Eggs on Ice

by Laura Childs

  “Toni,” Suzanne said, once Dale had left. “I think I need your help.”

  “Yeah?” Toni said. She was sitting at one of the tables in the café, refilling the sugar bowls.

  There were still two people lingering over tea, so Suzanne just said, “I’ll talk to you later.”

  “About what?” Toni asked.

  “Investigating.”

  CHAPTER 9

  WITH narrowed, suspicious eyes, Suzanne watched Petra walk Teddy Hardwick to the door and bid him good-bye.

  “Everything okay?” Suzanne asked, once he had gone.

  “Fine,” Petra said, giving an abstract smile. “Just last-minute costume stuff to deal with.”

  “You’ve got a knitting class tonight?”

  Petra nodded. “My Woolly Mammoth class.”

  Suzanne practically laughed out loud. “What on earth is that?”

  Petra crooked a finger and led Suzanne into the Knitting Nest. She picked up a skein of soft, fluffy yarn. “You see this? It’s spun from reindeer fur.” She picked up another skein. “And this one’s a hundred percent llama from Peru. Now, this yarn”—Petra grabbed a squared-off skein of cream-colored fiber—“is fifty percent yak fiber from Central Asia blended with fifty percent virgin wool.”

  “Where did you get all this stuff?”

  “I imported it. You should know: you get the bills. I also have a knitter friend up in Alaska. They play with crazy yarns all the time, even spin fibers from the fur of sled dogs.”

  “That’s amazing,” Suzanne said. “Actually, you’re amazing.”

  Petra blushed. “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that. Makes me feel very uncomfortable.”

  “No need to feel that way; you’re a true fiber artist.”

  “I’m just a lady who knits.”

  “And quilts.”

  “Well . . . yes,” Petra said. “I do love quilting, too.”

  Suzanne looked around at the floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with yarn, and the bundles of fabric that were stacked everywhere. Tall wicker baskets were stuffed with yarns by Berroco, Appalachian Baby, Sirdar, Malabrigo, and lots more in all sorts of colors. There were bright colors and sun-washed, almost Santa Fe–looking colors, as well as heavenly cream, alabaster, and stone colors.

  “I hadn’t realized our inventory was so jam-packed for the holidays,” Suzanne said, looking at Petra’s display of quilting fabric. She reached out and touched a piece of fabric that was soft and silky. She could just imagine it being stitched into a cozy quilt.

  “Those are our new quilt squares,” Petra said. “You can see that I’ve got them bundled according to color and motif.” She smiled. “You see those squares that are all ivory and cream-colored?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I call that group Cream and Sugar.” Petra’s hand moved to indicate another bundle. “And these indigo and Persian blue squares are my Dark Dreams bundle.”

  “I bet we’ll sell a ton of them,” Suzanne said, pleased.

  “I hope so,” Petra said.

  Toni poked her head into the Knitting Nest. “Are you guys heading out?” she asked. Toni had wound a long pink and yellow scarf around her neck and shoulders and now looked like a human burrito.

  “I am,” Suzanne said. “And I need to talk to you.”

  “And I’ve got a class tonight,” Petra said. She started bustling around the Knitting Nest, grabbing a basket of knitting, arranging chairs in a semicircle. “So I’ll see you ladies tomorrow.”

  “Night-night,” Toni called out.

  Suzanne and Toni pulled on their coats and walked outside. A thin sliver of silver moon hung tilted in a purple-blue sky.

  Toni looked at Suzanne. “Okay, we’re alone. What exactly do you have up your sleeve? Earlier you said you wanted to do a little investigating?”

  “More like checking on something to satisfy my curiosity.”

  “Yeah, right. Tell me, does this have anything to do with . . .” Toni pulled her mouth into a crooked line and made a slashing gesture across her throat.

  “I’m afraid it does.”

  “Uh-oh, better lead on, then, Sherlock.”

  * * *

  • • •

  IT was full-on dark now as they drove through Kindred. The wind had come up, whipping bare trees into a frenzy and blowing twisted wisps of snow across the road in front of Suzanne’s headlights. Even though they were still in the middle of town, the atmosphere felt foreboding.

  Toni, meanwhile, had turned on the radio, listening to the five-o’clock drive-time news. She’d also slipped out of her boots and put her stocking feet on the dashboard, right next to the heat vent.

  “You don’t mind my stinky feet, do you?”

  “Not unless you do,” Suzanne said.

  “Just walking across our parking lot made my toes feel like Mrs. Paul’s frozen fish sticks.” Toni shivered as she snuggled lower in her seat. “So tell me where we’re headed again. Oh wait, you said you wanted to stop at a local watering hole first and pick up a couple of hot dudes.”

  “You wish. No, we’re going to take a cruise out to that new town house development. Whitetail Woods, I think it’s called.”

  Suzanne made a turn on Lindahl Avenue and cruised past a car dealership, Rush Street Pizza, and Kerkow’s Garden Center, which was closed for the season except for a small Christmas tree lot that was strung with colored lights. Now they’d left the more residential part of Kindred behind and were headed into suburban territory.

  “What’s clicking in that supercomputer brain of yours?” Toni asked. “You going to sell your big house and buy a townhome? Move to the burbs?” She scraped a bit of ice off the passenger side window and peered out. “What there are of them.”

  “I’ve got a funny idea rattling around inside my head and I need to check something out. See if my suspicions are legit.”

  “Then afterward do you want to stop at Schmitt’s Bar and have a couple of bumps? I think they got two-for-one Passion Puckers tonight.”

  “I don’t even know what those are.”

  “They’re cocktails made with apple schnapps, cranberry juice, pineapple juice, and a couple more tutti-frutti juices. Kinda tastes like cough syrup.”

  “Sounds challenging,” Suzanne said. “On the other hand, maybe a couple of drinks will help make tonight’s rehearsal run a lot smoother.”

  “I just hope Teddy Hardwick’s found a new Scrooge,” Toni said.

  “And I hope it’s not going to be Sam.”

  They drove out to Whitetail Lane and then turned into a new residential development that had stone pillars on either side of the road and a large sign that said Whitetail Woods. They bumped over frozen ground past one row of townhomes and into an area where cinder blocks, pipes, and pallets of construction materials were scattered about.

  “I thought this development was completely finished and move-in ready,” Toni said. “But it looks like they’ve had some major problems. Like they need to redo the siding or the sewer system or something.”

  “Or something,” Suzanne said. Her eyes focused on a row of townhomes that were completely dark. Obviously, no one had moved in yet, though they looked completed. Across the road, however, was a row of six townhomes where lights burned brightly. Some lights shone out of first-floor windows and a few porch lights twinkled, making the townhomes look lived-in and cheery.

  “So why are we really here?” Toni asked. She turned off the radio, dropped her feet down, and pulled on a pair of brown suede boots that were beaded and fringed like moccasins.

  “Because this is where Teddy Hardwick lives and I heard a rumor that he was in a huge fight with his developer.”

  “Uh-huh. And who’s the lucky developer?”

  “That’s what we’re here to find out.”

  “Something tells m
e you’ve got a sneaking suspicion,” Toni said.

  “Maybe I do.”

  Toni turned in her seat. “If I’m gonna be part of this stealth operation, you’ll have to do better than that, girlfriend. You have to level with me.”

  Suzanne tapped her gloved fingers against the steering wheel. “Okay, here’s the deal. I think Allan Sharp was the developer.”

  Toni stared at her openmouthed. “You mean deader-thana-doornail Allan Sharp?”

  “Remember, the operative words are ‘I think he was the developer.’”

  “So we’re here to confirm that? Okeydoke.” Toni put her hand on the door, ready to jump out.

  “Wait a minute. That’s a lot easier said than done,” Suzanne said. “We’re gonna need a good story to back us up. We can’t randomly go knocking on doors.”

  Toni grinned. “Oh yeah? Watch me.”

  * * *

  • • •

  TONI was as good as her word. She strolled up to the town house on the end, hit the doorbell, and then banged on the screen door. When a woman in gray wool slacks and a blue and white Norwegian ski sweater opened the door a couple of inches, Toni said, “Hiya. I’m looking for the sales office. Can you point me in the right direction?”

  The woman peered out at them, her body language betraying a hint of nervousness. Then when she saw Suzanne also standing on her porch, looking friendly and relatively nonthreatening, she said, “There was a sales office, but they closed it last month.”

  “Aw, rats,” Toni went on, “I’m in the middle of a divorce and I’m looking to buy a property. My friend here has been urging me to buy a house, but since there’s just little old me now, these town houses look like they might be perfect.” She paused. “If there’s no sales office anymore, maybe I should go directly to the developer.”

  The woman made a downcast face. “That’s going to be a problem,” she said.

  “All the units are sold?” Toni asked.

  “No, I’m pretty sure there are units still available. The thing is . . . the developer is dead.”

  Toni clapped a hand over her mouth and reeled backward. “What?” She spun about. “Suzanne, did you hear that?”

  “Yes, I did,” Suzanne said, wishing Toni wasn’t being quite so theatrical. Then again, with acting skills like that, maybe Toni should be the new Scrooge.

  “His name was Allan Sharp,” the woman said. “And he was murdered just two nights ago.” Her eyes darted back and forth, as if Sharp’s killer might be lurking nearby, ready to pounce on them at any moment.

  “How awful,” Toni said.

  “I think it had something to do with a play he was in,” the woman said.

  Suzanne could barely contain her excitement. If Teddy Hardwick was unhappy with his town house construction, and he was angry with Allan Sharp but wasn’t getting any results, then maybe Hardwick had taken matters into his own hands?

  “Well, that changes everything,” Toni said. “Guess I’ll have to call a Realtor and see if they can help.”

  “Or the First Heartland Bank,” the woman said. “I think they provided some of the financing.”

  “Thank you,” Toni said. “You’ve been more than helpful.”

  * * *

  • • •

  BACK in Suzanne’s car, Toni was crowing about her performance. “Did we figure this out or what?”

  “You put on a great performance,” Suzanne said. “Very convincing.”

  “The only sticking point,” Toni said, “is that Hardwick was going up against Allan Sharp. Being a scummy lawyer, couldn’t Sharp have just done some legal mumbo jumbo to make Hardwick go away?”

  “If Hardwick killed him, maybe that’s the reason right there,” Suzanne said. She backed her car up, made a K-turn, and headed back toward town. “Because Sharp was stonewalling him.”

  “So what now?” Toni asked. “I’ve got bumps and chills that we uncovered a possible suspect. Now the question is—what do we do about it?”

  Suzanne thought for a moment. “I think we should stop by the Law Enforcement Center and lay this squarely in Sheriff Doogie’s lap.” Nice and neat, just like when Baxter brings me a dead squirrel in tribute and drops it on my back porch.

  “This new information does cast a pretty bad light on Hardwick,” Toni said.

  “And it might take some pressure off Amber.”

  But when they went looking for Doogie at the Law Enforcement Center, he was nowhere to be found. The place, which was normally bustling with activity, was relatively quiet. End of day, end of watch. Only two deputies were on duty and Suzanne didn’t know either one of them particularly well. She was afraid if she spilled her recent findings to them, they’d write her off as the nosy, kooky neighbor lady. Or, worse yet, a Miss Marple type.

  “Maybe Doogie skedaddled on home,” Toni said. “It is almost five o’clock.”

  They walked back down the long corridor, where fluorescent lights buzzed overhead and posters warned about drunk driving and fire safety.

  “What about . . .” Suzanne stopped and put her hand on the door that was marked Dispatch.

  “Good idea,” Toni said. “We’ll ask Marilyn.”

  But when they asked Marilyn Grabowski, the official dispatcher, purveyor of home-baked cookies, and den mother to the sheriff’s department, she informed them that Doogie was out on a call. “And he told me he wouldn’t be coming back,” Marilyn said.

  They walked outside and climbed into Suzanne’s car.

  “You think he went home?” Toni asked, pulling the seat-belt strap across.

  “Let’s take a cruise through downtown,” Suzanne said. “See what we can see.”

  “And then for sure hit Schmitt’s Bar.”

  Main Street twinkled like a fairyland. City workers had finally finished putting up all the Christmas decorations. Now green garland and colored lights were wound around lampposts and stretched across all the downtown streets. Many of the small businesses located in the historic brick buildings had also strung up colored lights and hung holiday wreaths.

  “There’s Doogie’s cruiser!” Toni cried suddenly.

  “Where?” Suzanne said. “Oh, never mind, I see it.”

  His maroon and tan cruiser with the whip antenna was parked right outside the Kindred Bakery.

  “And there’s Doogie himself,” Suzanne said. He was just coming out of the bakery, khaki parka zipped up tight over his bulging belly, clutching a white bag in his hand. “It looks as if he just bought himself a sack of donuts. Talk about a tried-and-true cliché.”

  “Doogie eats so much junk food he oughta change his middle initials to KFC,” Toni snickered.

  Just as Doogie was about to climb into his car, Suzanne pulled up next to him and tooted her horn. Doogie tossed his bakery bag onto the front seat and turned toward them, a quizzical look on his face.

  Suzanne buzzed the passenger side window down and called across Toni, “Hey, Doogie, got a minute?”

  Doogie’s shoulders slumped as he held up two padded fingers of a gloved hand. “I was this close to a clean getaway.”

  “We got some red-hot information for you,” Toni said. “Really good stuff.”

  Doogie leaned against their car, his breath pluming out in the bitter cold. “You ladies stirring up more trouble?”

  “We’re trying to save you some time and energy,” Suzanne said.

  When Doogie cocked his head in a what’s-up? gesture, Suzanne hastily told him about the rumor she’d heard concerning Teddy Hardwick’s foundation. Then she explained how they’d driven out to Whitetail Woods and learned that Allan Sharp had been the property’s developer. She wrapped up by postulating that Hardwick might have been so incensed, so clouded by worry over his foundation woes, that he took matters into his own hands.

  All through the telling of her story, Do
ogie’s face remained impassive. When Suzanne had finally finished, Doogie tipped his hat back and said, “I knew Sharp had a couple of real estate developments cooking, but I didn’t know Hardwick bought a house in one of them. That’s . . . interesting.”

  “More than that, it changes things a bit, don’t you think?” Suzanne asked.

  Doogie was slow to agree. “Maybe.” Then, “You’re sure Teddy Hardwick owns one of those town houses? And that the foundation’s kaput?”

  “Pretty sure,” Suzanne said. “That’s what Dale Huffington told me, anyway.”

  “Need to check deeds and property tax records,” Doogie said. “Get some confirmation.”

  “You don’t believe us?” Toni asked. “After our careful and profound analytical analysis?”

  Doogie cocked an eye at her. “Wouldn’t that be a redundancy?”

  “So what if it is?”

  “Hardwick, huh?” Doogie was mumbling to himself now. His lips moving, his head tipping from side to side, trying to see if the pieces might fit. “And Dale says he didn’t see Hardwick when Sharp got stabbed?”

  “That’s right,” Suzanne said. “So it could have been Hardwick who killed Sharp. He’d know about the ghost costume—he could have easily made a second one himself. Then he ran out the back door, went around to the front, and slipped back inside the theater. The place was in an uproar, so Hardwick could have easily snuck in.”

  “Stashed his costume, too,” Toni said.

  “Maybe,” Doogie said.

  “As far as the real estate angle, it would be interesting to know what other real estate deals Allan Sharp was involved in,” Suzanne said. “There could be others—buyers or tenants—who had a bone to pick with Sharp.”

  “It’s possible,” Doogie said. He hadn’t discounted Suzanne’s story, but he hadn’t completely bought into it, either.

  “If I were the suspicious sort, I’d keep a keen eye on Mayor Mobley, too,” Suzanne said. She had no idea where that idea had originated from; it just flew out of her mouth like a bad, hacking cough you didn’t realize was coming and couldn’t hold back.