Eggs Benedict Arnold (43 page)

Once in a while, the Baby Lamb Club was even asked
by one of the nurses to knit a small burial gown, since the last thing on the minds of bereaved parents was finding
suitable clothing for their infant.

“
The club will use it to buy the very best yarns,
”
said Petra.
“
Alpaca, angora, cash
m
ere
, lamb
’
s wool...
”

“
You and your Baby Lamb Club friends are so kind and
unselfish,
”
said Suzanne. A tear oozed from the corner of her eye as she put an arm around her friend and gave a quick squeeze.

Petra smiled back, looking both sad and hopeful.
“
I
can
’
t stand the thought of a sick or dying infant not having
one item that
’
s been crafted with love.
”

“
Ye
gadz!
”
exclaimed Toni, as she banged through the swinging door into the kitchen.
“
The tent
’
s up and billowing and the tables and chairs are being unloaded.
”

“
How
’
s it all look?
”
asked Suzanne.

“
Like the Ringling Bromers Barnum and Bailey Circus
just lurched into town,
”
said Toni with a laugh.

“
That
’
s because it
is
a circus here,
”
added Petra.
“
All we
need is a dancing bear.
”
She barked a sharp laugh.
“
Maybe
we could get Doogie to step in.
”

“
I prefer to take the high road and think of our situa
tion as organized chaos,
”
said Toni.
“
But, please, will you two stop worrying? After lunch I
’
m going to check in with
all our volunteers and cake-decorating people to make sure
they
’
re locked and loaded for tomorrow.
”

“
Maybe I should stay and help?
”
said Suzanne, hopefully.

“
Not on your life!
”
shouted Toni.
“
No way you
’
re chick
ening out of modeling today. And you better believe we
’
re
going to demand a full report on your runway activities!
”

“
Toni
’
s right,
”
said Petra.
“
The opening of Alchemy is a
milestone for Kindred. It
’
s a big deal.
”

“
Our Take the Cake Show is a big deal, too,
”
said Suzanne.

“
I know,
”
said Petra,
“
but the boutique is
different.

Kind
of a watershed moment for our little town to be suddenly thrust into the mainstream of fashion.
”

“
We
’
ll see about that,
”
said Suzanne, wondering if liquid leggings and Ed Hardy T-shirts really were that big a deal.

Suzanne
was still worrying about Anson Dillworth as well as her modeling gig when she printed the luncheon
offerings on the board. Lentil soup, coconut shrimp, lemon
dill egg salad, chicken croquettes, and chocolate flapjacks.

Two farmers in plaid shirts, sitting at the marble coun
ter, watched carefully.

“
Is that croquet?
”
asked the first one.
“
Like with mallets
and balls?
”

“
Couldn
’
t be,
”
the second sniggered.

“
Croquettes,
”
said Suzanne.
“
Like with chopped chicken and onions made into little patties and fried to a toasty brown.
”

Suzanne moved about the Cackleberry Club, taking orders, keeping a watchful eye on the clock. She wanted to get to the Super 8 before one o
’
clock, checkout time.

“
I talked to Margie Gregory with the VA,
”
Petra told Su
zanne, when she ducked back into the kitchen.
“
She says
there
’
s a halfway house for veterans in Jessup. Place called
Honor House. It
’
s transitional, not permanent, but if you can
get your guy over there, they
’
ll do what they can to help.
”

“
That
’
s wonderful news,
”
breathed
Suzanne.
“
I
’
ll drive Dil there today.
”
She glanced around.
“
Now, if you think you can make do without me ...
”

“
Go right ahead,
”
murmured Toni, who was standing at the grill, humming and gently turning chicken croquettes.
“
Man, I
’
ve got a bad case of stuck song syndrome.
You
know . . . when you get a song whirling around in your brain and it just keeps playing over and over?
”

“
I hate when that happens,
”
said Petra.
“
Once I had the
Gilligan
‘
s Island
theme song in my head for two days. I thought I
’
d have to get electroshock therapy just to get rid of it.
”

“
Delete the old hard drive,
”
said Suzanne with a laugh.

“
Remember how simple TV was back in the sixties?
”
Petra asked.
“
Every show had an opening song that basically told the gist of the story.
”

“
Oh my gosh, you
’
re right,
”
said Suzanne.
“
Like . . .
‘
Here
’
s a story of a lovely lady who was bringing up three
very lovely girls.
’
And
‘
Just sit right back and you
’
ll hear a tale ...
’
“

“
Don
’
t!
”
shrieked Petra, covering both ears.

“
Look at you,
”
Toni said to Suzanne.
“
Not nervous about modeling anymore.
”

“
Oh, I
’
m nervous,
”
said Suzanne.
“
You don
’
t see it, but I
’
m schvitzing like crazy.
”

“
Hey,
”
said Toni.
“
You know who else is modeling?
”

Suzanne shook her head.
“
Who?
”

“
Barbara Welch from the feed store.
”
Toni flashed a slightly wicked grin.

“
Seriously?
”
Suzanne recalled Barbara as being rather short and beamy.

“
See?
”
said Toni,
“
you don
’
t have a thing to worry about. You
’
ll look like Heidi Klum next to her!
”

“
No,
”
said Suzanne,
“
I
’
m just afraid I
’
ll look like Heidi Clodhopper!
”

Twenty
minutes later Suzanne pulled her car into a parking spot outside room twelve at the Super 8 Motel.
She
knocked on the door, got no answer, knocked again. After
ten minutes of banging, she went to the office and asked the
young girl at the front desk if she knew what was up with
the guest in room twelve.

“
Oh, he checked out,
”
said the girl. She sat on a high stool, her knees tucked up, chewing gum and watching a grainy black-and-white TV.

“
Checked out,
”
repeated Suzanne.

The girl nodded.
“
Guy walked in, laid the key on the counter, and walked out again.
”

“
Just like that,
”
said Suzanne. She could see the key for
room twelve hanging on the board in back of the girl.

The girl snapped her gum viciously and nodded.
“
Yup.
”

“
When did this happen?
”

The girl switched her gaze from the TV to a large
black-and-white clock that was protected by a silver grate.
“
Maybe ... oh ... forty-five minutes ago.
”

“
You know where he went?
”

“
Nope.
”

“
Okay ... thanks,
”
said Suzanne.

She walked out of the office, stood in the gravel parking lot, and looked around speculatively. Out on the road, a thin stream of cars crawled by, but she could see no one walking away from the Super 8.

Rats.

Chapter twenty five

Carmen
Copeland
’
s fashion show was Suzanne
’
s worst nightmare realized in the flesh. First there was the scene
in the changing room. At least two dozen waifs, in various stages of undress, wiggled and giggled and squirmed their
youthful
bodies
into cute little outfits, the operative word
being
little.
Suzanne decided that Carmen hadn
’
t heard the
news
—heralded on CNN and FOX, and even trumpeted
by Oprah—that the average U.S. woman now wore a size
fourteen.

No, she decided, stealing glances at all the skinny, midget,
waif girls, Carmen didn
’
t have a semblance of a clue.

Who were all these little women? Suzanne wondered.
What planet did they come from? Did they disembark from
a space ship or the death star Anorexia?

“
Suzanne!
”
squealed Missy,
“
you
’
re
finally
here!
”
Dressed in a long, black, skinny dress, her hair pulled back
in a severe bun, Missy was barely recognizable to Suzanne.
Her peaches-and-cream complexion had been replaced with streaks of wine-colored blusher, sooty eye shadow
circled her eyes, and a gash of dark lipstick delineated her mouth. Her lush figure seemed to be reined in by a tortur
ous body shaper.