Stake & Eggs (20 page)

“Is there some problem I’m not aware of?” said Petra, glancing up.

“Just the usual chicken-poop stuff,” said Suzanne. “Carmen wasn’t exactly charitable
to Toni.”

“Carmen loves to snip and snipe and put me down,” said Toni. “She enjoys looking down
that surgically enhanced nose of hers.”

“Oh, Toni,” said Petra, “I don’t think she means it. Carmen pretty much treats everybody
with the same amount of disdain!”

“She may be an equal-opportunity snob,” said Toni, “but face it: Carmen still thinks
she’s better than we are.” She tugged at her blouse. “Maybe if I had different clothes?”

“Clothes don’t mean a thing,” said Petra. “Look at me. I wear T-shirts and crop pants
and bright green Crocs. I look like the love child of Mario Batali and the Jolly Green
Giant. And nobody’s putting me down.”

“That’s ’cause you’re so sweet,” said Toni. “And everyone loves you.” She nodded to
herself. “Yup, I should
probably stop dressing like a character out of
Annie Get Your Gun.
I probably need more sophisticated clothes.”

“I bet you wouldn’t like ’em even if you had ’em,” said Petra. “I bet you wouldn’t
feel comfortable.”

“I could at least
try
,” said Toni.

Suzanne thought for a minute. “You know, Missy left a garment bag full of clothes
in the office.”

Toni sat bolt upright, like a prairie dog that had just received an electric shock.
“She did? Really? You think I could try ’em on?”

“I don’t see why not,” said Suzanne, “as long as you’re verrrry careful.”

Toni dashed from the kitchen.

“Whoa, girl,” said Petra, “don’t let that swinging door hit you in the…”

“Head,” said Suzanne, as Colby trudged through again.

Petra rested a hand on Colby’s shoulder. “Honey, if you could bring in the crystal
water glasses, I could get started with the hand washing.”

“Sure thing,” said Colby.

“You know,” said Petra, hoisting herself up again, “I’d better help you. That glassware
is awfully fragile.”

Alone in the kitchen now, Suzanne wolfed down a leftover triangle spread with chicken
salad and sliced herself a small piece of cake.

A sharp knock at the back door startled her.

What?

She glanced up, feeling edgy and nervous. Her first thought was:
Who’s hanging around
my back door? Please tell me it’s not one of Carmen’s models who’s forgotten a tube
of mascara. And I sincerely hope it’s not the same wacko who strung the wire a couple
of nights ago!

But it was Reed Ducovny’s familiar face that peeped in through a frosted sliver of
window.

“Oh, hey,” she said, pulling open the door and feeling instantly relieved. “Reed,
come on in.”

“Afternoon, Suzanne,” said Ducovny. He shuffled in but
remained resolutely by the door, not wanting to track snow all over her kitchen floor.

“I guess you’re here because of Doogie, huh?” Of course, he was.

“Ayuh,” said Ducovny. “The sheriff is pretty much driving me batty with all his darned
questions and innuendos.” He shrugged out of his brown parka and pulled a stocking
cap off his head, revealing a crazy tangle of gray hair. He looked, Suzanne thought,
like some of those pictures she’d seen of Albert Einstein in his later years.

“I told Doogie you were innocent,” said Suzanne, “and asked him to ease off. But he’s
obviously not listening to me.”

“No, he’s listening to that banker guy, Ed Rapson. And, I guess, Mayor Mobley, too.”

“Mobley wants every problem to be wrapped up nice and neat,” said Suzanne. “Without
regard to what’s right or wrong.”

“Life doesn’t work that way,” said Ducovny. “You know that.”

“Reed,” said Suzanne, “I want to ask you something…”

He stared at her, twisting his hat in his hands.

“You went to Ben Busacker looking for a loan,” said Suzanne. “But then you were turned
down.”

Ducovny cast his eyes downward. “It was a bitter pill to swallow,” he said in a kind
of half croak, “when they told me my credit wasn’t so hot. You see, I wanted to make
an offer on your farm.”

“I understand that,” said Suzanne, “and I’m truly flattered. But I still have to ask…”

Ducovny shifted from one foot to the other as the snow on his pac boots melted and
formed two little puddles.

“You didn’t do anything, did you?” said Suzanne.

Ducovny’s eyes suddenly lasered into her. “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t do anything, um, strange or unusual to get Busacker’s attention, did you?”

“Of course not!” The ferocity of his reply unnerved Suzanne. She took a step back
just as the kitchen door swung open and Petra peered in.

“Everything okay in here?” Petra asked. She saw Ducovny, smiled sweetly at him, and
said, “Hello, Reed.”

Ducovny bobbed his head. “Howdy, ma’am.”

Petra clapped a hand to her ample chest. “You, too! Another ma’aming. Do I look that
old?”

Ducovny shook his head and smiled a bit. “No, ma’am.”

“Ooh, he did it again,” said Petra. Glasses rattled behind her, and Petra held the
door open so Colby could gingerly ease his way in with his tub full of glassware.

“Set ’em right here, hon,” Petra said, pointing toward their industrial sink. She
blinked, looked around at the mess that hadn’t budged, and said to Colby, “Maybe you
should take the garbage out, too, before we end up with a real stink-fest.”

Suzanne and Ducovny continued to stare at each other as Colby fussed with the garbage,
pulling one bag out of a red plastic bin, trying to force it into another bag.

“One bag’s enough,” Petra told him. “It’s not like it’s nuclear waste or anything.”

“Anyway,” said Ducovny, eyeing Suzanne as he pulled his parka back on, “anything you
can do with the sheriff would be welcome.” He tugged at his zipper. “Help get me off
the hook.”

“I understand,” said Suzanne. It was impossible to talk frankly with Ducovny while
Petra and Colby continued to struggle with the garbage. “We’ll talk later,” she told
Ducovny, as he backed out the door.

“Pull the string tight,” said Petra, grabbing one of the bulging bags. “Now haul it
outside and toss it in the Dumpster.”

But instead of finishing his task, Colby suddenly looked panicked. He glanced at the
back door, as if he’d seen something strange, or his mind had drifted somewhere else.

Suzanne picked up on it. “What’s wrong, Colby?”

He grabbed his jacket off a peg and shrugged into it. “Time to get moving,” he said
as he hastily slung the trash bag over one shoulder.

“I don’t understand,” said Suzanne. Colby was suddenly acting suspicious. As if
he
were wanted for murder.

“Colby?” said Petra. She saw his sudden unease, too.

“What’s bothering you?” asked Suzanne, taking a risk—but needing to ask.

“Nothing,” said Colby. The boy had totally shut down; he would not even meet her eyes
now.

“Did something just happen?” asked Suzanne.

“No,” said Colby.

Suzanne cocked her head. “Something you just remembered?”

“Maybe,” he said.

Suzanne had a sudden thought. “Colby, did you see something out here the other night?”

He twitched like a Mexican jumping bean. “Um…I don’t think so.”

Suzanne pressed him. “Were you out back the other night when the man on the snowmobile
was killed?”

“Um…” Colby hesitated. He met her gaze, looked away, then looked back at her. He seemed
shaky and uncertain, just this side of fearful. “Maybe,” he choked out.

Suzanne could barely breathe.
How much more can I push this kid without losing him?

“Colby, did you see who killed the man?” Suzanne asked.

“No,” he said in a small voice.

“Are you sure?”

“Yup,” he said, but his hand was pulling at the doorknob.

“Colby,” said Suzanne, “did you see who stretched the wire?”

But there was no answer. Just a whoosh of cold air, and then Colby was gone before
she could even react.

R
ECOVERING
quickly, Suzanne struggled into her coat and dashed out the back door after Colby.
The sun was just beginning to set and was spilling the last of its golden beams across
the snow-covered ground while the sky overhead turned an eggplant purple.

“Colby!” Suzanne called out. “Colby, come back!”

Peering at shadows and whorls of snow that shape-shifted in the wind, Suzanne looked
every which way, pausing whenever she saw the slightest movement. But instead of spotting
a boy fleeing through the snow, all she saw was a black plastic garbage bag dumped
in a snowbank.

Where’d he go?
Suzanne wondered. Was this kid some kind of world-class speed demon?

She walked back into her woods toward the shed and looked across the expanse of snow-covered
field to her farm, the farm Ducovny had wanted to buy. She saw nothing but a lone
crow dive-bombing down, hoping to unearth some leftover corn cobs. But definitely
no Colby.

As Suzanne rubbed her arms to warm them, she now felt sure that Colby knew something
about the night Ben Busacker had been killed. Maybe not everything, not the whole
picture, but he might be able to nudge one of the puzzle pieces into place, get her
closer to a solution. The problem was how to find Colby. And, if and when she found
him, how to gain back his trust?

*  *  *

“S
O
, where’d he go?” asked Petra when Suzanne stepped inside. She was up to her elbows
in sudsy water working on the glassware, her sponge making little squeaks and blurps.

“No idea,” said Suzanne. “But he’s sure as heck gone. Just…disappeared.”

“Who’s disappeared?” asked Toni. She suddenly reappeared dressed in a pair of tailored
black slacks and the midnight blue mohair jacket she’d admired earlier.

“Colby,” said Suzanne. “The kid just hightailed it out the door again.”

“Kids will do that,” Toni said matter-of-factly. She made a quick pirouette. “So,
what do you guys think? Do I look like I just stepped off a runway or what?”

“You look great,” said Suzanne. She was a little distracted, her thoughts still focused
on Colby.

“You look quite sophisticated,” said Petra, “but I still prefer you in your old clothes.”

Toni was startled. “Huh? Why is that?”

“Because this isn’t the real you,” said Petra. “It’s some lady who goes out for lunch
and snarfs down a twenty-dollar salad and a little too much chardonnay.”

Toni looked thoughtful. “That’s what I look like?”

Petra nodded. “Those new clothes kind of take over. They…I don’t know how to say it,
exactly…they kind of obliterate your personality.”

“What she means,” said Suzanne, “is that the clothes are front and center instead
of you.”

“Maybe,” said Toni. “But I’m still gonna wear ’em tonight to the parade. See what
kind of reaction I get.”

“If you do,” said Petra, looking skeptical, “you better not let Carmen see you.”

“She’s right,” said Suzanne. “If she sees you in that jacket, she’ll have your hide!”

A brisk winter wind whipped down Kindred’s Main Street, ruffling flags and kicking
up rooster sprays of snow. But
that didn’t stop a soul from turning out for the ever-popular Fire and Ice Parade.
Residents both young and old were bundled up in burly parkas with fur-trimmed hoods,
puffy down jackets, and thermal-lined wool coats in red-and-black buffalo plaid.

Some folks had brought along folding chairs and had cantilevered them into snowbanks.
Other hardy folks sat atop sleeping bags, while some huddled against the turn-of-the-century
brick buildings with their cozy little thresholds and decorative overhangs. Adults
cupped hands around warm Thermoses filled with coffee and even stronger spirits while
kids sipped warm cider and munched sugar cookies with red and white sprinkles, a surprise
freebie from the mayor’s office.

Easing her car into the first snow-free space she could find, Suzanne made her way
though the jostling crowds to a spot on Main Street, directly in front of Root 66.
Sam had promised to meet her there at 7:15
P.M.
sharp, in plenty of time to catch the start of the parade.

“One more patient,” he’d texted her earlier. “Then I’ll dash over from the clinic.
C u soon.”

“Sounds good,” she’d texted back. “Can’t wait.”

Just five minutes later, she spotted Sam in his navy North Face parka making his way
down the street, dodging and weaving through the bundled-up crowds.

He smiled broadly as their eyes locked.

This man is so handsome
, Suzanne thought for the umpteenth time.
Especially when he smiles.

“There you are!” Suzanne exclaimed as he approached.

They fell into a comfortable embrace, no longer worrying what others might think of
their blossoming relationship.

“Quite a crowd out tonight,” said Sam. “I was nervous I wouldn’t be able to find you.”

“I wasn’t,” said Suzanne.

Hand in hand they wandered down the street enjoying the sight of so many people. The
Kindred Department of
Public Works had strung tiny decorative red and white lights on all the frozen, snow-laden
trees along Main Street. And now the lights sparkled against the inky black sky, lending
a festive, majestic touch.

“How’d your tea go today?” asked Sam.

“Great,” said Suzanne. “A packed house with a great time had by all.” She stopped
abruptly.

“Except for…?” said Sam, picking up on her change of mood.

“Oh, that kid Colby turned up again,” said Suzanne. “Remember the one I told you about?”

“The runaway.”

“That’s the one. Right after lunch, just after you left, I wandered into the kitchen
and there was Petra, stuffing Colby’s face full of goodies.”

“So why is that a problem?” asked Sam.

“It’s a problem because he took off again. Right after Reed Ducovny walked in.”

“You think Ducovny scared him off or something?” asked Sam.

Suzanne stopped in her tracks. “I’m not sure. Something went down, that’s for sure.
I got a funny vibe that Colby might have even seen whoever strung the wire, but really,
I just don’t know.” She shook her head. “What can I say? He’s a hinky kid.”