Eggs on Ice

by Laura Childs

  Suzanne followed an anxious Petra into the kitchen. “Petra, how well do you know Reverend Ethan Jakes?”

  “I really don’t know him at all,” Petra said. “Because I don’t attend his church. You know very well that I’m a confirmed Methodist.” Petra grabbed a spoon and stirred her pot of chili. “Why are you asking?”

  “No reason.”

  She sprinkled in a helping of cayenne pepper. “Suzanne, you always have a reason.”

  “Okay. I happen to know that Reverend Jakes had a serious dustup with Allan Sharp . . .”

  Petra turned toward her, mouth gaping, eyes suddenly gone wide. “And . . . don’t tell me, you think the reverend might possibly have killed Sharp? That Jakes was the one who wore a fake ghost costume and stabbed him onstage?”

  “The thought had flitted briefly through my mind.”

  “Well, get rid of it,” Petra said, sounding more than a little irritated. “Don’t even go there.”

  “Okay, I won’t.” Or maybe I will.

  “Honestly,” Petra huffed. “To suspect a man of the cloth.”

  Cheesecloth, Suzanne thought. She knew she couldn’t march over to the Journey’s End Church and start firing questions at Reverend Jakes. That wouldn’t work. But she did need to find out about the cheesecloth he’d purchased. In other words, Suzanne needed a plan. Or, at the very least, a darned good story.

  * * *

  • • •

  LUNCH flew by amazingly fast. Suzanne and Toni took orders, smiled prettily, did their jobs to perfection, and didn’t linger with any extra conversation. So, wonder of wonders, the café cleared out by one-fifteen, just as Joey, their teenage busboy, arrived.

  “What up, Mrs. D?” Joey asked as he bounded through the door. He was sixteen, dressed like a rapper in baggy pants and an oversized denim jacket, and sporting a neck full of cheap gold chains.

  “You’re right on time,” Suzanne said, pleased. “I was worried about all this snow.” She winked at him. “Makes it tough to skateboard, huh?” Joey was a skateboard fanatic.

  Joey shook his head. “Rode my bike today.”

  Toni walked into the café and said, “No, you didn’t.”

  Joey gestured out the window. “I sure did. My dad changed out my regular tires for studded tires. Now I can go anywhere I want, even on ice.”

  “Well, don’t go breaking your leg,” Suzanne said.

  “That’s not going to happen to me,” Joey said. “I’m immortal.”

  “Petra’s waiting for you in the kitchen,” Toni told him. “This Christmas Tea is gonna make for a super busy day.”

  “A tea party, huh?” Joey said. “I can handle it.”

  Suzanne smiled at him. She was always tickled by Joey’s crazy, upbeat attitude. “I believe you can.”

  * * *

  • • •

  TWENTY minutes later, Missy Langston showed up. She had three giggling, long-limbed models in tow along with two rolling racks stuffed with clothes. It looked as if Kim Kardashian was about to have an over-the-top session with her fashion stylist.

  “Seriously, Missy?” Suzanne said. “What kind of production do you have planned for us?”

  “One filled with holiday fabulosity,” Missy said. She grabbed Suzanne by the arm and pulled her aside. “Have you told anyone about the fashion show?”

  “Only Toni and Petra. So your show’s going to come as a huge surprise to our guests.”

  “Wonderful, that’s exactly what I was hoping for. Now . . . where do you want us to hang out until the big reveal?”

  “Probably in the Book Nook,” Suzanne said. “There’s plenty of room and a mirror in my office so you can . . . Well, you’ll figure it out.”

  Missy drew even closer to Suzanne. “Have you talked to Amber recently?” she asked in a low voice.

  “Yesterday. In fact, I invited her to the Christmas Tea.”

  Missy looked surprised. “And she’s coming?”

  “She said she would.”

  “Wonderful!” Missy winked at Suzanne as she slipped away with her models and racks of clothes.

  Suzanne and Toni had already put on bright red sweaters to complement their white blouses and black slacks. Now they were doing a last-minute perusal of the café, making sure everything was in full holiday mode.

  In other words, white linen tablecloths, red napkins, bouquets of red roses and greenery adorning each table. And for the pièce de résistance, they were using creamy white china with silver rims as well as silver candleholders with white tapers.

  “If we dim the overhead lights a little, I think the colored lights and flickering candles will look even more perfect,” Toni said.

  “Then let’s do it,” Suzanne agreed.

  “Mmn, really nice,” Toni said, once she’d hit the dimmer switch. And the décor did look great, with twinkling Christmas bulbs shimmering and reflecting off the crystal goblets and silverware in a million points of light.

  They did one final check in the kitchen, where Petra, much to everyone’s surprise, seemed to have everything under control. Unlike a three-course tea, where every course was served separately, they were doing a one-shot deal today, using their large three-tiered tea trays. That way, an abundance of scones, tea sandwiches, and desserts piled on each tray would not only look spectacular; it would make serving a whole lot easier.

  “Okay,” Petra said, flapping a tea towel at them. “You’ve seen where I am. Now, out, out, out. You two are starting to make me nervous all over again.”

  “That was precisely our intention,” Toni said.

  Petra flapped her towel again. “Oh, you.”

  Back out in the café, Suzanne gave everything a final glance. “It looks positively magical. I think we’re all set.”

  “Music,” Toni said. “We need to put on some Christmas music.”

  Suzanne knelt down, rummaged through her CD collection, and popped one into her CD player. Immediately, the strains of “White Christmas” echoed throughout the café.

  “What about when Missy’s fashion show starts?” Toni asked. “What kind of music should we play?”

  “Missy already gave me a CD,” Suzanne said. Evolve by Imagine Dragons. She said the music’s got lots of sharp edges so the models can really strut their stuff.”

  They stood together, admiring the gleaming tables and the lovely décor and enjoying the peace and quiet. Then Toni said, “What if nobody shows up because of all this snow?”

  “Then we’ll be stuck with a ton of food.”

  “Maybe we could open a pop-up tea shop on the side of the road. Until the food starts to freeze, that is.”

  But in the end their worries were unfounded, because not two minutes later the first SUV bumped its way into their parking lot and four guests spilled out. Another ten minutes later and the parking lot was practically full, with three dozen guests tumbling through their front door.

  Suzanne greeted everyone, shaking hands and hanging up coats on the temporary coatrack they’d stuck by the door. Toni checked off each guest’s name and led them to their assigned tables.

  The door flew open again and Laura Benchley, the editor of the Bugle, rushed in.

  “Suzanne,” Laura cried, throwing her arms around Suzanne’s neck. She was a dark-haired woman, even skinnier than Toni, bubbling over with energy and enthusiasm.

  “Delighted you could make it,” Suzanne said.

  “You know I never miss one of your Christmas Teas,” Laura said. “Never miss one of your Valentine or Easter Teas, either.”

  “And I thank you wholeheartedly for all the publicity you’ve graciously given us.”

  Laura leaned in close. “It seems you in particular have scored a little extra ink this week.”

  “What are you talking about?” Suzanne asked.

  “Gene
Gandle, our intrepid reporter, mentioned your name prominently in the article he wrote about Allan Sharp’s murder. Well, you can read it for yourself when the paper comes out tomorrow.”

  Suzanne winced. She really didn’t relish that kind of publicity. “I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time,” she said. Then, glancing around the café, she saw that Toni was already making the rounds, pouring tea. Thank goodness.

  “Too bad this community play turned into a total washout,” Laura said.

  “What do you mean?” Suzanne asked. “Wait a minute, do you know something I don’t?”

  Laura stared at her, practically bug-eyed. “Suzanne, you mean you haven’t heard? The play’s been cancelled!”

  “What?” Suzanne could hardly believe it. “No, I hadn’t heard that at all. In fact, I’m downright shocked.” The Cackleberry Club was usually ground zero for any faint rumblings or whiffs of hometown gossip. But today they seemed to be the last ones to know. Suzanne wondered if Sam had been informed that the play was cancelled, or if he’d started memorizing his lines, unaware. Then she decided that, between dispensing antibiotics, making rounds at the hospital, and suturing the occasional cut, he probably hadn’t had time to glance at his script.

  “I hope you’re not too disappointed,” Laura said, peering at Suzanne.

  “About the play? No, I suppose I’m not,” Suzanne said. “What does disappoint me is that Sheriff Doogie hasn’t made an arrest yet.”

  “But he will, I’m positive of it.”

  Suzanne peered at Laura. “Do you know something else that I don’t?”

  Laura smiled sweetly. “I think I’ve probably said too much already.”

  * * *

  • • •

  JUST as Suzanne was about to get the event started, Amber Payson came flying through the door. She looked very cute in her red coat and cream-colored mittens and scarf and immediately began thanking Suzanne for the invitation.

  “My pleasure,” Suzanne said, eyeing the tables crammed full of guests. There were only two seats left. One for Amber and one for someone who probably wasn’t going to show.

  “I’ve never been to a fancy tea before,” Amber said. “This is a first for me.”

  “I hope you enjoy it,” Suzanne said as she gently guided Amber to one of the empty seats.

  “Is Missy here already?” Amber asked.

  Suzanne put a finger to her lips. “Shhh. That’s a secret for later.”

  Finally, with “Joy to the World” playing over the stereo system, Suzanne stepped to the front of the room. Toni rang a tiny tinkling bell and the conversation and excited chatter immediately dropped to a low buzz.

  “I’d like to welcome everyone to our Christmas Tea,” Suzanne began. “We’re thrilled to have you as guests of the Cackleberry Club, and I’m delighted to tell you about the lovely three-course tea that Petra, Toni, and I have prepared for you. On the top tier of our serving trays today you’re going to find Petra’s special cranberry and walnut scones. To complement those scones, we’ll be serving a Chinese black tea infused with orange and rose petals. Your next course will consist of three different tea sandwiches. A ham, pineapple, and cucumber sandwich. A chicken salad sandwich with chutney. And an egg salad sandwich with tarragon. We created an in-house blend of jasmine and pouchong tea to accompany those particular sandwiches. For dessert you’ll find butterscotch and pecan shortbread as well as hummingbird cupcakes on your tea tray. And we’ll be pouring a delicious peach-apricot tea.”

  There was a round of applause and then Suzanne held up a finger.

  “As a very special treat, Missy Langston and her Alchemy gang will also be presenting a holiday fashion show . . .”

  Now everyone beamed and the applause ratcheted up a hundred percent.

  “. . . with some absolutely spectacular clothing from Alchemy Boutique. And trust me, ladies, I took a sneak peek at the clothes and they are to die for.” Suzanne took a single step in the direction of the kitchen and spread her arms wide. “And now . . .”

  Toni and Petra emerged, perfectly on cue, each carrying an enormous silver three-tiered tea tray laden with goodies. They placed their trays in the center of the nearest tables and dashed back for more. This time, Suzanne was right on their heels. Seconds later, the three of them appeared with more tea trays, and their Christmas Tea was off and running.

  * * *

  • • •

  IT was, Suzanne decided some thirty minutes later, one of the best events they’d ever had at the Cackleberry Club. Jenny Probst from the Kindred Bakery had shown up, as had good friends Lolly Herron, Pat Shepley, and Bea Strait. The kinship and camaraderie in the room were off the charts. And when one of her guests raised a hand in the air and yelled, “Women power,” everyone chimed in with good-natured hoots and applause.

  Grabbing a pot of black tea, Suzanne made the rounds, filling teacups, chatting with her guests, and saying hello to old friends she hadn’t seen in months.

  “Suzanne.” Tiny Agnes Bennet, the organist at Petra’s church, put a gnarled hand on Suzanne’s arm. “How is Toni holding up? I heard her husband’s trailer caught fire.”

  “Toni’s doing okay,” Suzanne said. “Probably better than Junior.”

  “That boy does seem to be a trial,” Agnes said. “I remember one time when he ran short on spark plugs and used a live bullet instead. As soon as his engine heated up, the bullet exploded and shot right up through the windshield. Good thing he’s not a particularly tall man.”

  “Good thing Toni keeps him on a short leash,” Suzanne said. She moved to another table and refilled teacups for Anna Bartlett and Faith Jorgenson.

  “How’s your son, Noah, doing?” Suzanne asked Faith.

  Faith beamed. “Wonderfully well at his new school. Thank you for asking.”

  Then Toni was at her elbow.

  “Missy wants to know when she should start the show,” Toni asked.

  “Our guests are just finishing their tea sandwiches, so I’m guessing in about five or six minutes,” Suzanne said. “The fashion show will be the perfect accompaniment with their desserts.”

  “Along with peach-apricot tea.”

  Suzanne poured the last of her tea and said to Helen Winder, “I know you’ve got a sweet tooth, so wait until you taste—”

  Wham! Bam! Whap!

  The front door whooshed open, bringing in a gush of frigid air, followed by an angry-looking Sheriff Doogie. He stood there, eyes blazing, head and shoulders dusted with snow, breathing hard, looking like a reincarnation of the Abominable Snowman.

  Heads turned, chairs creaked, and one woman let loose a little scream in the back of her throat. A buzz of questions suddenly rose, building to a steady, confused hum.

  Suzanne, poised with teapot in hand, was thoroughly taken aback. She gaped at Doogie, ready to demand answers. Why would he burst in like this? What was this rude, unwelcome interruption all about?

  But before she could open her mouth, Doogie gazed across the crowd, steely gray eyes ignoring bewildered glances.

  Then Doogie shouted, “Where’s Amber Payson!”

  CHAPTER 13

  THIS is so not happening! was Suzanne’s first thought. Not in the middle of my Christmas Tea!

  Like an avenging angel, Suzanne rushed to intercept Doogie. She was beyond angry and outraged at his boorish intrusion.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed.

  Doogie scrupulously ignored her. His eyes continued to scan the crowd until he finally located Amber. He pointed a pudgy hand at the trembling girl and said, “You need to come with me, young lady.”

  “Are you arresting her?” Suzanne asked.

  “Taking her in for questioning,” Doogie said.

  “I need to know why,” Suzanne said. She glanced back over her shoulder and realized that absolutely everyone
in the room was staring at them, absorbing every word that was being exchanged. “Excuse me.” Suzanne gripped Doogie’s arm and pulled him through the swinging door into the kitchen.

  “Who’s making that awful noise?” Petra demanded.

  “It’s the cops!” Joey cried.

  Petra straightened up from her cutting board, took note of Doogie’s angry face and Suzanne’s smoldering look, and said, “Now what’s wrong?”

  “Doogie came here for Amber,” Suzanne said.

  Petra didn’t utter a word, just stared at both of them as if they were two ornery bulls, pawing and stomping, getting ready to lock horns. Joey stood in the background, all ears and big eyes.

  “Now, tell me exactly why you had to bust in here and disrupt my Christmas Tea?” Suzanne said to Doogie.

  Doogie folded his arms across his chest in a protective gesture. “I already told you. I need to talk to Amber.”

  “You need to talk to her or you’re going to take her in for questioning?”

  “Both.”

  “Why? Please tell me what’s going on,” Suzanne said.

  “I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Doogie said.

  “You’re on my premises so, yes, I think you do,” Suzanne said.

  Doogie wrinkled his nose, rolled his eyes, and looked in Petra’s direction, hoping for an ally.

  Petra just shrugged, interested to see who was going to come out on top.

  Suzanne tapped a toe. “I’m waiting.”

  “Ah . . .” Doogie was supremely unhappy now, his face flushed red, his jowls sloshing in protest. “I sent Deputy Driscoll over to Amber’s house to ask her a couple of follow-up questions, routine questions . . .”

  The kitchen door creaked open and Amber crept in. She stood right behind Doogie, quiet as a mouse, but with every nerve quivering.

  Suzanne made a rolling motion with her hand. “And . . . ? Come on, what’s the rest of the story?”

  “Driscoll found a can of gasoline sitting on Amber’s front porch.”