Scorched Eggs (25 page)

“Please hold the ladder steady,” she begged Winthrop. “If I fall now I'm afraid I'll drop like a sack of flour.”

“We wouldn't want that, would we?” said Winthrop.

Something about the tone of his voice made Suzanne hesitate. She looked down and saw that he had taken a step back from the ladder. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets and he was jingling change. His lips were pursed as he blew a tuneless whistle.

“Bruce?” Suzanne said. The night air suddenly seemed chillier and the atmosphere felt electrically charged. Which made her perch feel all the more precarious and unstable.

“Yup?” Winthrop said as he looked up at her. His face was a pale oval beneath her and there was a strange light in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“You bet, Suzanne,” said Bruce as he stared up at her, his jaw tightening.

As Suzanne balanced against the ladder, clutching her cardboard box, she felt a vague sense of unease. Was something going on? Wait a minute . . . Bruce wouldn't
do
anything, would he?

No, of course not. I'm just having a paranoid moment brought on by a busy day and my slightly ditzy fear of heights.

“Bruce,” said Suzanne, trying to sound cool and calm, attempting to work past her fears, “I'd appreciate it if you'd grab hold of this ladder and keep it steady. I'm all the way up here trying to balance . . .”

Winthrop pulled his hands from his pockets and a spatter of change tumbled out. The coins hit the dirt with soft
plops.
Only, as Suzanne gazed down, she saw it wasn't change at all that had come loose.

They were casino chips.

Winthrop saw her looking and gave a low chuckle. “Oops,” he said. But now there was an undercurrent of menace in his voice.

Comprehension suddenly dawned for Suzanne. And she knew she was staring at the same kind of chip she'd found in the wreckage of the fire.

Winthrop's a gambler?
Suzanne thought. And then, as that one thought suddenly crystalized in her mind, she also experienced a wave of suspicion and then fear. “You're a gambler?” she croaked out.

Winthrop let loose a noise somewhere between a bark and a chuckle.

“Yeah,” he said. “Sometimes a little too much for my own good.”

Oh dear Lord
, Suzanne thought, her thoughts tumbling one on top of the other.
And sometimes gamblers get into deep
trouble, deep debt.
And on the heels of that terrifying realization—
And they cook the books. And then they're forced to cover it up.

Suzanne looked down at Winthrop again and saw the cold, hard truth shining in his dark eyes. And she knew, deep down in the limbic portion of her brain, that Bruce Winthrop had set the fire that had killed Hannah. Because Hannah had known what he was up to. Hannah had discovered Winthrop siphoning off money, which meant she'd been bound and determined to reveal his thieving ways to the county attorney.

Only Winthrop had killed Hannah first. He'd set the fire, burned down the building, and murdered his only witness!

Winthrop smiled up at Suzanne with the cold, hard smile of a reptile. He knew that she knew exactly what he'd done.

“Have you ever done any hunting, Suzanne?” Winthrop asked.

“No.” Suzanne's throat was so constricted with fear she could barely manage a sound.

“Well, I happen to have a particular taste for hasenpfeffer,” Winthrop said.

Rabbit
, Suzanne thought wildly.
What's with the
non sequitur?
Why is he
suddenly talking about rabbits?

“The best way to catch yourself a nice, plump rabbit is with a snare,” said Winthrop. He placed his size-twelve shoe on the bottom rung, causing the ladder to creak noisily. “You get yourself a length of galvanized wire.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a coil of thin wire. It glistened dully and dangerously in the dim light. “Something that's pliable, but still strong.”

“Bruce . . . ?” Suzanne was shaking so badly she could barely hang on to her cardboard box.

Winthrop sighed deeply, almost a sigh of resignation at the effort he was going to have to put forth. And then he came up the ladder after her, climbing relentlessly, murder in his eye.

“Doogie! Sam!” Suzanne croaked out. But she couldn't be heard over the thunderous laughter and applause that suddenly rang from inside the café.

Five rungs below her, the ladder thrashing and shaking like crazy, Winthrop stretched out an arm and made a grab for her ankle.

Suzanne struck out wildly with her foot, kicking at his hand. She knew she didn't dare let herself be caught and dragged down. She knew that if he got his hands on her, he'd strangle her with insane detachment, and then drop her body to the ground like a discarded doll.

“Help!” Suzanne shrieked, finally finding her voice and managing to hang on to the box while she scrambled up two more rungs.

“You think you're so smart,” Winthrop seethed through gritted teeth. “You think . . .”

He leaned dangerously backward and shook the ladder with all his might. Then he was bellowing like a madman, his face a blotchy red, his mouth making rabid, almost unintelligible sounds.

There was a roaring in Suzanne's head and her legs shook like Jell-O. As she shifted precariously on the ladder, she tilted the box and almost dropped the little owl. Terrified as he slid to and fro, the owlet let loose a pitiful cry.

As if in answer, a loud squawk sounded right above them, reverberating through the treetops, its piercing cry riding on the night air.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, the mother owl swooped down. Her wingspread had to be at least four feet across, the tips of her feathers curling aerodynamically as she dropped faster and faster. Talons extended, her aim dead-on, she went straight for Winthrop's eyes without hesitation!

Winthrop threw up an arm in a belated attempt to protect himself, and let loose a howl like a crazed banshee. But the gigantic owl never let up. Her wings sounded a terrifying drumbeat as she clawed furiously at his face.

A
LL
hell broke loose as Junior, Ricky Wilcox, and Sheriff Doogie came tumbling out the back door.

Doogie took one look at the struggle between Winthrop and the owl and drew his pistol.

“No! Don't shoot her!” Suzanne cried out as the mother owl gave one powerful flap of her wings and disappeared into the treetops.

Doogie lowered his gun.

“Just get him off me!” Suzanne screamed. “Winthrop tried to kill me, he tried to strangle me with that hunk of wire in his hand.”

“What are you sayin'?” screamed Doogie.

“He killed Hannah, too,” Suzanne yelled down from her shaky perch. “Set fire to the County Services Building and killed her so she couldn't rat him out over gambling debts. I bet if you can reconstruct county records, you'll find he's been embezzling like crazy.”

“She's lying!” Winthrop screamed. He put a hand up to wipe his face, saw that he was bleeding, and cried, “My eyes! That owl clawed out my eyes!”

Doogie started for the ladder, but Ricky Wilcox beat him to it. “I'll get that bugger down,” said Ricky. He climbed up, grabbed hold of Winthrop's belt, and yanked him hard. “Get down here, you varmint!” he ordered. He was no longer Ricky the suspect, now he was Ricky the avenging, self-appointed deputy.

“Holy guacamole!” cried Toni as she flung open the back door and took in the scene. She saw Ricky yanking Winthrop down, Doogie still in combat stance, Junior's blank stare, and Suzanne hanging on for dear life. “I'm gonna get Sam,” she cried out. “Hang on, honey!”

*   *   *

S
UZANNE
did hang on. After Winthrop was dragged down, after Doogie put handcuffs on him, she scrabbled down carefully, still clutching the box with her owl. When her feet finally touched solid ground, she let out a huge sigh of relief.

At which point the door burst open again and Sam, Toni, and Petra came rushing out.

Sam wasted no time. He brushed past everyone and swept Suzanne into his arms. “Are you okay?” he asked as she hiccupped and nodded against his chest. “Are you okay?”

“Holy crumb cake,” said Petra. “Looks like we got ourselves a melodrama going on out here, too.”

“You have no idea,” said Ricky. He was aligned tightly with Doogie now. And Doogie, experienced law officer that he was, was managing to wring a halting confession out of Bruce Winthrop. Yes, Winthrop had embezzled money; yes, he'd set the fire, but only as a sort of smoke screen to try to delay any sort of investigation until he could pay all the money back.

“Lie!” shouted Suzanne. She'd thrown in her two cents' worth during the questioning and it was quite clear whose story had won out.

“What a jerk,” said Toni.

Suzanne poked an index finger into the middle of Winthrop's chest. “Were you the clown?” she asked.

“I'd say he's more than a clown,” said Doogie. “More like a murdering skunk who . . .”

“No,” said Suzanne. “I'm asking if he was the one who chased me in his clown costume last night.”

“You were chased?” said Sam. He shot a murderous glance at Winthrop.

“I can explain,” said Winthrop. “A simple joke . . .”

“I might just lock this boy up and throw away the key,” said Doogie.

“Were you responsible for the fire at the vet's clinic, too?” Suzanne prodded. “Did you plant those blasting caps in Ricky's car? Did you shoot at me as I rode my horse through the woods?” But Winthrop had suddenly clammed up.

“It was him,” said Sam. “Just look at his face.”

“Guilty as sin,” said Petra.

Doogie, looking angry but satisfied that the case had mostly been solved, grabbed Winthrop and dragged him across the parking lot. He opened the back door of his cruiser and did everything but boot Winthrop inside.

“I need an ambulance!” Winthrop implored. “I was attacked by a vicious animal. Look at me, I'm all scratched and bleeding.”

“Bull dingers,” scoffed Doogie. “You ain't hurt bad at all. You're gonna ride to jail like any other common criminal. And don't you dare get a drop of blood on my fine plastic upholstery. There's been enough blood shed in this town already.”

More and more people had heard the commotion and were spilling outside into the back parking lot. Some of the seriously curious had wandered through Petra's kitchen, others had gone out the front door of the Cackleberry Club and found their way around the side.

Doogie took over again. “That's it, show's over,” he said, clapping his hands loudly. “Everybody back inside.” He glanced at Ricky. “Son, can you kind of herd 'em around toward the front?”

“Yes, sir!” said Ricky.

“Oh my gosh,” said Toni, grabbing Kit and hugging her tight. “Ricky's off the hook for sure.”

“So are a lot of other people,” said Petra. “Looks like Jack Venable might have been unfaithful to Hannah, but at least he wasn't her killer.”

“Neither is Marty Wolfson or Darrel Fuhrman,” said Toni. “And those are the two guys we thought might cause trouble tonight.”

“Who says they won't cause trouble in the future?” said Suzanne. She remained in the safe embrace of Sam.

“You never know,” said Toni. She grabbed Kit's hand, and motioned for Petra to follow. “Come on,” she said, glancing at Suzanne and Sam, “let's give these two lovebirds a little space.”

Alone in the back lot now, Sam furrowed his brow and gazed at Suzanne. “Are you really okay?”

She nodded. “I think so.” She gestured toward the ladder. “All I wanted to do . . .” She sniffled and tried to manage a smile.

“The baby owl,” said Sam. “I know.”

“Just trying to reunite it,” she said. She felt a profound sadness. For the owl, for Hannah, for everyone who'd been dragged into this mess.

Sam picked up the cardboard box from where Suzanne had set it down. He hooked one arm around it and started up the ladder.

“You're going to . . . ?” Suzanne said. Then, “Please be careful.”

“No problem, I'm an old hand at this,” said Sam. “I once built a tree house as a kid.” He climbed surely and swiftly, up, up, up, almost to the very top of the ladder. “There's a hollow in the tree up here,” he called out, his voice drifting down to Suzanne.

“That's it,” she said. “That's their nest. Can you put it . . . can you put the baby owl in there?” She was on pins and needles, practically dancing in place, her fingers crossed.

“It's done,” said Sam.

“Thank goodness,” she breathed. What a finale to a crazy, weird evening. A crazy, weird week!

Sam was barely ten rungs down the ladder when there was a wild rush of wings as the mother owl flew down. She eased her way into the hollow tree and settled next to the baby owlet.

“What's happening?” Suzanne called up.

“She's touching it,” said Sam. “But gently. Making sure it's okay.”

Suzanne wasn't sure, but she thought she could detect a slight catch in his voice.

“Be careful,” Suzanne warned as Sam continued to climb down. When he was back on terra firma, she said, “I can't wait to tell you . . .”

But Sam held up a hand to interrupt her. “Hang on a minute.”

“What?” Suzanne asked, suddenly feeling nervous and jittery. Was there a problem? Was Sam angry with her for coming out here all by herself and getting suckered in by Bruce Winthrop?

Sam dug in his pocket. “I've got this . . .”

“What?” she said again, her voice a little sharper this time. But she was really thinking,
Please don't be mad. Please don't say you want to break up with me, or something really awful like that.

“I've actually got something for you,” said Sam. “I'm thinking this might be the right time to . . .” He pulled a small black velvet box from his pocket and cradled it in the palm of his outstretched hand.

Suzanne gasped.

Then, as if she had suddenly slipped into a wonderful dream, the ring box seemed to magically open. And there, nestled on a pillow of sleek white silk, was the most gorgeous Asscher-cut diamond ring she had ever laid eyes on. It sparkled and glimmered with precise shards of light, like the aurora borealis on a frozen winter night.

Suzanne gazed in awe at the ring, and then looked up at Sam, her eyes brimming with tears.

“Oh,” she said, her voice a slight squeak.

She couldn't quite believe it. Was this moment really happening? Had a handsome man in a cutaway velvet coat, looking very Victorian and serious, gotten down on bended knee and offered her this gorgeous engagement ring? And, quite probably, a lifetime filled with happiness?

It was almost too much for Suzanne to bear. She wanted to sing, dance, cry hysterically, and shout for joy. But most of all, she wanted to sink to
her
knees and offer up a prayer to Heaven. Because right in the middle of a perfectly lovely, yet ordinary existence, life had handed her a fairy tale!

“I'm encouraged by that big smile on your face,” said Sam. He rose to his feet and touched a hand to her cheek, gently brushing away her tears of joy. “But I would love to hear your answer.”

“
Woo-hoo
,” the mother owl hooted softly from up above, where leaves rustled and the little owl snuggled contentedly.

“Yes, Sam!” Suzanne finally cried, throwing her arms around him and hugging him as tight as she possibly could. “Absolutely I will marry you!” She hesitated. “Except . . .”

“Except what?” he asked, looking nervous.

“You're not going to expect beef bourguignon and chicken marsala for dinner every night, are you?”

“Sweetheart,” Sam said, his lips poised above hers. “The only thing I really expect is to be ravenously happy with you.”

And as Suzanne kissed him back, she whispered a silent prayer.
Thank you, dear Lord, for giving me a second chance at love. Because this time I know it will last for a very long time!