Stake & Eggs (8 page)

“Even so,” said Suzanne, “if it was cut from his fence, anybody could have done it.
You can’t come down hard on Ducovny just because he’s convenient. Because the fence
was convenient.”

Doogie held up an index finger. “Don’t lecture me, Suzanne.”

“I have to,” said Suzanne, realizing she might be pushing it a little, but not caring.
“Because Ducovny had no
motive
. He’s a guy who cares about corn, not about offing some full-of-himself banker. The
two men didn’t even
know
each other, for gosh sakes, except to maybe exchange a polite nod on the street.”

“I gotta look at all the angles, Suzanne.”

“I understand that,” said Suzanne. “But Ducovny? Jeez.”

“It’s what I got,” said Doogie.

“Please don’t let Ed Rapson drive you in the wrong direction,” Suzanne cautioned.
“He wants Busacker’s murder wrapped up in a nice, neat package so he can go back to
the home office and deliver it as a trophy.”

“I get it, Suzanne,” said Doogie. Now there was a definite edge to his voice.

“I’m not finished,” said Suzanne firmly. “That darned Charlie Steiner was in here
for lunch, running his yap about what a non-tragedy Ben Busacker’s death was. Apparently,
Busacker was about to foreclose on his farm?”

Doogie nodded. “Got the whole story, blow by blow, from Gene Gandle.”

“I figured as much,” said Suzanne. “So you’re going to talk to him?”

“To Steiner? Yes,” said Doogie. “He’s next on my list.”

“Okay, then,” said Suzanne.

“That make you happy?” asked Doogie, with a frown.

“For now, yes,” she said.

“I’
M
gonna blow this pop stand, okay?” called Petra. She was standing at the front door,
her camel hair coat pulled around her, a white knit cap stuck like a poufy marshmallow
atop her head.

“Have a great night!” called Toni. She was poking a broom underneath one table, trying
to hook an errant French fry.

“Give Donny a hug for me,” called Suzanne. Donny was Petra’s husband, who lived in
the Center City Nursing Home.

“I will,” said Petra. A cold breeze swooped in, and then she was gone.

“Got any special plans for tonight?” Toni asked Suzanne.

Suzanne smiled. “Sam’s dropping by for dinner.”

“Ooh, the good doctor is coming a-courting. Lucky you.”

“Lucky me only if I figure out a suitable menu. I was thinking veal chops, then I
decided steak would…” Her words broke off as another cold gust suddenly swept through
the café. “Petra?” she said, glancing up. “Did you forget…?”

But it wasn’t Petra who stood in the doorway. Suzanne was suddenly staring into the
dark, sparkling eyes of Carmen Copeland.

“Hello, ladies,” Carmen purred. She was wrapped in a floor-length sable coat that
was so lush it fairly crackled. A caramel-colored cashmere muffler was coiled around
her neck.

“Carmen!” said Suzanne, going over to greet her. “I had no idea you’d be stopping
by.” Carmen Copeland was a local author who’d made it big as a romance writer. She
had something like twenty-two novels to her credit with multiple trips to the
New York Times
bestsellers list. Even though Carmen’s success and fame were prodigious, they’d done
nothing to soften her personality. Carmen remained aloof, abrasive, and difficult.

“I wanted to make sure we were all on the same page for the fashion show this Thursday,”
said Carmen. A year ago, Carmen had opened the Alchemy clothing boutique, and her
clothes were going to be featured at the Crystal Tea.

“The same page,” said Toni, pointing her broom at Carmen. “Ha-ha, very good.”

Carmen’s eyes hardened. “This is no joke, ladies. In fact, after what happened here
yesterday, I seriously considered moving the event.”

“What?” yelped Suzanne. “But we’re already sold out!
Our plans are all in place. We’ve ordered flowers and food and…everything!”

Carmen sighed. “So you have.”

“Which means we can hardly afford a last-minute change,” finished Suzanne, somewhat
breathlessly.

Carmen gazed down at her leopard-spotted boots. “No, I suppose not.”

“So, the show must go on,” said Toni, trying for humor, failing miserably.

“Realize, please,” said Carmen, “that I don’t want my boutique to be associated with
anything as tawdry as murder.”

“We don’t like it any more than you do,” said Suzanne, “but it’s pretty much blown
over by now.”

“It has?” said Toni.

“Sure,” said Suzanne. “Fact is, we had a full house for breakfast, lunch, and teatime,
so I can’t imagine anyone will stay away come Thursday.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” said Carmen haughtily. She gazed about, then slipped
out the door, as quietly as she’d come in.

“Ding-dong the witch is dead,” quipped Toni.

“Not quite,” said Suzanne. “We still have to deal with her on Thursday.”

“I just wish she wasn’t so snooty,” said Toni. “It’s not like Carmen is an ambassador
for the United Nations or something. I mean, she writes books, for cripes sake. Bodice-busting
romances.”

“Romances that sell like crazy,” said Suzanne.

Toni’s shoulders slumped. “I guess.”

The two women stared at each other.

“Doggone it,” said Suzanne. “Now I know how Doogie felt earlier today when Ed Rapson
confronted him from his high horse.”

Toni wrinkled her nose. “Whadya mean?”

“With her fur coat and sparkly rings, Carmen makes me
feel like I’m some backwoods granny, sucking on a corncob pipe and wearing hand-me-down
gingham.”

“Just because Carmen’s got money and prestige doesn’t mean she’s particularly well-liked,”
said Toni. “She’s a rottweiler who’s hound-dogged after every man in the county. And
still
she remains single.”

Suzanne smiled a faint smile. “There is that.”

T
ONIGHT
was a night Suzanne was secretly excited about. In fact, she’d been looking forward
to it ever since she and Sam had marked it (in ink, of course!) on their calendars
a couple of days ago. But with the press of business at the Cackleberry Club, the
Fire and Ice Festival about to begin, and the crazy swirl of activity surrounding
Ben Busacker’s death, she’d had to batten down the hatches on excitement. She’d had
to focus on the storm that was directly in front of her nose.

Life was like that sometimes, she thought. She hadn’t had more than a minute to think
about this special night. But even though her plans had been on the back burner, she
was simmering tonight. Because Sam was coming over to her house, and she was going
to cook.

“Are you sure you’re up to it?” he had asked on the phone earlier this afternoon.
Before she could answer, he added, “Especially after the Busacker incident? Really,
Suzanne, I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

Suzanne smiled as he spoke to her. She couldn’t help it. What was it about this man
that sent a shiver through her bones?

She had an image of Sam on the other end of the line as they spoke. Tall, check. Handsome.
Oh yeah. Tousle of brown hair with a slightly unruly forelock spilling onto his forehead.
Bit of a crooked smile. A kind, inquisitive face. And those strong but slender hands…

Where’d this guy come from, anyway? How had he
landed in her life? She wondered what forces in the universe had put them on a collision
course and then brought them together.

In so many ways, Sam Hazelet was just what the doctor ordered. Except, of course,
he
was
the doctor.

“I’m fine,” she’d said into the phone. Sounding calm, even as her heart was beating
a little faster. “Not to worry. You know that cooking’s my thing.”

“And a fine thing it is.”

“So, come on over,” she said. “Around sixish.”

“What can I bring?” asked Sam. “How about a bottle of wine?”

“Perfect.”

“Red or white?”

“Up to you, but we’re having steak.”

“Mmn,” said Sam. “Red, then.”

S
UZANNE
bustled around her kitchen, an apron tied at her waist and the nape of her neck still
slightly wet from the shower she’d taken just minutes before. She cubed a few slices
of brioche, tossed them into a bowl with four beaten eggs, then added butter, raisins,
milk, sugar, and cinnamon. That went into the oven.

Now what?

Suzanne opened the refrigerator and grabbed her steaks. She unwrapped them, knowing
it was always better to let meat come to room temperature before cooking it.

When she glanced around, she saw two dogs sitting there, eyes lasered on the steaks.

Baxter was sitting there with limpid eyes and a softly graying muzzle. He was Mr.
Cool Dude Dog, pretending not to care but salivating over the idea of grilled steak.

Scruff was just plain anxious, his tail thumping constantly, no pretense of being
laid back or blasé. Then again, Scruff was a rescue dog, a poor pathetic pup she’d
found wandering on a lonely highway one night. Now, almost
three months later, he was starting to relax and getting used to being in a warm,
loving home. Suzanne had been dropping subtle hints to Sam that he should adopt Scruff,
but he hadn’t taken her up on it yet.

Hands on hips, Suzanne gazed at the dogs. “What? You guys are hoping for scraps already?
I haven’t even started dinner.”

The dogs continued to stare at her. Casting polite but pathetic glances at the food.

“Okay, but kibbles only,” said Suzanne. She grabbed two aluminum dog dishes, filled
them with a scoop of kibbles each, and placed the dishes on the kitchen floor. Two
muzzles dug in eagerly, sending little avalanches of kibbles over the side.

S
UZANNE
had stopped at the market on her way home and picked up a few more of her favorite
ingredients for dinner. Besides the New York strip steaks, she’d gotten a bunch of
asparagus, a French baguette, and an enormous heirloom tomato that wasn’t in season
but had hopefully been flown in from some warm and wonderful South American country
where it
was
in season.

Now she bustled about what she thought of as her dream kitchen with its Wolf gas range,
Sub-Zero refrigerator, granite countertops, and fabulous collection of copper pots
and pans. She thanked her lucky stars for the umpteenth time that she’d been able
to renovate this kitchen exactly to her taste and standards. When you put great care
into something, she decided, it became yours in the truest sense.

Chopping off the woody portion of the stems, Suzanne popped her asparagus into simmering
water for a quick blanch before she tossed it on the Jenn-Air grill. Then she seasoned
the steaks with fresh cracked pepper, whipped up a pan of her special béarnaise sauce,
and sliced the baguette and slathered it with garlic and butter. Tonight she wasn’t
counting calories.

With the grill heating, the asparagus simmering, and the béarnaise sauce bubbling
like a mini volcano, Suzanne set out ivory-colored linen placemats on her butcher-block
table. She added silverware and two Reidel wine goblets. As a finishing touch, she
placed two silver candlesticks with tall white tapers in the center of the table,
then lit the candles.

Suzanne gazed at the table. A cozy, inviting place setting for two. It looked so perfect,
it brought a lump to her throat.

Just as she placed the steaks on the grill, she heard Sam’s footsteps outside the
front door. There was a loud
da-ding
and then the dogs were whirling and swirling their way to the door.

“Right on time,” she said, pulling open the door.

“Smells great in here,” Sam said as he clumped in, kicked off his boots, and gave
her a quick kiss. “Looks great, too,” he said, smiling at her.

“Compliments will get you everywhere,” laughed Suzanne as she took his parka and hung
it in the hall closet. She glanced out the narrow front hall window that was etched
with ice crystals. “Still so cold out?”

“Brutal,” said Sam. “But even with icy intersections, people are tearing around like
mad.”

“Good for business,” said Suzanne.

“Ski season’s always my prime time,” laughed Sam as they linked arms and strolled
into the kitchen, the dogs following at their heels. “All those broken bones.”

Sam produced a bottle of cabernet sauvignon and set it on the kitchen counter.

“What kind?” said Suzanne.

“Ah, something I read about in
Wine Spectator,”
said Sam. “They gave it ninety-six points. Then again, they’re generous and tend
to give everything ninety-six points.”

Suzanne handed Sam a corkscrew, and he opened the wine with a
pop
and a flourish, as she tossed her asparagus onto the grill next to the sizzling steaks.
Five minutes later,
with the steaks looking caramelized and smelling great, Suzanne plated everything
and carried it to the table.

“Wow,” said Sam, as she hit the rheostat and dimmed the lights. “Very impressive.
Fine dining à la Chateau Suzanne.”

“Did I ever tell you my secret dream?”

“You mean running your own fine-dining restaurant? Yes, you did. And I think you should
follow that dream. Of course, I’d insist on a small piano bar where I could tickle
the ivories when the mood struck me.”

“You really play the piano?”

“Are you kidding?” Sam made a Groucho Marx expression with his eyebrows. “I can play
show tunes with the best of them.”

They dug into their food and wine then, relishing the end-of-day peacefulness and
the chance to be together. Both had demanding work schedules and were responsible
for other people, so it was a blessing to sit down and share a few hours.

“This is so civilized,” said Sam. “I could get used to it.”

Suzanne grinned. “I’m already used to it.”

Reaching across the table, Sam grasped her hand and gave it a knowing squeeze.

They chatted comfortably then, but it wasn’t long before their talk turned to the
news du jour in Kindred: Ben Busacker’s untimely death. Suzanne told Sam all about
Ed Rapson showing up that morning. And about Charlie Steiner’s rant against Busacker,
as well as Reed Ducovny suddenly becoming Doogie’s prime suspect.