Eggs in a Casket (A Cackleberry Club Mystery) (9 page)

“THANK
goodness Saturdays are half days,” said Petra, as she stood at the stove, one-handedly cracking fresh white eggs and plopping them into a large blue-speckled ceramic bowl. “Especially since we’ve got the tea tomorrow.”

“Yesterday was a half day for you, too,” Toni pointed out.

“That was different,” said Petra. “I had a mandatory event.”

“Well, what if I have an event?” Toni asked, a mischievous gleam in her eye.

“Then Suzanne and I would have to step it up,” said Petra. “Just like you did.”

“Aw, that breakfast service yesterday wasn’t so tough,” said Toni. “Especially since we had Kit to help out.”

“How’s she doing anyway?” asked Petra. Since she’d had a hand in convincing Kit to quit dancing at Hoobly’s, she felt she had somewhat of a stake in the girl’s future.

“She’s doing okay, I guess,” said Toni. “She has a new boyfriend.”

“I hope it’s not a former Hoobly’s customer,” said Petra.

“Who’s a former Hoobly’s customer?” asked Suzanne as she bumped her way into the kitchen.

“Hopefully not Kit’s new boyfriend,” said Petra.

“No, I think he’s a good guy,” said Suzanne. “He works over at the post office.”

“A postal worker?” said Toni. “Yeah, it’s hard to resist a man in uniform.”

Now Petra leaned forward and peered through the pass-through. “Suzanne, I think two of your craft ladies just wandered in. At least they look like they might have brought things for the Hearts and Crafts Show.”

“Wonderful,” said Suzanne. She wiped her hands, then rushed out to greet them. After a moment of small talk, she steered them into the Book Nook.

“We didn’t know if you were interested in jewelry or not,” said a dark-haired woman by the name of Marilyn Ferris. “But Sherry and I took this neat jewelry-making class and bought a bunch of beads and metal findings and, well . . . the whole thing just kind of got away from us.”

“And then we saw your posters,” said Sherry. “See?” She carefully pried open one of the boxes she was carrying. “We did about a dozen beaded stretch bracelets, using beads of all colors, and some nice pendants to match.”

“They’re beautiful!” Suzanne exclaimed. And they truly were. Marilyn and Sherry had combined Czech glass beads with antique beads to create some stunning pieces of jewelry. One necklace featured a cameo, while a couple of bracelets had dainty little charms dangling from them. “You ladies have a real talent for putting together color and different types of stones.”

“Does that mean you’ll accept them in your show?” asked Marilyn.

“Absolutely,” said Suzanne. She slipped behind the counter and grabbed a stack of entry forms. “In fact, let’s get you signed in right now.”

“How many entries do you have so far?” asked Sherry.

Suzanne tapped her pencil and thought for a minute. “Maybe . . . two dozen pieces?”

“But you’re expecting more?” said Marilyn.

“Oh sure,” said Suzanne. “Lots more. I expect next Monday and Tuesday the entries will pretty much pour in.”

“This is such a fun idea,” said Marilyn. “Especially since half the proceeds go to the food bank and the other half to the artists. You know, we don’t have many art or crafts shows around here.”

“Well, we’re going to do something about that,” said Suzanne. “Seeing as how we have such a talented pool of artists and artisans to draw from.”

The two women beamed at her words.

* * *

“HEY,”
said Toni, when Suzanne returned to the kitchen. “We’re still on for the candlelight walk tonight, aren’t we?”

Suzanne remained reluctant about the whole thing. “You’re sure you want to go?”

“You better believe it,” said Toni. “In fact, I’m counting on it. So . . . you can pick me up?”

“Ah, sure,” said Suzanne. “If you want me to.” She was giving in to Toni because, well, because friends did that sometimes.

“The thing is,” said Toni, “Junior’s got my car.” She rolled her eyes. “I think he’s stealing parts from it.”

“Better your car than mine,” Petra muttered as she unwrapped a piece of goat cheese.

“Oh no,” said Suzanne. “Junior’s not still under the delusion that he’s going to race that old beater, is he?”

“I think he’s planning to race it tomorrow night,” said Toni. “He’s all jacked up because the grand prize for the demolition derby is something like five hundred dollars.”

“That much?” said Petra. She dumped her cheese into an aluminum bowl and began to mash it.

Toni nodded. “It’d be a huge bump in Junior’s bank account.”

“It’d
be
his bank account,” said Petra.

“Junior’s dream is to win enough prize money so he can buy a Softail or a Fat Bob.”

“I think I used to date a guy named Fat Bob,” said Petra. “Back in high school. Seems like yesterday . . .”

“What
is
a Fat Bob anyway?” asked Suzanne.

“A Harley,” said Toni. “A Harley-Davidson. Where’ve you been, girl? A Softail’s a Harley, too. Except it has all these springs and things, so you take the road softer.”

“How much does one of those Fat Bob bikes cost?” asked Suzanne, totally confused.

Toni thought for a minute. “A lot. Something like fifteen grand? Depends on how loaded it is.”

“Awfully pricey either way,” said Suzanne. “Junior would have to win a whole lot of races.”

“That’s if he doesn’t get killed first,” said Petra.

Suzanne’s eyes fell on Petra and stayed there for a moment. “Petra? Are you okay? You seem a little edgy this morning.”

“Edgier than usual,” agreed Toni.

“Don’t mind me,” said Petra. “I’m just fretting about tomorrow’s tea, that’s all.”

“But we’ve got it all planned out,” said Toni.

“Up to a point,” said Petra. “The thing is, I’m working on a new tea sandwich filling.” She tilted her bowl. “See? I’m whipping up a test batch.”

“What’s the problem?” said Toni. “It doesn’t taste so good?”

“I think it’s going to be absolutely delicious,” said Petra. She opened a small jar of something red, dumped it in, and continued to stir. “But I’m worried other folks might not see it that way. I’m afraid they might think it’s too much of a radical departure from cucumbers and cream cheese.”

“How radical is it?” asked Suzanne.

“Goat cheese and pimento,” said Petra.

“That
is
a little kinky,” said Toni.

“Tell you what,” said Petra, dipping a knife into her bowl and spreading a dollop of her new mixture onto a slice of bread. “I’ll make a sandwich and you can taste for yourself.” She popped a second piece of bread on top, deftly sliced off the crusts, then cut the sandwich into four triangles. “Here, tell me what you think.”

“Uh-oh,” said Toni as Suzanne accepted a triangle. “Drumroll, please.”

Suzanne took a bite. Then her eyes widened and she grinned at Petra as she swallowed. “This is delicious!”

“You think?” said Petra, delighted.

“I know it is,” said Suzanne.

“Let me try, let me try,” piped up Toni.

“Here.” Petra handed her a triangle, too.

Toni popped the whole thing into her mouth and chewed. “Mmn,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Mmn, mmn.”

“I don’t know if that’s good or bad,” said Petra. “She looks like she’s throwing a fit.”

Toni chewed vigorously, gave a fist pump, and swallowed hard. “It’s good!” she said. “I really like it.”

Still, Petra was nervous. “But will everybody else like it?”

“Tell you what,” said Suzanne. “Try it out on Doogie. Let Sheriff Doogie be your focus group of one.”

“What will that accomplish?” asked Petra.

“If Doogie likes your concoction, you’re home free,” said Suzanne. “Once he gives it his blessing, you can serve your sandwich spread to anyone.”

“Are you trying to tell us that Doogie is picky?” said Toni.

“On the contrary,” said Suzanne. “Doogie doesn’t have a picky bone in his body. He’s one of those men who’ll eat pretty much anything that’s slapped in front of him. But”—and here she held up a finger—“Doogie has finely tuned Midwestern sensibilities. If he’s not put off by your tea sandwich, then you’ll know it’s safe to serve.”

“That’s smart thinking,” said Petra. “I’ll make Doogie my personal guinea pig.”

“Just don’t call it a tea sandwich,” warned Toni.

“And don’t cut it into dainty little triangles,” said Suzanne. “Just . . . slice it in half.”

A loud voice suddenly blurted out, “Anybody here?”

“Speak of the devil,” said Petra.

Suzanne went out to greet Doogie. “Good morning, Sheriff. I bet you’re looking for a spot of breakfast.”

“Ayup,” said Doogie as he grabbed his usual seat at the counter. “Got any French toast?”

“French toast,” said Suzanne, jotting it down on her order pad.

“And bacon.”

“A side of bacon,” said Suzanne.

“Better throw on a couple fried eggs.”

Suzanne watched him, her pencil poised. “Anything else your little heart desires?”

“Maybe one of those sticky buns while I’m waiting,” he said.

“You know what? I’ve got something even better.” Suzanne smiled sweetly then called, “Petra! Why don’t you let Sheriff Doogie try your new sandwich!”

As if on cue, Petra hustled out into the café bearing half a sandwich of her goat cheese and pimento spread.

“What is it?” asked Doogie as she placed the food in front of him like some kind of sacrificial offering.

“A sandwich with cheese spread,” said Petra. “Go ahead and give it a try. I’d love your opinion.”

Wary, sensing some kind of trap, Doogie poked a stubby finger at it. “Is it an appetizer?”

“Something like that,” said Petra, watching Doogie closely.

“And it’s not weird? You’re not trying to slip me beef tongue or Rocky Mountain oysters, are you now?”

“We wouldn’t do that,” said Suzanne. “Really, it’s just cheese spread.”

Doogie picked up his sandwich and took a bite. Chewing resolutely, discovering it wasn’t strychnine laced, he managed another bite. “Good,” he finally mumbled. With his mouth full it sounded more like, “Guuh.”

“See?” Suzanne said to Petra. “I told you.”

Doogie stopped chewing, suddenly suspicious. “Did I just miss something here?”

“Not at all,” said Petra smoothly. “You look extra hungry today, Sheriff. How about I fix you a whopper of a breakfast?”

“Now you’re talkin’!” said Doogie.

Suzanne poured him a cup of fresh, hot coffee. “I heard the most interesting rumor from Gene Gandle when he was in yesterday. It seems Drummond’s ex-wife is in town.”

“Funny you should mention her,” said Doogie, “since I had the pleasure of interviewing Deanna Drummond last night.”

“You did, really?”

“Yup.” He finished his last bite of sandwich.

“Apparently she’s been living at Drummond’s house?”

“Looks like.”

“And?” said Suzanne, trying hard to restrain herself. “How did your interview go?”

“The woman claimed to be utterly heartbroken.”

Suzanne peered intently at Doogie. “Wow. So she must have still loved him. Do you think she and Drummond were trying to work things out and get back together?”

Doogie’s expression shifted and he suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Maybe,” he said slowly. “It was kind of hard to tell what their relationship was. Deanna Drummond was fairly open and friendly to me at first. And then when we got to the business of Drummond getting killed she became extremely emotional . . . There were quite a few tears.”

“That’s understandable,” said Suzanne. She thought about how awful it would be to reconcile with an ex, to finally work out your differences, only to have it all end in a brutal murder!

“Still . . .” said Doogie, trailing off. “She was difficult to read.”

“Really?” said Suzanne. Doogie might look placid and plodding, but his years in law enforcement had made him an excellent judge of character. “You don’t, um, see her as a suspect, do you?”

“At this point . . .” Doogie seemed to pick his words carefully. “I’m not ruling anything out.”

“Wow.” Suzanne decided that Gene Gandle might get his scoop after all.

“Let me ask you something,” said Doogie. He hesitated, then said, “Can a woman be completely brokenhearted and still parade around in a leopard-print blouse, tight pants, and sky-high stiletto heels?”

“I’m not sure there’s a strict correlation between heartbreak and wardrobe,” said Suzanne.

“Except,” said Doogie, “that she knew I was paying an official visit and she still dressed up like some kind of hoochie momma.” He ducked his head, a little embarrassed now. “I heard that phrase on TV.”

Something pinged in Suzanne’s head. “Wait a minute. Are you saying she
flirted
with you?”

“Let’s just say that after we got the serious discussion and the tearful part out of the way, Deanna Drummond was somewhat, um, playful,” said Doogie.

“With you?” Suzanne instantly regretted the shock she’d let creep into her voice.

“I ain’t
that
bad lookin’,” said Doogie with a small smile.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” said Suzanne, backpedaling mightily.

“Go ahead, put your foot in your mouth, Suzanne. You’re doing a fine job of it already.”

“Okay, okay, let’s get back to Deanna Drummond,” she said. “If you’re not ruling her out as a suspect, does that mean you picked up some kind of vibe?”

“A vibe,” said Doogie, looking perplexed. “Why do women always talk in terms of vibes and hunches?”

“I guess what I’m really asking,” said Suzanne, “is do you think she might have
wanted
her ex-husband dead?”

“That’s . . . difficult to say. I mean, the two of them were legally divorced, so she was already receiving alimony.”

“But you are suspicious of her,” said Suzanne. “A little bit anyway.” Something about Deanna Drummond had apparently set off Doogie’s internal cop-o-meter.

“Somewhat, yes.”

“Maybe if Drummond were dead, she’d inherit his entire estate?” said Suzanne. “Not just half but the whole enchilada?” She thought for a moment. “Or would she? Do you know if Lester Drummond has any other heirs?”

“We don’t know at this point,” said Doogie. “I need to have my investigators do some forensic work on Drummond’s finances and gather a lot more background information. Even though he lived and worked in our midst, there’s a lot we don’t know about him.”