut her stuff this afternoon!
”

“
Wish I didn
’
t,
”
muttered Suzanne. There was way too
much going on in her head as well as her life.

“
We
’
re never going to get all this done!
”
exclaimed Petra, suddenly looking frustrated.

“
You know what they say,
”
joked Toni.
“
If life hands you lemons, get a receipt!
”

“
One good thing,
”
said Suzanne, pulling back a chintz
curtain and gazing out the window,
“
is that the sun is starting to come out. And, oh .. . hey, here
’
s the truck with the
tents and chairs, I think.
”

“
Excellent!
”
said Toni.
“
I
’
ll run out and show them where to set up.
”

“
Hang on a minute!
”
exclaimed Petra.
“
Group hug and a prayer, okay? I
th
ink we could all use it.
”

The three of them linked hands and bowed their heads.

“
Dear Lord,
”
began Petra,
“
be with us today and bestow
upon us Your gifts of peace, serenity, and wisdom.
”

“
And dear Lord,
”
added Toni,
“
please, especially, give me patience. And if I could
GET IT RIGHT NOW,
it sure
would help!
”

“
Amen,
”
said Petra, shaking her head, as Toni dashed out the door.

Suzanne
was busy then, as customers began piling into the Cackleberry Club. She took orders, hustled them back
to Petra, delivered breakfasts, and poured refills on coffee
and tea.

When things finally settled down, Suzanne brewed her
self a quick cup of Earl Grey tea and hovered in the kitchen
near Petra, who was pouring batter into various-sized cake
pans, getting ready for a marathon bake.

“
How much money did you raise yesterday?
”
Suzanne
asked her.
“
From the Knit-In?
”

“
Almost two thousand dollars,
”
said Petra, pouring bat
ter into three five-inch-round pans.

“
Whatcha going to use the money for?
”

“
We all voted to donate it to the Baby Lamb Club,
”
said
Petra.

“
Lovely,
”
whispered Suzanne. The Baby Lamb Club was
a small band of dedicated women who knitted tiny hats, booties, and blankets for pre
m
at
ure babies as well as criti
cally ill infants. These tiny knitted treasures were distributed in the neonatal and PICU units at nearby hospitals.