Scorched Eggs (14 page)

“Bruce,” said Suzanne. “I want to ask you something but I don't want to upset you.”

“What, Suzanne?”

“Is there any chance that
you
could have been the intended target?”

“Wha . . . what?” Winthrop looked shocked beyond belief. “Me?”

“The thought just occurred to me,” said Suzanne.
Thanks to Sam.

“It never occurred to me. Never.”

“Sheriff Doogie and his investigators are fairly certain it was arson,” said Suzanne. “So either some
thing
in the building was the target, or possibly you or Hannah.”

“That's a very disorienting thought,” said Winthrop.

“I know it is and I apologize for even bringing it up. The thing is, it's looking more and more like Ricky Wilcox is out of the picture, suspectwise.”

“Really?” said Winthrop. “Because . . .” He stopped abruptly and shook his head, as if he felt discombobulated.

“Because what?” said Suzanne.

“Oh, it's probably nothing.”

“Tell me anyway,” Suzanne prompted.

“I was just thinking about a little run-in I had with Ricky a couple of weeks ago.”

“Concerning what?”

Winthrop waved his hand. “It was a silly thing, really. A misunderstanding over a pesticide permit.”

“A what?” said Suzanne. She'd never heard of such a thing.

Winthrop explained. It seems that Ricky had been spraying some land for his brother and had been required by city ordinance to obtain a permit. But he hadn't done so. When Winthrop found out about the spraying, he confronted Ricky and told him there'd probably be a fine. And that's when Ricky got in his face.

“The kid has a nasty temper,” said Winthrop. “He threatened me with . . . oh, I don't remember what. Anyway, I figured that was the end of it.” He looked suddenly thoughtful. “But maybe not.”

“Did you tell Doogie about this?” Suzanne asked.

“No,” said Winthrop, “because it really just occurred to me.”

“You've got to tell him,” Suzanne urged. She hated getting Ricky in trouble all over again, but this was important. It was evidence that shouldn't be withheld.

Doggone it, now Doogie's going to have even more heaped on his plate. Winthrop's going to tell him about the pesticide incident and I have to tell him about Jack Venable's girlfriend. Oh joy.

Suzanne worried about these things as Sam drove her home, kissed her at the front door, and asked if he could see her again tomorrow. “Of course,” she told him, but everything was still rattling around in her brain as she fixed a cup of chamomile tea, let the dogs out, and got ready for bed.

In fact, Suzanne was so caught up in these newly learned snippets of information that it was only when she was drifting off to sleep that she remembered the token she'd found. She got up, dug in the pocket of her hoodie, and set the token on the nightstand next to her cell phone. Tomorrow, she told herself, she'd take it to work tomorrow and give it to Doogie. When she spilled the beans on everything else.

O
N
Tuesday mornings Petra always made her cheesy omelet rolls, which usually brought an influx of customers to the Cackleberry Club. Her recipe started out the same as if she was whipping up a typical omelet—combining eggs, milk, flour, and seasonings in a blender. But instead of cooking it in a sauté pan, she poured her egg mixture into a cake pan and baked it for about twenty minutes. When the eggs were golden and bubbly, she pulled it from the oven, sprinkled on shredded cheddar cheese, and loosened the edges. Then she simply rolled up the omelet and cut it into pieces.

“How are we garnishing these omelet rolls?” Suzanne asked. She'd dealt out half a dozen white plates like playing cards and was watching Petra place an omelet roll in the center of each plate.

“Just drop on a dollop of sour cream and sprinkle on some of your homegrown chives,” said Petra. “Oh, and don't forget, two slices of whole wheat toast with little pots of apple jelly.”

“Got it,” said Suzanne.

Petra turned back to her stove, where she quickly plopped eight slices of French toast onto her grill.

Suzanne carried the omelet rolls to the pass-through and caught Toni's eye. Toni nodded and hustled over. “We got more requests for sticky rolls and old man Wyckle says there isn't enough pepper on his eggs. You want me to get out my pepper spray and give him a shot?”

“No,” said Suzanne, handing her a pepper mill. “I think just regular pepper will do the trick.”

“Okeydoke,” said Toni, grabbing two more orders and balancing them down the length of her arm.

Suzanne turned back to Petra, who'd just flipped her French toast over. It was looking golden and smelling heavenly. “We're getting more requests for sticky rolls,” she told her.

“Of course we are,” said Petra. Her baking skills were both terrific and prolific, and she reveled in the fact that her rolls and breads were requested as well as much enjoyed. Her donuts, cookies, and cakes were also in high demand when her beloved church held a bake sale or sponsored a church supper.

“Did you ever think of entering one of your pies in the county fair?” Suzanne asked.

“Thought about it,” Petra replied.

She said it casually enough so that Suzanne knew she'd definitely been considering it.

“Yet you never do,” said Suzanne. “Though you'd win hands down.”

“Maybe.”

“Oh, you would,” said Suzanne. “Trust me.”

“Is that tea group still coming in this afternoon?” Petra asked. “The one who requested a sunflower tea?”

“They're still coming as far as I know,” said Suzanne. “Are you still planning to make sunflower seed muffins?”

“Yup,” said Petra. “And I hope Toni remembered to bring in those bunches of sunflowers so we can fix up table bouquets.”

“They're bobbing their shaggy heads in a big white bucket on the back steps even as we speak.”

Petra glanced toward the back door, where a familiar cardboard box was sitting. “I see you brought your little owl back with you.”

“He's commuting,” said Suzanne. “Wherever I go, he goes. The thing is, I have to feed him, like, five or six times a day. But after this morning's feeding I'm going to put him outside and see if the momma owl comes looking for him.”

“What will that accomplish?” asked Petra. “The little guy can't fly yet. He's too young.”

“No, but if she's been looking for her baby, it will put her heart at rest. And then I can get a ladder and try to put the little owl back up in his tree.”

“I guess it's worth a shot,” said Petra.

The swinging door flew open as Toni burst into the kitchen. “I got two more orders,” she told Petra. Both . . . um . . .” She squinted at her own crooked handwriting. “French toast and bacon.”

Petra immediately dropped a few more slices of bread into her batter.

“Hey, do you guys know what's going on tonight?” Toni asked.

“As far as I'm concerned, absolutely nothing,” said Petra. “I'm going to flake out in front of the TV in my fleece jammies and munch chocolate chip cookies to my heart's content.”

Toni seemed so whipped up Suzanne just had to ask, “What's going on, Toni?”

“It's cherry bomb night at Schmitt's Bar!” said Toni.

“What on earth is that?” asked Petra.

“Maraschino cherries that have been soaked in Everclear,” said Toni. “And they're just twenty-five cents apiece.”

“Everclear?” said Petra. “Isn't that ninety-proof grain alcohol? Toni, shame on you. Don't you know that stuff can rot your brain?”

“It's not like I'm chugging it by the glass,” said Toni. “The cherries are just soaked in it. Marinated, really.”

“Sounds awful,” said Petra.

Toni turned a hopeful gaze on Suzanne. “Suzanne, you're up for this, aren't you?”

“I don't know,” Suzanne hedged. “We were just at Schmitt's Bar the other night. A little of their gung ho, guzzle-it-up atmosphere goes a long way.”

“But this is a whole 'nother thing,” said Toni. “And it's a good deal, too. I mean, twenty-five cents . . . two bits. How can you possibly say no?”

“Easy,” said Petra.

“Let me think about it,” said Suzanne. She grabbed her purse from under the counter, pulled out her cell phone, and saw the little red token sitting on top of a pack of Kleenex. She grabbed it and set it on the counter as a reminder to hand it over to Doogie when he came in.

“What the heck, Suzanne,” said Toni, zeroing in on the token. “When were you hanging out at a casino?”

Suzanne glanced at her sharply. “What? What did you just say?”

“That chip,” said Toni. “It's from Prairie Star Casino over near Cornucopia. What were you doing there? Playing the slots?” Then she looked thoughtful. “No, a chip like that would be from one of the table games, wouldn't it? Like poker or roulette.”

“Toni,” Suzanne said, feeling a little breathless. “Are you
sure
about that?”

“Sure, I'm sure,” said Toni. She picked up two plates of French toast that Petra had just set out, and then stopped. “Sure about what?”

“That this is some kind of casino chip?” said Suzanne. She picked it up and studied it a little more carefully, as if it were something she'd unearthed in an archaeological dig. Which she kind of had.

Toni peered at the chip again. “Yeah, it's from the casino. I know that for a fact 'cause Junior took me over to Prairie Star a couple of months ago. They were having an all-you-can-eat crab leg buffet.” She jerked her chin at the chip that rested in Suzanne's outstretched hand. “Where'd you get that thing anyway?”

“I found it in the ruins of the fire,” said Suzanne.

Toni's double take was so abrupt she almost dropped the plates she was balancing. “What? Are you serious?”

“The fire?” said Petra. “Hannah's fire?”

“Yes,” said Suzanne. Her mind had suddenly leapt into overdrive, bombarded with questions and strange possibilities.

“Wait a minute,” said Petra. She tapped her wooden spoon against a pot of vegetable soup and set it down. “Let me see that thing.” She walked a few steps and peered at it.

“It's definitely from the casino,” said Toni.

“But I found it in the ruins of the fire,” said Suzanne. She knew she was repeating herself, she just couldn't help it.

“Creepers!” said Petra. “Do you think that chip could be some sort of clue?”

“I don't know,” said Suzanne. “Maybe.” Her throat felt suddenly dry.

“Has to be,” said Toni.

“Are you going to give the chip to Doogie?” Petra asked. “You really should, you know.”

“I guess I pretty much have to,” said Suzanne.

“What about the information Kit confirmed last night?” said Toni. “About Marlys Shelton being Jack Venable's possible lover. Are you going to tell him about that, too?”

“He's not going to like any of this,” said Suzanne. “But maybe I can trade her name for some of his inside information.”

*   *   *

B
UT
Doogie didn't come in for breakfast. And when lunchtime rolled around he was still a no-show. But another familiar face came creeping in, looking tentative and more than a little unsettled.

Jack Venable. Hannah's husband. The newly minted town widower.

Suzanne was standing behind the counter, filling her coffeepot with Blue Mountain coffee when he came in. “Oh no,” she said to Toni, who was humming away as she assembled a ham and cheese sandwich for a take-out order.

“What?” Toni stopped her humming and glanced up. Then her eyes landed on Venable and she said, “Good grief. Him.” Her tone dropped to a bone-chilling thirty-two degrees. “Well,
I'm
not going to wait on him. He can just sit and spin for all I care.”

But Jack Venable, murder suspect or not, was a customer. And Suzanne figured that he deserved to be waited on just like anyone else.

“What?” she said, coming up to Venable's table. Waited on, yes. Friendly banter, no.

Jack Venable looked up at her with sorrowful eyes. “Suzanne,” he said, “thank you for coming to the vigil last night. I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to talk.”

“The way I see it, there's not much to talk about,” said Suzanne.

Venable sighed and said, “You, too?”

Suzanne's right eyebrow raised up a notch and quivered.

“You know me,” said Venable. “I've lived in Kindred all my life. You have to believe that I wouldn't kill Hannah.” His voice cracked. “I . . . I couldn't do that. I
didn't
do that.”

“Actually, Jack, I don't know anything of the sort. But I'm starting to put a few pieces together and, frankly, I don't like what I see.”

Venable looked shocked. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“First I hear you want to leave your marriage,” said Suzanne. “And then, when your wife of twenty-eight years protests, lo and behold, she dies in a mysterious fire. And to top it all off, you stole Hannah's wedding ring and sold it at a pawn shop!”

“I never . . .” Venable began.

But Suzanne held up a hand. “I happen to know that you did. I visited Dodd's Pawn Shop and heard all about it. Sheriff Doogie also knows that you disposed of her ring there. So I have to ask myself . . . why would someone do all this? What exactly was their motivation?”

Venable stood up so suddenly his chair almost flew over backward. “I can't believe you . . .” He bellowed so loudly every head in the place turned to look at him.

“Follow me,” Suzanne ordered. She turned and walked stiffly into the Book Nook, which she decided was becoming a regular routine.

Jack Venable stalked after her, looking unhappy. Finally, when they were away from prying eyes and ears, Suzanne whirled on him like a vengeful wraith and said, “Why did you steal Hannah's ring and sell it?”

“I didn't steal it.”

“Have it your way. Why did you take it?”

Venable just stood there for a few moments looking angry and forlorn. Finally, his eyes misted up and his nose began to twitch.

Suzanne decided she could wait him out. Heck, she could stand here all day if she had to.

Finally, Venable said, “I don't know why I did any of that. I suppose because I was angry. Things hadn't been going well for us for a long time. I wanted to leave . . . I wanted
her
to leave . . . I wanted to . . .”

“Kill her?” said Suzanne.

“No!” said Venable. “Of course not. I would
never
do that.”

“But you were cheating on Hannah.”

“Absolutely not,” said Venable. But one corner of his mouth twitched as his eyes slid sideways, and Suzanne could tell that he was lying.

“Look,” said Suzanne, “I don't know who your new paramour is or what she does . . . in fact, I don't
want
to know. But you are in a deep pile of doo-doo right now—and more of it is about to come tumbling down on your head. So my advice to you is to think long and hard about hiring a really good criminal defense attorney.”

“Suzanne,” said Venable, suddenly looking contrite, “I've really come here with my hat in my hand.”

She looked at him sharply. “What are you talking about?”

“I was hoping you'd help me.”

“What?” Suzanne whooped. “Are you
serious
?”

“I don't know what else to do,” said Venable. “Turns out a lot of folks in town think
I
set that fire . . . and now word is spreading! So what am I supposed to do? Move out of town and start my life over again? I'm too old for that.” He shrugged. “And I'm too tired.”

Suzanne held up a hand. “Whoa, whoa, wait a minute, Jack. You're starting to sound a little crazy.”

“Suzanne?” said Toni. She was suddenly hovering at the door. “Is everything okay? Are
you
okay?”

“We're just . . . conversing,” said Suzanne. But Toni didn't budge an inch from the doorway.

“The thing is, I'm
not
talking crazy,” Venable said in a rush. “In fact, the logical thing is for you to help me. You and Petra and Toni were good friends with Hannah . . . you were there when the fire started. And . . .”

“And what?” said Suzanne.

“The simple fact of the matter is, you're also a friend of Sheriff Doogie's so you can bend his ear a little. And I hear you're smart, real smart. You were the one who figured out that awful business with the prison warden.”

“That was pure luck,” said Suzanne.

“That was pure brilliance,” said Toni, sidling over to interject herself into the conversation.

“Jack,” said Suzanne. “I can't help you.”

“Then who can?” said Venable.