Eggs in a Casket (A Cackleberry Club Mystery) (17 page)

“So what killed him, then?” asked Suzanne, puzzled.

“We don’t have conclusive evidence, since we don’t have all the test results. But I have a rather intriguing theory for the actual cause of death. Really, a fairly straightforward theory.”

“Tell me,” said Suzanne. Now she was hanging on his every word.

“After Drummond was Tasered and fairly incapacitated, I think someone held a plastic bag over his nose and mouth.”

Suzanne’s hand inadvertently went to her own mouth. “That’s awful!” She could almost feel a burning sensation in her lungs. “And then his heart went into arrhythmia?”

“Probably.”

“Does Doogie know all this? I mean, you shared your theory?”

“I did,” said Sam. “We had a confab with him earlier this afternoon.”

“And then Doogie got a search warrant and went to Missy’s apartment,” Suzanne said bitterly.

“My guess is he probably had one already, he just hadn’t executed it yet. Was holding off, I guess.”

“But your information really didn’t point toward Missy,” said Suzanne.

Sam shook his head. “Not really.”

“So Doogie bulldozed his way into her apartment and discovered a Taser. Hmm.” Suzanne took a sip of wine and rolled it around inside her mouth, thinking.

“There’s more,” said Sam. “More about the autopsy, I mean.”

Suzanne’s mind suddenly leapt to the last time she’d seen Drummond. Alive, that is. He’d acted frazzled, angry, and hopped up. “Drugs,” she said suddenly. “He was taking drugs.”

Sam cocked a finger at her. “Bingo.”

“What kind?”

“It’s way too early to tell. But something unusual, since it didn’t show up on the first tox screen.”

“When will you know?” Suzanne asked.

Sam shrugged. “Another few days. A week at the most, depending on how backed up the state lab is.”

Suzanne looked at him with a penetrating gaze. “Keep me in the loop, will you?”

“Sweetheart,” said Sam, leaning in close to her, “I’d rather keep you safe.”

NERVES
fizzing, shoulders hunched forward, eyes darting from side to side as if she were casing the joint, Suzanne pushed her way through the double doors of the Law Enforcement Center. She’d been to this building many times before, but never for official business that meant posting bail for a friend and springing her out of jail!

Suzanne’s pumps clicked efficiently against the marble floor as she hurried along. She’d dressed with care today in a navy blue suit with a sedate white blouse underneath and a string of small white pearls draped professionally about her neck. She hoped her formal business attire made her look competent and maybe even a little intimidating. Like she’d just walked out of a Wall Street firm and sealed the biggest deal since the financial crisis!

Luckily, before she was forced to intimidate anyone, Missy’s attorney, Harry Jankovich, appeared in the hallway and hailed her.

“Suzanne?” Jankovich, in a pin-striped suit and clutching an overstuffed briefcase, looked expectant but friendly as he stuck out a hand.

Suzanne shook his hand firmly. “Mr. Jankovich, has Missy been arraigned yet?” she asked directly. She saw no need for idle pleasantries, since this wasn’t a pleasant situation—but she was careful to stay on the right side of rudeness, too.

Jankovich gave an affirmative nod. “That’s right, it’s over and done with already.” He was short and portly with a ruddy, red face. But it was also a kind face.

“That was awfully speedy, wasn’t it?” Suzanne said. She’d never known the wheels of justice—good, bad, or indifferent—to turn quite that fast.

“I think Sheriff Doogie . . . ah . . . facilitated a few things,” Jankovich told her.

Suzanne shook her head in bewilderment. “First he arrests Missy—and then he greases the skids and arranges special treatment.” It didn’t make sense. Then again, this whole situation was most peculiar. “So . . . what do we do now?”

“Now we pay her bail,” said Jankovich.

“What’s her bail set at?”

Jankovich shepherded her into a nearby office. “Fifty thousand dollars,” he said crisply. “But the court only requires you to post ten percent.” He stepped to the counter and had a mumbled conversation with a stern-looking woman who sat behind a sturdy set of bars. When she passed him a set of papers, he looked them over hastily and said, “Suzanne?” He stepped aside so she could slide in next to him. He pointed to two red
X
s. “You need to sign here and here.”

“Oh dear,” said Suzanne.

Jankovich dug in his jacket pocket. “Need a pen?”

* * *

TWENTY-FIVE
minutes later, the transaction completed, Suzanne and Missy walked out of the Law Enforcement Center.

Head down, shoulders slumped, her long blond hair looking clumped and straggly, Missy said, in a barely audible voice, “I’ve never been so humiliated in my entire life.”

Suzanne saw the circles under her eyes and the way her clothes were wrinkled and rumpled. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” she said. “It was . . . unconscionable on Doogie’s part.”

“I’m never going to speak a civil word to that man again,” said Missy, a few tears leaking down her face.

When they reached her car, Suzanne pulled open the passenger door for Missy. “Get in and let’s talk.” She hurried around to the driver’s side and climbed in.

Missy sat with her face buried in her hands. “It was awful, Suzanne,” she said in a muffled voice. “You have no idea!”

“No, I don’t,” said Suzanne. “And I know you’re feeling terribly scared and fragile and wounded right now. But we do have to talk.”

Missy dug in her pocket, found a single Kleenex, and blew her nose. Then she said, “About what?”

Suzanne turned in her seat so she could face Missy. “I need to ask you something, and I’d like you to answer me as honestly as you can. Was that your Taser that Sheriff Doogie found?”

“No!” Missy cried, yanking her hands away from her face and throwing Suzanne an anguished look. “Of course not! What do you think I am? Some kind of crazy weirdo?”

“Then where did it come from?” Suzanne pressed. “I mean, something like that doesn’t just magically appear.” That one indisputable fact had been gnawing at her all night long. “There has to be a logical explanation. The object came from
somewhere
.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” said Missy. “Someone put it there.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I sure didn’t!”

“You’re positive about that? There’s no doubt in your mind?”

“Yes! Of course!”

Suzanne leaned in closer. “Hey, Missy, this is me—Suzanne. I’m your friend. I’m here for you. You can level with me.”

Missy’s distress was palpable. “I
am
leveling with you!” A fresh sob escaped her throat and hot tears coursed down her cheeks.

Suzanne dug in her purse and pulled out a small pack of tissues. She passed it to Missy and said, “I want you to be scrupulously honest. If you did something a little crazy, if you made some sort of mistake—I need to know about it.”

“Jeez, Suzanne.” Missy blew her nose with a forceful honk. “I know it sounds crazy and I wouldn’t blame you for doubting me. But somebody really did call and ask me to come to that cemetery last Thursday. And then . . . and nobody
believes
me on this . . . but I think that same person snuck into my house and planted a Taser!”

“If that’s what really happened then I believe you,” said Suzanne. She knew Doogie was still working on getting that call traced. Once they had that information, this whole bizarre incident would probably be over.

“I’m pretty sure that’s what really happened,” said Missy, intensity etched into her face. “I want you to believe that. I
need
you to believe that!”

“Then I do,” said Suzanne. She still had questions—but she also saw how much Missy needed her buy-in on this. She hesitated. “You told me you rarely lock your front door.”

“Stupid of me,” admitted Missy. “And I guess I’ll be lots more careful from now on.” She let out a deep sigh and bowed her head. “Please, Suzanne, will you just take me home?”

They were both silent on the drive to Missy’s house. Suzanne coasted along, turning all the events of the past four days over in her mind. She wondered who could have set Missy up. Who had rather effectively incriminated Missy while deflecting blame for their own dastardly actions? What was this about?

When they were a half block from Missy’s house, Suzanne said, “Now don’t do anything crazy, okay?”

“What do you mean by crazy?” asked Missy. Her eyes were red and swollen and continued to leak a steady stream of tears.

“Don’t leave town or anything like that. Just stay put.” Suzanne rolled to a stop in front of Missy’s small bungalow.

“Where would I go?”

“I don’t know. It’s just . . . It just seemed like good advice.” She bounced her fingers lightly against the steering wheel. “Sorry I couldn’t come up with something better.”

Missy smiled wanly and leaned over to give Suzanne a heartfelt hug. “You did come up with something better,” she said. “You came up with the bail money.”

* * *

BREAKFAST
was in full swing when Suzanne came flying in the back door of the Cackleberry Club some ten minutes later. Petra was rattling her cast-iron pans, sizzling eggs, red peppers, and thick slabs of Canadian bacon. Toni worked diligently at the countertop, setting out plates and adding garnishes of sliced strawberries and orange wedges. The aroma of breakfast fixings and baked goods permeated the small kitchen.

“Hey,” said Toni, turning when she saw Suzanne. “Is Missy a free woman again?”

“For now anyway,” said Suzanne.

“I think it was very sweet and loyal of you to post bail for her,” said Petra, turning and wiping her hands on her apron. “You’re a good friend. Better than most.”

“I bet you’d do the same for us, huh?” said Toni. “If Petra or I were ever arrested and tossed in the clink?”

Suzanne furrowed her brow. “Depends on what the charges were.”

“Haw!” said Toni.

“Really,” said Petra. “Is Missy okay?”

“Her pride is severely damaged,” said Suzanne. “But other than that I think she’ll be just fine.”

“Unless she’s convicted in court,” said Petra.

“We’re not going to let that happen,” said Suzanne.

“Did she, um, say anything about what happened?” asked the ever-curious Toni. “How she thinks that Taser got into her house?”

“Only that she thought she’d been set up,” said Suzanne. “Correction, she said she
knew
she’d been set up.”

“That’s exactly what she said before,” said Toni. “I mean about being called to the cemetery that morning.”

“Well, now she thinks somebody slipped into her house and planted the Taser,” said Suzanne. “As a kind of coup de grâce.”

Petra flipped a couple of pancakes onto a plate. “Do you think that’s what happened?”

“I think I believe Missy,” said Suzanne.

“She sure doesn’t strike me as a killer,” said Toni.

Petra pursed her lips. “Who in town does?”

“I have no idea,” said Suzanne. “But I’m not going to stop investigating until I get to the bottom of this. No matter what Doogie says. There are just too many unanswered questions.” She hesitated. “Besides, it’s personal now.”

“Atta girl!” said Toni.

“Changing the subject to the here and now,” said Petra. “We’re going to be offering a new menu item this morning and I wanted to clue you ladies in.”

“What is it?” asked Suzanne. With all the egg and breakfast permutations Petra had dreamed up, it was hard to believe she’d invented something new.

“Drumroll please,” said Toni.

“A Cackleberry Sunset,” said Petra. “A fried egg on a fluffy baked potato, drenched with melted cheddar cheese.”

“Holy calorie count!” blurted out Toni. “That’s more like a Cackleberry Carb Explosion!”

“Oh foo,” said Petra. “Who counts calories or carbs or fat grams when it comes to breakfast?”

“But you said your pants were getting all tight and uncomfortable,” Toni pointed out.

Petra put a hand on her hip. “That’s because my stupid clothes dryer shrank every last pair.”

Toni eyed her warily. “Did you ever think of just cutting back on chocolate?”

Petra set her jaw. “Not really.”

“You do eat a lot of chocolate,” ventured Toni.

“Seriously,” said Petra, “I don’t think chocolate chip pancakes, truffle cake, and peanut butter fudge are that far out of line, do you?”

“Noooo,” Suzanne and Toni echoed together. They knew when to drop a touchy subject. Or at least let it lie there.

“Anyway,” said Petra, “melted cheese is always a big seller.”

“You got that right,” said Toni. “You could probably put melted cheese on an old shoe . . . or a tire . . .”

“Dead carp?” said Petra.

Toni nodded. “There you go.”

“Carburetor?” laughed Petra.

Toni giggled. “That’d for sure be a hit at the Golden Springs Speedway!”

Which dredged up a whole raft of bad memories for Suzanne. She hadn’t told Toni about how she’d felt menaced during her little foray to the parking lot to grab the ratchet set. Maybe it had been nothing at all, just her imagination working overtime. Or maybe it
had
been something. Maybe it was . . . what? Somebody who didn’t want her to get too close to discovering the truth . . . about Drummond or Missy?

* * *

SUZANNE
tucked that thought in the back recesses of her brain as she joined Toni in the café. They did their whirling, twirling breakfast ballet, greeting customers, taking orders, hyping the new Cackleberry Sunsets, and ferrying plates to and fro.

Later that morning, after breakfast was wrapped up and the room was made spick-and-span again, Pat Shepley stopped by with a few bags of potato rolls for their little market area. And then two of Petra’s dyed-in-the-wool (no pun intended) knitters carted in a half dozen scarves and shawls for entry in the Hearts and Crafts Show.

“These are amazing,” Suzanne told Sasha, one of the knitters, as she held a soft and gorgeous cream-colored shawl in her hands. “I can’t believe you’re willing to part with these creations.” The women were in the Knitting Nest now, going over all of the items.

“Oh, we’ll just knit new ones,” said Andrea, Sasha’s sister-in-law. “You’d be amazed how fast these items fly off my fingers. All I need is a squishy movie on Lifetime and I’m good to go.”

“Your pieces are the perfect addition to our Hearts and Crafts Show,” Suzanne told them. “Thank you.”

“You’re sure?” said Sasha. “They’re not too crafty?”

“Not at all,” said Suzanne. “We seem to be getting a nice mix of things. A few paintings and sculptures, some crafts and lovely needlecraft items.”

“Maybe,” said Sasha, glancing around eagerly, “we should do a little fiber and yarn therapy while we’re here?”

“For sure,” said Andrea. “In fact my doctor told me I should definitely get more fiber!”

* * *

AROUND
eleven o’clock, Suzanne had her morning confab with Petra over their luncheon menu.

“I think we’ll keep the Cackleberry Sunsets on the menu and just add a nice piece of summer sausage to make it a slightly heartier entrée,” said Petra.

“Works for me,” said Suzanne. “We’ll just raise the price two or three bucks.”

“Make it three,” said Petra.

“So what else?”

“Chicken and waffles,” said Petra. “Plus egg salad sandwiches on rye, a fruit salad plate, and curried carrot soup. Plus Toni’s hard at work in the kitchen, whipping together her infamous dump cake for dessert.”

“The one with the pineapple chunks?”

“And the angel food cake mix,” said Petra. “Though you know I’m not a big fan of packaged mixes.”

“Hey!” Toni called through the pass-through. “Don’t dump on my dump cake! Not everybody’s a gourmet baker. Some of us have to cut a few corners here and there.”

“What if we top your cake with vanilla ice cream and call it Angel Ice Cream Dream or something like that?” said Suzanne.

“What?” said Toni. “Dump cake doesn’t sound classy enough?”

“No!” came Suzanne and Petra’s blended voices.