Eggs Benedict Arnold (51 page)

Doogie cast his eyes downward and did everything but
dig his toe in the dirt.

“
Also,
”
said Suzanne,
“
I
’
m delighted you dropped by. I have a favor to ask.
”

“
What are you talkin
’
about?
”
asked Doogie.

“
I was wondering if you could lend your expertise and be a guest judge.
”

“
Guest judge?
”
said Doogie, looking faintly surprised.
“
For what?
”

“
You saw all the tents and people and cakes?
”

“
Yeah,
”
said Doogie,
“
I ain
’
t blind.
”

“
Well, I was hoping maybe you could help Petra judge
the cake-decorating contest. One of our judges cancelled at
the last minute.
”

That simple request seemed to throw Doogie for a loop.
“
Really? Cakes, huh?
”
He looped a finger through his belt.
“
Do I get to taste them?
”

It took all the fortitude Suzanne could muster not to smile.
“
No, but there
’
s going to be a cake social later on.

That
’
s a cake tasting of sorts. We
’
ll be serving up little sliv
ers of five or six different kinds of cake along with dabs of
ice cream and sorbet.
”

Doogie straightened up.
“
That sounds mighty good,
”
he
said, then glanced over toward Baxter.
“
What
’
s your dog sniffing at?
”

“
Coyotes,
”
Suzanne said, quickly.
“
Doggone things are
all over the place. Running wild.
”

“
Little pests,
”
agreed Doogie.

“
So let
’
s go get you a piece of cake,
”
Suzanne cajoled.
“
And then you can help with the judging. You
’
ll be a duly
elected official serving in the Cackleberry Club
’
s official capacity.
”

“
Yeah,
”
Doogie said, playing a little hard to get.
“
I
sup
pose
I could help out. But I gotta be out of here by three. I
’
m on my way to check some county records, then do a patrol.
”

“
This won
’
t take long,
”
Suzanne assured Doogie as she led him around to the front of the Cackleberry Club and into the large tent where Petra was hovering at the back, watching a silver-and-Tiffany-blue wedding cake take shape.
“
Look who I found,
”
Suzanne told Petra.
“
And it
’
s our good luck that Sheriff Doogie
’
s graciously agreed to help with the cake judging.
”

“
Wonderful,
”
trilled Petra.
“
Pleased you can lend your opinion, Sheriff. We have four dozen cakes already and there are more trickling in.
”
She fluttered her hands ner
vously at Suzanne.
“
Suzanne? Could you ... ? In the other
tent?
”

“
Of course,
”
said Suzanne. Together, she and Doogie
strolled into the other tent, where five of the six tables were
laden with cakes waiting to be judged.

“
All these cakes need to be judged?
”
asked Doogie.
He
seemed surprised and a little overwhelmed at the number of entries.

“
Well, there are only four basic categories,
”
said Suzanne.
“
So it
’
s not as tricky as it looks.
”

Doogie gazed across the sea of cakes toward the parking
lot, where a silver SUV was just pulling up. It rocked to a stop, then Missy climbed out the passenger side, followed by Earl from the driver
’
s side.
“
Huh,
”
was all Doogie said.

Suzanne watched Missy and Earl as they headed for the
demonstration tent.
“
Couldn
’
t you just sort of
talk
to Earl again?
”
she asked Doogie.
“
Question him?
”

“
What I
’
d really rather do is find that homeless guy who
’
s probably still squatting up in those caves,
”
replied Doogie.

“
Why?
”
asked Suzanne.

“
Because he was near the park last Sunday,
”
said Doogie, still following Earl and Missy with his eyes.
“
And he
’
s
been spotted around town.
”

“
I don
’
t think he
’
s your guy,
”
said Suzanne.

Doogie gave her a studious look.
“
Now why would you
say that?
”

Suzanne shrugged.
“
Call it a hunch? An instinct I have
about this whole thing?
”

Doogie planted his feet wide.
“
You
’
re not keeping some
thing from me, are you, Suzanne? Like when you scouted
that farmhouse of dopers?
”

She smiled at him, hoping her smile conveyed sweet in
nocence.
“
Nope.
”

Doogie stu
died
her for a moment.
“
Good. Because I
’
d sure hate to arrest you for obstructing justice.
”

“
I only want justice,
”
said Suzanne.

“
What people
want
and what people
do
are often two separate
matter
s,
”
said Doogie.

“
I couldn
’
t agree more,
”
said Suzanne.

“
Sheriff?
”
said Petra, coming up behind Doogie.
“
Are you ready to feast your eyes on a few cakes?
”

“
Ready as I
’
ll ever be, I guess,
”
said Doogie, as Petra took him by the arm and led him toward the table filled with decorated sheet cakes.

Whew,
was Suzanne
’
s only thought. She plopped down onto a folding chair, picked up a stack of entry forms, and
tamped them briskly on the table, straightening them.

“
Oh, Suzanne,
”
came a sugary voice.

Suzanne stared up into the hard, bright eyes of Carmen
Copeland.
What
’
s she doing here?
was her first thought. And then she spotted the cake Carmen was carrying. A compact, four-layer cake, frosted in luscious orchid-
colored frosting. It was covered with delicate green swirls
and twined with miniature Dendrobium orchids.

“
I
’
ve come to enter your cake-decorating contest,
”
Car
men said in a smooth voice.
“
See?
”
She placed her cake in front of Suzanne, looking infinitely pleased with her
self.
“
It just so happens I know a bit about baking and cake
decorating myself.
”

Suzanne stared at Carmen, a vision of sophistication in
her sleek, black shift and
m
at
ching emerald earrings, and then at her cake. Just like Carmen, the cake was sleek and gorgeous. A total knockout. In fact, it looked like some
thing a Park Avenue patisserie had created for a New York
high-society party. And Suzanne was pretty sure ... no, she was almost positive ... that Carmen Copeland had not
slaved in her kitchen all morning long, sifting flour, beating
eggs, baking and frosting her cake, then piping on swirls
and arranging live orchids with her own French-manicured
pinkies.

No, Suzanne figured Carmen had probably placed
a
discreet phone call, instructed some commercial baker to whip up this amazing creation, then nonchalantly charged it to her gold American Express card.

What if she wins?
was Suzanne
’
s next troubling thought.
It won
’
t be fair and we won
’
t know how to reward her.

“
Oh,
”
said Carmen, touching a delicate forefinger to the hollow at her neck.
“
Looks like the judging
’
s already started.
”

“
Actually, you just squeaked in,
”
said Suzanne, pushing
an entry form across the table to Carmen.
“
Fill this out and
we
’
ll get you registered.
”

Carmen pulled a Montblanc pen from her crocodile bag
and, in big swooping letters, completed her form.

“
Great,
”
said Suzanne, without much enthusiasm,
wondering if Carmen was going to scold and rebuke her
about the fashion show yesterday. Or demand she bring the
clothes back.
“
That should do it.
”

“
Dear,
”
said Carmen in a simpering, nattering tone.
“
Are
tickets still available for the gourmet dinner this evening?
”

“
Ah . . . you
’
d have to check with Toni,
”
said Suzanne. She tilted her head.
“
Inside.
”

Carmen slipped away with a whisper of Gucci-shod feet.

Rats,
thought Suzanne.
Carmen Copeland is the absolute last person I want at our winner
’
s dinner tonight.

Chapter twenty nine

But
it turned out Carmen wasn
’
t the only late entry. Just
as Suzanne was arranging registration forms in four neat piles, Nadine Carr rushed in, balancing her cake.

“
Did I make it?
”
Nadine asked, a little breathless.
“
Can
I still enter my cake?
”
She placed it carefully on the table
in front of Suzanne with a worried, anxious look.
“
Sorry
I
’
m so ... late.
”