Eggs in a Casket (A Cackleberry Club Mystery) (19 page)

“Do you think Missy really is guilty?” asked Toni, almost whispering her words.

“Of course she’s not,” said Petra quickly. “She’s just scared, right, Suzanne?”

“Right,” said Suzanne.

“What’s she scared of?” asked Toni.

“I think she’s . . .” Petra stopped, suddenly unsure of where she was going.

“Maybe she thinks the killer’s going to come after her,” put in Toni. “Chase her down on the street or something. Or show up at her house!” Her eyes went round as saucers. “Do you think?”

“Really,” said Suzanne, “I don’t want to think about it at all.” She felt tired and jittery and confused all at once.

“But we have to think it through so we can help her,” said Petra, always the practical one.

Suzanne gave a defeated shrug. “And I opened my big mouth and asked Doogie if it was okay for me to go look around town for Missy.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” said Toni, suddenly excited. “Let’s jump in the car and motorvate.”

“You really want to?” asked Suzanne. She felt a little bit heartened by Toni’s offer.

“Sure,” said Toni. She glanced at her watch. “We’ve got almost an hour and a half before our self-defense class starts.”

“I forgot about that,” said Suzanne. At the moment it was the last thing on her mind.

“You two are really going to that class?” asked Petra.

“Absolutely we are,” said Toni. “I have to find some way to release my inner aggressions.”

“For the most part,” said Petra, “I’d say you do just fine.”

“But I don’t get to actually
kick
things,” said Toni. “Or punch.” Toni executed a quick little bunny hop and shot her leg out, striking the oven door. “Ya ha!” she cried in victory.

Petra frowned. “Promise me you’ll be careful. Because the last thing you want to do is break a hip!” Falling and breaking a hip were Petra’s biggest fears. She was always worrying about fracturing a vital bone and being laid up for months.

“She won’t break a hip or any other bone,” Suzanne promised. “Besides this is just the first class. It’s basically an orientation, an introductory lecture. We’ll probably just sit around in a circle and listen to Carla Reiker explain everything. No kicking or punching or tossing of perceived predators.”

“Like a Girl Scout meeting,” said Toni. “We’ll all hold hands and sing ‘Kumbaya.’ That’s a lot better than flaking out in front of TV with a mound of Doritos on a paper towel!”

Petra still wasn’t convinced. “Face it, ladies. We have to take it easy because we’re all getting a little older. Just the other night I saw a TV commercial with Henry Winkler pitching reverse mortgages for seniors.” She tapped her wooden spoon against a metal pot for emphasis. “Can you believe it? The Fonz? Instead of oozing cool and picking up chicks, he was talking about financial security in your old age? Honestly, what’s this world coming to?”

SUZANNE
and Toni cruised up and down the streets of Kindred, craning their necks as they drove along. Once they hit Main Street, Suzanne slowed her car so they could peer at each person strolling past the yellow brick buildings. They cast their eyes into storefront windows filled with wares and topped by colorful curved awnings, but they saw no sign of Missy. They even detoured down narrow back alleys, navigating twists and turns, and poked into cul-de-sacs. Still, nothing.

After a good twenty minutes of searching, they were feeling slightly defeated.

“Maybe she’s at Root 66?” said Toni. “Getting her hair done?”

So they parked quickly and went into Root 66, Kindred’s premier hair salon owned by Gregg and Brett, two chatty owners who kept tabs on everybody in town. Brett, resplendent in a bright yellow T-shirt and stylish black jeans, rushed up from the back where he’d just finished putting a blue-haired client under an old-fashioned monster-sized hair dryer. He greeted them with his trademark hugs and air kisses.

But when they asked him about their missing friend, his smile turned into a frown. “Haven’t seen her in a few weeks,” he said. “Not since her last trim and blowout, anyway.”

“Not the answer I was hoping for,” said Suzanne. “Well, thanks anyway. Call me if you see her, okay?”

“Is she in trouble?” asked Brett.

“Hopefully not,” said Suzanne, unwilling to say any more.

Once outside, Suzanne and Toni climbed back into her car. “Could she be hanging out at Alchemy Boutique?” wondered Suzanne.

So they stopped out front and Toni ran in. But when she came dashing back a minute later there’d been no sign of Missy.

“The salesgirl reiterated the news that Missy was fired,” said Toni, a little breathless. “So I guess there’s no chance she’s been hiding out there.”

“Then where?” Suzanne wondered. “She can’t just disappear into thin air. She’s got to be around somewhere.”

“Maybe somebody—” Toni began. Then suddenly she snapped her mouth shut.

“Maybe somebody
what
?” prompted Suzanne.

“Um . . . I’d rather not say.”

“What?” Suzanne pressed.

Toni hesitated, then said in a small voice, “Don’t jump on me or anything, but maybe somebody kidnapped her?”

“Don’t say that!” said Suzanne. “Don’t even think that way.”

“I’m sorry, I really am,” said Toni. “It’s just that . . .”

“Say a little prayer,” Suzanne said feverishly. “To make it all okay.”

* * *

THEY
drove along Catawba Parkway, searching along the banks of Catawba Creek as well as the park with its picnic pavilion, and made quick stops at Kuyper’s Hardware, Rexall Drugs, and Schmitt’s Bar. Finally, with time running out, they abandoned their search and drove over to the Hard Body Gym.

“At least we tried,” said Suzanne. They were in the women’s locker room, getting changed. She felt deflated and worn out and not sure she was up to this class.

“We gave it our best shot,” said Toni. She sat down on a hard bench and kicked off her scuffed cowboy boots. “Whew. I’m glad we signed up for this class after all. I think it’ll do wonders for us.”

“You think?” said Suzanne, taking a gulp of bottled water. She’d been ready to throw in the towel before they even started, so Toni’s enthusiasm was heartening.

“Sure,” said Toni. “We’re both frustrated and upset, but now we’ll have a chance to blow off steam.” She was changing out of her cowboy shirt and boots into something fuzzy and pink. When she saw Suzanne glance at her, she said, “You think this is okay?” Toni had pulled on a pink velour tracksuit and ratty sneakers.

“I think it’s just fine,” said Suzanne. She was tugging on black yoga pants and a gray T-shirt. “After all, this is the Hard Body Gym in Kindred, not SoulCycle in New York.”

Toni spun around and stuck out her butt. “Even with this on back?” Glitzy, bouncy letters on Toni’s backside spelled out the word “Princess.”

“It’s cool with me.”

“Yowza, you’re a good friend,” said Toni. “You never criticize me, or bash me, or try to change me. You just accept me for what I am.”

“Because I love you just the way you are,” said Suzanne.

“BFFs forever,” said Toni. She held up her pinkie finger. “Pinky swear we’ll stay that way forever?”

“Forever,” said Suzanne, locking pinkies with her dear friend.

They walked out of the locker room and into a good-sized workout room, joining a small group of women who were perched expectantly on metal folding chairs that had been pulled into a circle. They recognized most of the women and spoke with them in excited, anxious voices.

“This is gonna be so much fun,” Toni whispered to Suzanne. “I can’t wait to vent my frustrations.”

“Besides not being able to locate Missy,” said Suzanne in a low voice, “just who is it you’re frustrated with?”

“Junior,” said Toni. “Who else? That dumb bunny was supposed to bring my car back and never did. Now I’m stuck driving a clunker that shimmies and shakes like a cement mixer.”

“I hate to sound like a broken record,” said Suzanne, “but that car is the least of your problems. It’s only the latest symptom of your difficult relationship with Junior. And for the last few months you’ve been seriously talking about filing for divorce . . .”

“I know, I know,” said Toni. “But dissolving a marriage just seems so doggone drastic.”

More like realistic
, thought Suzanne.

“There’s a part of me that just wants to hang on to what I know,” Toni confided. “And deep down, Junior’s basically a sweet guy. A little loony, but well-meaning.”

“What about the time he raided your savings account and tried to start a gerbil farm?” said Suzanne.

“That was ill conceived,” admitted Toni.

“And the time he tried to sell Ginsu knives door-to-door?”

“Okay,” said Toni, “it’s all coming back to me now. You’ve got me all fired up and ready to smash a board with my bare feet.”

“You know,” said Suzanne, “self-defense isn’t just physical. You have to protect your feelings, too.”

Tears swam in Toni’s eyes. “I hear you. Loud and clear.”

* * *

THE
class was fun. More fun than Suzanne had experienced in a long time, excluding her evenings with Sam. Carla Reiker was a terrific teacher and she did, indeed, begin with a nice, tame orientation talk.

“This is a safe spot,” Carla told them, her dark eyes twinkling, her lithe body encased in a black leotard, spiky hair gelled into place. “A place for women to learn some basic fight-back techniques.”

“Woo hoo,” said Toni, raising a fist.

“But first,” said Carla, “we’re going to talk about how to
avoid
being a target and how to de-escalate a potentially dangerous situation. Then we’ll move on to handling confrontations—verbally, mentally, and, if need be, physically.”

After Reiker’s twenty-minute talk, the class segued into basic warm-up exercises. And as the women puffed and panted, Reiker drove home the critical points. “We’re going to focus on your core and lower body strength,” she told them, “because that’s where you generate the most power.”

When they were warmed up and ready to go, Reiker moved on to instructing them in basic moves. How to deflect choke holds, wrist grabs, and grabs from behind.

“Come over here, Suzanne,” Reiker instructed. “Come up behind me and, in slow motion, put your arms around my neck. Try to grab me.”

Suzanne did so and was surprised when a deft move on Reiker’s part immediately disengaged her arms.

“Okay, once again,” said Reiker. “Watch carefully.” When everyone in the class had committed her arm-slapping and hip-thrusting moves to memory, she said, “Now grab a partner and let’s practice this for real!”

Suzanne and Toni paired off together, Toni assuming the stance of aggressor.

“I’m gonna get you!” she called out to Suzanne as she lunged at her from behind. But Suzanne, always a quick study, pulled off a maneuver that sent Toni tumbling to the rubber mat.

“Whoa!” said Toni, looking a little wobbly as she picked herself up. “You got moves, girl!”

* * *

THE
hour-and-a-half class pretty much flew by, and by six-forty-five, after showers and quick primping in the locker room, Suzanne and Toni walked out the door into a rain-slicked night.

“You think we should hunt for Missy some more?” asked Toni.

“I was kind of thinking I’d stop by the visitation for Lester Drummond,” said Suzanne. “Over at the Driesden and Draper Funeral Home.”

“Let’s be serious about this, my friend. You don’t care a lick about Drummond.” Toni gave her a sideways glance. “You just want to go over there and sleuth around, try to get a bead on things.”

Suzanne raised an eyebrow. Toni, of course, could read her fairly well. “If that’s what you think, maybe you should tag along.”

“Do you think I can go like this?” asked Toni. She was still wearing her pink velour tracksuit.

“I see no reason why not,” said Suzanne. “It’s always good to shake things up with the locals now and then. And this is the perfect opportunity.”

* * *

THE
Driesden and Draper Funeral Home was a big old rambling place. It was mostly American Gothic with a fanciful array of turrets, finials, and balustrades, and a few touches of Victorian tossed in for good measure. Set back from the street, the wooden clapboard building was a somber gray with decorous white trim. To Suzanne, it looked like the kind of place where the Addams Family could have settled in rather nicely. And with a backdrop of rain and lightning, and booming thunder that sounded like kettledrums, well, it was all just a little too
House on Haunted Hill
.

“This place always smells weird,” said Toni, as they pushed their way through the front door. “Like overripe flowers and chemicals and . . .”

“Please don’t say any more,” said Suzanne.

“Whatever,” said Toni.

Suzanne didn’t mind the smell so much as the creepy interior. Plush gray and mauve carpets and draperies that muffled footsteps as well as, she supposed, the sad sounds of mourning. Brocade fainting couches, small tables with boxes of Kleenex, and large funereal-looking bouquets were everywhere. There was also a de rigueur guest book on a fake walnut stand complete with fake quill pen.

“I guess we ought to sign the guest book, huh?” said Toni.

Suzanne sidled over and glanced at the names. Then she turned back to the previous page and studied those, too.

“If you’re here for Mr. Drummond’s viewing,” said a sad-eyed young man in a slightly oversized black three-piece suit, “you’ll find him in slumber room two.”

“Do you work here?” Toni asked. “Or are you one of the mourners?”

“I’m employed here, ma’am,” said the man. His eyes flicked away from Toni, sending a message that he didn’t appreciate any more questions.

“C’mon,” said Suzanne. “Let’s just get this over with.” She didn’t quite know why she was here, but something had compelled her to attend Drummond’s wake. So she was going to play it by ear.

But when they walked into slumber room two, Toni’s knees buckled and she slumped hard against Suzanne’s shoulder. “Oh no,” she whispered. “It’s an open casket!”

“Take it easy,” said Suzanne. “You’ve already seen Drummond at his worst, lying in that awful grave. This should be a cinch for you.”

“But I can’t stand looking at this kind of dead guy!” Toni protested. “When they’re all duded up with pancake makeup and stuff.”

“Kind of like aging rock stars,” said Suzanne, trying to make a joke of it.

Toni managed a weak smile. “I guess.” But she was still rooted in her tracks, unwilling to take a single step forward.

“Come on,” Suzanne urged again. “One quick walk by and then we’ll be free to mingle.” She paused. “You’re tougher than you think. Take a deep breath and we’ll do this.”

Toni shook her head. “It still freaks me out to see guys propped up in caskets.”

“Drummond’s just lying there like a beanbag,” Suzanne told her in a low murmur. “Looking relatively peaceful. Really, it’s not
Weekend at Bernie’s
or anything crazy like that.”

“Still,” said Toni.

They finally managed a quick and respectful walk by, Suzanne casting a glance at a waxy-looking Drummond while Toni kept her eyes planted firmly on her feet.

This is awful
, Suzanne thought to herself. Not only did the sight of Drummond once again dredge up memories of his terrible death, but Toni was like some awkward child, totally dependent on her to shuffle them past the casket and into the receiving line.

Which turned out to be a receiving line of one.

Deanna Drummond, Lester Drummond’s ex-wife, stood a few feet from the casket, watching Suzanne and Toni intently. She wore a black silk sheath dress that Suzanne thought was just this side of a cocktail dress, and strappy black stilettos. A large ruby ring glinted on her finger. The outfit was not exactly what one might think of as wake appropriate.

“My condolences again,” said Suzanne, shaking Deanna’s hand. She nudged Toni, but Toni was still focused on her shoes. “
Our
condolences,” she added.

“Thank you,” Deanna Drummond said in a near monotone.

“Snap out of it, will you?” Suzanne said to Toni when they were a safe distance away.

Toni shook her head and gazed at Suzanne. “Sorry about that. I think I put myself into a catatonic state or something, just to get through it.”

“Well, you’re home free now,” said Suzanne. “And, not that you were paying particular attention, but Deanna Drummond seemed awfully matter-of-fact about this visitation, didn’t you think?”

“I
was
paying attention,” said Toni. “And I thought she acted bored. Politely bored.”

“Not that polite,” said Suzanne. She’d just spotted Mayor Mobley across the room. “C’mon,” she said to Toni, “let’s go speak to our illustrious mayor.”

“That blowhard?” said Toni. “Why do you want to talk to him?”

“Because I have a few questions for him.”

Dressed in his typical khaki slacks and golf shirt, Mayor Mobley was busily glad-handing everyone in the room. He was a barrel-chested man with muscle that was slowly turning to lard. His hair was thinning and his pink scalp was keenly visible beneath a self-conscious comb-over.