by Laura Childs
“Is Junior still planning to bring us a few boxes or bins for collecting toys?” Suzanne asked.
“He promised he would,” Toni said.
“And we’re probably going to need posters,” Suzanne said.
Petra waved a hand. “I’m already on it. But we need more marketing juice than just that. We gotta let people know that we’re collecting toys.”
“I’ve got that covered,” Suzanne said. “Laura Benchley at the Bugle is going to do a write-up in the newspaper and I’m already booked on Paula Patterson’s Friends and Neighbors radio show. Paula promised me a two-minute segment.”
“That’s perfect,” Petra said. “So what else is hot?” She looked around the café. “Oh. Holiday decorating.”
“Consider it done,” Toni said. “I’m the garland and tinsel queen.” She made a grand gesture and one of her nails popped off. “Oops.” She grabbed it and stuck it back on.
“Then you’d better get your tinsel in gear,” Suzanne said. “Because we need to be gussied up in time for our Christmas Tea.” She glanced at Petra. “You’re all ready for that? Ingredients have been ordered?”
“Orders are in, menus are planned,” Petra said. “Now I’m working on Saturday afternoon’s wine and cheese fund-raiser for my church.”
“And Saturday is opening night for our play,” Suzanne said.
“The play,” Toni said, sticking on another purple nail. “We got so busy, I kind of forgot about that.” She drummed her fingers against the table, testing the stick-on power of her new nails. “Is dress rehearsal still on for tonight?”
“No,” Petra said. “It’s been cancelled.” She made a face. “I forgot to tell you guys. Teddy Hardwick called during lunch and said rehearsals are off for tonight, but they’ll start up again tomorrow night.”
“Must be out of respect for Allan Sharp,” Toni said. “Why else would there be a delay?”
“I think,” Petra said, “they’re hoping to find someone to step in and play Scrooge.”
“Another victim,” Toni said.
Suzanne sighed. “Let’s just hope there isn’t a Christmas jinx.”
* * *
• • •
ON her way home from work, Suzanne decided to stop at Alchemy Boutique and talk to Missy. Missy was, after all, Amber’s close friend. Maybe she’d be able to shed a little more light on why Amber had come begging for help this afternoon.
Alchemy Boutique was a contemporary upscale clothing shop that shouldn’t have been particularly well received in the small midwestern town of Kindred but had proved to be a rip-roaring success. Alchemy carried the latest trend-driven fashions—7 for All Mankind jeans, cold-shoulder sweaters, shredded hoodies, suede booties, and designer looks by Rag & Bone, Vince, and C&C T-shirts.
Suzanne let herself in the door and instantly felt her spirits lift. Candles flickered; Adele’s “Set Fire to the Rain” oozed over the sound system; beautiful clothing beckoned from tasty little please-touch-me displays. Olive drab jackets, camo jeans, and suede boots were gathered in one section; another table was stacked with orange-, red-, and plum-colored sweaters. An old-fashioned cabinet held a wealth of bags and dreamy wool scarves. For a few seconds, Suzanne had an image of herself dressed in caramel-colored leather slacks and a matching sweater. The slacks would be soft as butter, the sweater embellished with bits of suede fringe and exotic feathers. A camel’s-hair coat would be draped carelessly over her shoulders as she posed next to a silver Mercedes-Benz. Then she shook her head and the Suzanne-as-runway-model dream burst like a soap bubble.
At the same moment a loud, excited shriek erupted from the back of the shop. “Suzanne! I haven’t seen you in forever.”
Missy Langston bustled toward her, all long blond hair, fair skin, and boundless enthusiasm. Up until a year ago, Missy had been endowed with a lush, positively ripe figure. Now she’d dieted down to a teeny-tiny size, the better to squeeze into the extra small fashions that the store carried. Suzanne wondered whether the weight loss had been Missy’s idea, or if she’d been coerced by Carmen Copeland, the snooty romance writer who also owned the store.
Suzanne and Missy exchanged de rigueur air kisses and friendly hi-how-are-yous. Then Suzanne got right down to business.
“One of your friends stopped by to see me today,” she said.
Missy gave a knowing nod. “Amber. I told her that you could probably help her.”
“The influence I have over Sheriff Doogie is basically zero to none,” Suzanne said. “What Amber really needs is a good attorney.”
“Couldn’t you do for her what you did for me?” Missy gave a little shudder. “I’ll never forget how you pulled my fat out of the fryer when Doogie accused me of murdering Lester Drummond.”
“Yes, but I knew you so I could vouch for you wholeheartedly. I don’t know a thing about Amber, other than the fact that she worked at Sam’s clinic for a few months.”
“Well, can’t you talk to Sam? Or ask somebody at the clinic?”
“Sam doesn’t want me to get involved in the Allan Sharp case. In fact, he was quite adamant about it.”
Missy smiled. “When have you ever done what someone told you to do, Suzanne? Long as I’ve known you, you always follow your head and your heart and do the right thing.”
Yes, but is this the right thing? Suzanne wondered.
Missy reached out and grabbed Suzanne’s hand. “Listen, Suzanne, I swear on my mother’s grave that Amber is good people. And right now she’s being falsely accused of a crime she didn’t commit.”
“It makes me nervous that somebody went out of their way to accuse Amber,” Suzanne said. “That she’s made an enemy somewhere.”
“Doesn’t matter who started the lie,” Missy said. “Amber’s in trouble and she needs help.”
“Like I said, she needs a lawyer.”
“She needs a friend.”
Suzanne raised an eyebrow. “And I’m supposed to be that friend?”
“Isn’t there some kind of saying about how your enemy is my enemy?” Missy asked.
“I think that’s only in B movies that involve swords, armor, and fur capes.”
“But it could work the other way, too, couldn’t it?” Missy pleaded. “My friend is your friend?”
“I suppose so.”
Missy continued with her impassioned plea for Amber, begging Suzanne to step in and help. Suzanne listened carefully but still wasn’t convinced.
Finally, Missy said, “Look, I’ll make a deal with you. You do what you can for Amber—running whatever interference you can with Sheriff Doogie—and I’ll help you out. I could . . .” She glanced around the boutique. “I could stage a mini fashion show for you.”
“What are you talking about?” Suzanne asked.
“Well, I know you’re having your big Christmas Tea this Wednesday. What if I brought a few girls and some fun clothes over to the Cackleberry Club and we staged a mini fashion show for you?”
“A fashion show,” Suzanne said, liking the idea.
“It would be an impromptu surprise. Kind of like a Christmas gift for all your guests. What do you say, Suzanne?”
“I think it’s a great idea. But you don’t have to bribe me. I’ll talk to Doogie and try to run interference . . .”
“You’ll really help Amber?” Missy cried.
“Yes, I will,” Suzanne said. She’d take a giant step in and use whatever influence she could muster. “For you, Missy, I’ll try to help Amber. I really will.”
* * *
• • •
BY the time Suzanne arrived home, it was well after six o’clock. She kicked off her boots, stowed her coat in the front hall closet, and wondered where her dogs were. There was usually the telltale click of toenails on floorboards and then two warm muzzles snuffled her hand, a lovely doggy greeting. But when Suzan
ne walked into the kitchen and found Sam feeding jerky treats to Baxter and Scruff, she knew her work here was done.
“Hey,” Sam said, a grin splitting his face. “You’re home.”
“You’re home,” Suzanne said. Sam was generally the one who was the late arrival. Also, though this was slightly picky, it technically wasn’t Sam’s home yet. They were, as Suzanne liked to say, living in sin. But since they’d be getting married in a few short months, it made no earthly sense for Sam to keep his apartment. After all, Suzanne had plenty of room upstairs in her king-sized bed.
“Are you actually cooking something or just puttering around, trying to look busy?” Suzanne asked as Baxter and Scruff finally came over and stretched their noses up, hoping for a pet. Or another treat.
Sam fixed Suzanne with a dazzling smile and her heart leapt at the idea that this man, this slightly younger man, not only loved her, but had asked her to marry him.
“What I’m doing couldn’t exactly be classified as cooking,” Sam said. “It’s more like prowling through the refrigerator and pulling out a few choice ingredients that will hopefully inspire you.” He took two quick steps in her direction, wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her close. Delivered a kiss that was long and sweet. Then his lips moved down to impart tiny butterfly kisses on her neck. “You’re the one who’s the gourmet chef, after all,” he murmured.
“Mmn,” Suzanne said, her appreciation apparent as she snuggled even closer to him. Never mind the gourmet chef part. Just please don’t stop those kisses. In fact, let’s just save the calories and chuck the whole idea of dinner so we can go upstairs and . . .
“What about lamb chops?” Sam asked. Regrettably, he’d come up for air and the kisses had stopped.
“I take it you’re hungry?” she asked.
“Famished. After a day of appendectomies, broken wrists, and a possible E. coli outbreak, who wouldn’t be?”
Me, Suzanne thought. I’d never eat a speck of food again if I had to deal with that stuff. Now that Sam’s mind had methodically switched over to food, she knew the kissing and hugging portion of the evening was over.
“How about I do a quick grill on some lamb chops and serve them with American fries and broccolini?”
Sam grinned. “I’d go out and commit highway robbery just for your delicious taters.”
Suzanne got busy then. The nightly routine of cooking a complete meal appealed to her. It felt somehow comforting and brought a sense of closure to her day. Afterward, she and Sam would hunker down for the night, enjoying their almost-family. No more simply eating a sandwich alone in front of the TV.
Sitting at the dining room table in a warm spill of candlelight, Suzanne waited until they were halfway through their dinner and the better part of a bottle of Montrachet before she told Sam that Amber Payson had stopped by to see her.
“Amber?” Sam said, his brow puckering. “You mean our Amber from the clinic?” Baxter and Scruff perked their ears forward when he spoke. Sam was more liberal than Suzanne about feeding dogs at the table, so there was always the chance of a choice tidbit.
“Well, she hasn’t been your Amber for a good six months,” Suzanne said. “In fact, she’s been working for Allan Sharp.”
That grabbed Sam’s immediate attention. “You’re not serious.”
“Not only that; Amber seems to be in a bit of trouble.” Suzanne went on to explain about Amber showing up at the Cackleberry Club, the accusations from Doogie, and Amber’s subsequent plea for help.
Sam was dumbfounded. “Now Amber’s a suspect in Allan Sharp’s murder? I can’t believe it.”
“She was terribly upset about being questioned by Doogie, so I know she didn’t just make it up.”
“And Amber wants you to step in and help her? Use whatever influence you have with Doogie?”
“That was the basic gist of her request, yes.”
As always, Sam’s practicality came to the forefront. “Amber doesn’t need you; she needs an attorney.”
Suzanne aimed her fork at him. “Thank you very much. That’s exactly what I told her.”
“And it was excellent advice. It means you won’t get dragged into some weird investigation.”
“But I didn’t say I wouldn’t help her,” Suzanne said, her eyes focused on Sam.
“Advising her to hire an attorney was all the help she needs,” Sam said. He popped a bite of lamb chop into his mouth, chewed appreciatively, and said, “This is really delicious, you know? And your glaze—I don’t know how you do it—is to die for.” Baxter stood up and his ears pricked forward.
Suzanne continued to look at Sam until, eventually, his chewing slowed. Then he swallowed hard. “No,” he said. “Oh no.” Baxter lay back down.
“I’m not going to get involved involved,” Suzanne said. “I’m just going to ask Doogie a few simple questions. Probe around, try to find out who Amber’s accuser was.”
Sam set down his fork. “Allan Sharp was murdered, Suzanne. His killer threatened you. Do you not get that? On top of that, we don’t know Amber very well. She could be under the influence of drugs. Or . . .” He searched for the right word. “Delusional.”
“She wasn’t delusional when she worked for you a few months ago. Besides, Missy Langston says Amber is to be trusted. They’re apparently very good friends and Missy firmly believes that Amber is levelheaded. And you know I’ll be careful.” Suzanne stood up, grabbed her plate, and then reached over to clear Sam’s plate. Smiled sweetly as she did so.
“No, you’ll take chances,” Sam said. “You always do.”
“Mmn, how can I convince you otherwise? Perhaps with a slice of peach pie for dessert?”
Sam frowned. “You’re trying to change the subject.”
Suzanne set the dishes back down, stepped around the table, and kissed him. Her lips were gentle at first; then she gradually increased the intensity. “No,” she whispered, “this is changing the subject.”
Sam pulled back from her a quarter inch. “You’re not playing fair. You won’t get away with this.”
But in the end, she did. Because Suzanne could be quite convincing when she wanted to be.
CHAPTER 6
FRYING pans sizzled, eggs bobbed in bubbling water, and copper pots clunked as Suzanne, Toni, and Petra prepped for the coming day.
“Eggs on a cloud this morning,” Petra boomed out. It was one of her favorite breakfasts, a poached egg perched on a flaky buttermilk biscuit. “Plus pumpkin breakfast casserole and blueberry flapjacks.”
“What’s the difference between pancakes and flapjacks?” Toni asked. She was slicing oranges for fresh orange juice but having trouble because of her press-on nails.
“Flapjacks are more hearty and country-style,” Petra said. “And, Toni, if one of our customers finds a sliver of purple plastic floating in their orange juice, I’m going to rip every one of those stupid things off your fingers.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Toni said. She sliced a couple more oranges and then glanced at Suzanne, who was arranging a stack of plates. “You’re awfully quiet this morning.”
“Oh, I’ve been noodling something around,” Suzanne said.
“A good something or a bad something?” Toni asked.
“More like a questionable something,” Suzanne said.
Petra looked up from her griddle. “Uh-oh. Does this have to do with Allan Sharp?”
“Yes, it does,” Suzanne said. “Now . . . promise me you ladies won’t breathe a word?”
“Spit it out,” Toni said. “You’ve really got me dancing on tenterhooks.”
“Here’s the thing,” Suzanne said. “Amber Payson dropped by to see me yesterday.”
“The girl who used to work at Westvale Clinic,” Petra said.
“That’s right,” Suzanne said. “Only it turns out Amber’s most recent job was working as a paralegal f
or Allan Sharp.”
Petra paused, a large wooden spoon in her hand.
“And Amber’s been accused by someone . . . I don’t know who exactly . . . of murdering Allan Sharp,” Suzanne said.
“Holy butterballs!” Toni cried. “That girl who stopped in yesterday is a genuine suspect?”
“Apparently Doogie questioned Amber at some length,” Suzanne said.
“Wait a minute,” Petra said. “Even if someone’s spreading false rumors, why would they be about Amber? I mean, why would they think she had a bone to pick with Sharp?”
“Probably because she quit working for Sharp right after he started harassing her,” Suzanne said. There. She’d spoken the dreaded words out loud and felt somewhat relieved. At least she wasn’t carrying around that deep, dark secret anymore.
Toni’s eyes went wide as saucers. “You mean he was, like, sexually harassing her?”
“Sharp tried to canoodle with Amber on numerous occasions,” Suzanne said. “The final straw came when he started buying her gifts.”
“What kind of gifts?” Toni asked.
Suzanne took a deep breath. “Lingerie.”
“That freak,” Petra spat out. She slammed a lid down on top of her soup pot and stared at them. “That stupid, arrogant pig. Maybe Allan Sharp deserved to get knifed after all.”
“Maybe he did,” Suzanne said. “But I don’t think it was by Amber’s hand.”
“That ghost looked big to me,” Toni said. “That girl Amber looked kind of thin and wispy.”
“On the other hand, the ghost was wearing a costume,” Petra said. “So it could have been, you know, built up to make the ghost appear larger.”
Suzanne thought about the navy blue puffer jacket she’d seen Amber wearing. That coat, under a costume . . . ?
“Jeez Louise,” Toni sputtered at Petra. “You think Amber did it?”
Petra shook her head. “That’s not what I said.”