Eggs on Ice

by Laura Childs

  “Is that supposed to be a joke?” Jakes asked. Now there was a touch of steel in his voice.

  “No, it’s a legitimate question.”

  “Then my overactive mind has to wonder why you’d bother asking.”

  Suzanne slid into the chair across from him. “I’m going to tell you why, Reverend Jakes. Because the ghost, the theater ghost that killed Allan Sharp, was wearing a costume made out of cheesecloth that had been dyed a dark gray-green color.”

  There. She’d laid it all out on the table like a spooky banquet from “The Fall of the House of Usher.” The question now was . . . would he bite?

  Jakes took a sip of tea and pursed his lips. Then he looked at her, expressionless. “And you think I concocted a phony costume so I could murder Allan Sharp?”

  “I don’t know. Did you?”

  Jakes set his teacup into his saucer with a tiny clink. “No. I did not. In fact, I’m highly offended that you’d even ask.”

  “I’m not always subtle with my questions,” Suzanne said. Did she believe Jakes? She wasn’t sure.

  “I see you’re anxiously awaiting a complete explanation,” Jakes said. “So even though it grates on me, I’m going to give it to you.” He drew a deep breath and said, “Our youth group is planning to take a summer camping trip. I suggested we do a weekend prayer retreat instead, but the kids are insistent on camping. They’ve got camping in their heads and they won’t let it go.” He shrugged. “What can you do?”

  “So you’re going to use the cheesecloth to make . . .”

  “Bug screens that will fit over the front of their tents.”

  “Bug screens. Okay. And the kids have already purchased these tents?” Suzanne asked. She knew she was giving him the third degree, really holding his feet to the fire, but she didn’t much care.

  “In a manner of speaking, they have. Kuyper’s Hardware store gave us six nylon tents on credit. Now we have to raise the money to pay for them.”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  Toni wandered over with a steaming pot of tea, ready to give Jakes a refill. She was also dying to know what they were talking about.

  “For one thing,” Jakes said, “we’re hosting a cross-country ski event tomorrow evening at Jordan Park Reserve.” He nodded at Suzanne and then at Toni. “You both should come.”

  “What is that exactly?” Toni asked.

  “A cross-country ski loop. The kids have named it the Cocoa Loco Loppet,” Jakes said.

  “Oh sure,” Toni said. “I’ve seen your posters all over town announcing it.”

  “The Cocoa Loco Loppet wasn’t my idea; it’s something I inherited,” Jakes said. “Anyway, our youth group has marked out a four-mile trail with various stops along the way for skiers to warm up and enjoy hot cocoa and cider.” He spread a gob of jam on his scone, then pointed the silver butter knife directly at Suzanne. “So now you know. And, in exchange for my honesty, I think you should both come out and support us.”

  “You mean actually go cross-country skiing?” Toni said. “With skis and poles and everything?”

  Jakes offered them a thin smile. “With so much new snow, you might find it refreshing.”

  * * *

  • • •

  AFTER Reverend Jakes had left, Toni said, “So you believed his story? About the tents and cheesecloth and stuff?”

  “If he was lying, it was a very well-crafted story,” Suzanne said.

  “But . . .”

  “But I’m still suspicious. Yes.”

  “What are you two yakking about?” Petra asked. She’d emerged from the kitchen and was pulling on her winter coat. “It better not be about that stupid ghost costume again.”

  “When are you going to get that thing out of here?” Toni asked. “It gives me the creeps just knowing it’s here.” She pushed up the sleeve of her pink sweater. “I think I’m starting to break out in hives.”

  Petra sighed. “I’ll probably take it with me now. I need the room for my quilting club ladies.” She plopped a knitted cap on her head. “My friend Samantha is picking me up and I’ll ask her to help schlep that costume over to the Oakhurst Theatre. Lord knows, it’s doing no earthly good here.”

  “That’s because ghosts aren’t earthly creatures,” Toni said.

  “Will you put a cork in it?” Suzanne said to Toni. Then to Petra: “Would you like me to take care of that costume for you? I go right by the theater on my way home.” She also figured delivering the costume would give her a dandy excuse to talk to Teddy Hardwick.

  “Thank you,” Petra said. “That would be a great relief.”

  Suzanne glanced at Toni. “You want to ride along?”

  “No, thanks,” Toni said. “If I need a ride, I can always call Junior. Besides, I’ve got a lot to do around here. Take out the trash, mop the floors, straighten out the books . . . you know, stuff.”

  “We’ve got an overhead light bulb that’s burned out, too,” Petra said.

  “No problem, I’ll add it to my to-do list,” Toni said.

  * * *

  • • •

  SUZANNE set the ghost on the seat next to her and drove over to the Oakhurst Theatre. A winter sunset painted the horizon with luscious pinks and oranges, dabbing in a swirl of blue here and there. Very calming, even with a ghost as a passenger.

  When Suzanne arrived at the theater, she was lucky. One of the hardworking snowplow guys had cut a wide swath in front of the door so she was able to park directly in front.

  Grabbing the filmy, slithery ghost, she ran through the cold and slipped inside the theater.

  From the moment the heavy door thudded behind her, Suzanne was aware that the place was dark, quiet, and almost deserted. Or was it? She walked through the lobby, where swags of dark green velvet curtains seemed to deaden her footfalls and suck any sound out of the air.

  Then she pushed open another door and walked into the small theater.

  The theater was hushed and dim, with only a few overhead lights glowing down near the stage.

  “Hello?” Suzanne called out. “Is anyone here?”

  She walked halfway down the center aisle, the rounded velvet seatbacks vaguely reminding her of rows of tombstones. The air felt thick and oppressive.

  “Teddy? Mr. Hardwick?” The hair on the back of Suzanne’s neck started to tickle. It felt like someone was here.

  Then there was a rustling sound from backstage and a voice called out, “Hello?” Teddy Hardwick emerged onto the stage and gazed out into the darkened theater. He shaded his eyes from the overhead lights and said, “Who is it? Who’s there, please?”

  “It’s me, Suzanne.” She hurried down the aisle toward the stage.

  “Goodness’ sakes,” Hardwick said. “What brings you out in this awful weather?”

  Suzanne held up the ghost costume. “I brought your costume back.” She walked around to the side of the stage, climbed the four steps, and handed it to Hardwick. “It’s the one you asked Petra to work on.”

  “I’m afraid we won’t be needing it now,” Hardwick said, taking the costume from her. He sounded completely down and disheartened.

  “I know. It’s so unfair how things turned out,” Suzanne said. “I know you put considerable effort into producing this play.”

  “Casting calls, assigning parts, costumes and sets, directing the play,” Hardwick said. “I put my heart into it and look what happened. It got ripped out.”

  “Who . . . ?” Suzanne began.

  Hardwick made a sharp grimace. “You can thank Sheriff Doogie for our last-minute cancellation. He persuaded the Logan County Arts Committee to call off the play. He said cancelling it was the safest thing to do in light of all the strange occurrences around here.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” Suzanne said. Am I really? No, maybe not.

&nb
sp; “This hasn’t been a very good time for me,” Hardwick said. “It feels like everything is collapsing at once.”

  “Your play . . . and I guess your home’s foundation,” Suzanne said. “Any news on that? Any resolution?”

  Hardwick’s laugh was a sharp bark. “Hah. Nothing.”

  Suzanne glanced around the darkened theater. For some reason she felt a tad uneasy being here alone with him. “But you’re still here. You must be working on . . . something?”

  “Just packing up costumes and storing some of the sets,” Hardwick said. “Tightening up loose ends.” He moved a step closer to her. “There’s just so much work to be done.”

  Suzanne took a step backward. “I’m sure there is.”

  “And I take a certain degree of comfort in working in this theater,” Hardwick said. He gazed out toward the empty rows of seats, then up into the rafters. “I feel at home here, as if I truly belong.” He shrugged. “You never know, I may end up working here all night.”

  Really?

  “The thing is, I’m always planning,” Hardwick rushed to explain. “My mind is always whirling, constantly thinking ahead. People in Kindred are fearful right now because they believe a maniacal killer is on the loose.”

  “Uh-huh,” Suzanne said. Because there really is a maniacal killer on the loose.

  “But once this nasty business is finally resolved, I’m hoping we’ll be able to get our theater program back on track. I’d really love to stage a light operetta this spring. I’m thinking Gilbert and Sullivan’s HMS Pinafore.”

  “Do you think you can find enough people in town who can sing? And who have the courage to get up onstage and sing and dance in front of a packed house?”

  “I don’t know,” Hardwick said. “But I’m certainly going to try.”

  * * *

  • • •

  BACK in her car, Suzanne decided to check on Amber Payson. She hadn’t talked to the girl since Doogie had practically dragged her out of the Cackleberry Club yesterday afternoon, and she was wondering how Amber was feeling.

  She drove down Mason Street and stopped in front of a brick duplex. It had a short set of steps that led to a porch with a white railing all around it. A snow shovel leaned up against the wall next to the door on the right. Which led to the half of the duplex where Amber lived.

  But when Suzanne knocked on Amber’s door, there was no answer even though she could see lights on inside.

  She knocked again. “Amber? It’s Suzanne. Are you in there?”

  Two full minutes went by; then Amber opened the door about an inch. All Suzanne could see was a hank of auburn hair and a single eye peering out at her. An eye that was red and puffy. Amber had obviously been crying.

  “May I come in?” Suzanne asked.

  Amber sniffled. “Why?”

  “I wanted to see how you were doing. I’m so sorry Sheriff Doogie came barging in like that at yesterday’s tea.”

  “Are you really?” Amber asked.

  “Yes, of course I am.”

  “You didn’t tell him to accost me like that? You didn’t tip him off that I’d be there?”

  “No! Of course not.”

  Amber crooked the door open another two inches. “Because I heard that you two were pretty good friends.”

  “Well, sure, I’m friendly with the sheriff,” Suzanne said. “He’s basically a pretty decent guy. But I would never set you up like that. You have to believe me. I had no idea he was going to come charging in like that.”

  “Okay,” Amber said. She started to close the door.

  “Wait a minute. Please?”

  “What?”

  Suzanne was back to staring at a single eye again. “You seem terribly upset, Amber. May I come in? Can we talk this through? Maybe I can help.”

  “No. You’ve done enough.” Amber not only slammed the door this time; there was the telltale sound of a dead bolt clicking into place.

  * * *

  • • •

  “DOGGONE,” Suzanne muttered as she drove back through downtown. She was upset with herself that she hadn’t tried harder with Amber. But what could she have done? How could she have come across as more sympathetic and understanding? And why was Amber suddenly pulling an I-vant-to-be-alone act? It was positively baffling.

  Suzanne turned down Main Street, passed a snowplow with flashing amber lights, and cruised past Rudd’s Drugstore, Root 66 Hair Salon, Beckman’s Gift Shop, and Kuyper’s Hardware.

  Wait a minute!

  Suzanne spun her head around, scouted traffic, and decided she was in the clear. She executed a quick U-turn and parked her car just a few doors down from Kuyper’s Hardware.

  When Suzanne entered the store, there was the familiar ding-ding over the front door, and, a few steps in, she found herself inhaling the mingled aromas of fresh sawdust and paint. Since it was so close to Christmas, there was a huge display of kids’ toys near the front of the store. And then, in descending order, came housewares, paint and shelf paper, tools, spools of chain, and then ladders, shovels, and snowblowers.

  Bert Kuyper was standing at the wooden counter, wrapping a package in brown paper. He wore a beige cotton painter’s apron over his blue work shirt and jeans, and his eyes gleamed from behind rimless glasses. He looked like an old-timey shopkeeper, which he kind of was.

  When Kuyper saw Suzanne, he smiled and said, “Howdy, neighbor. Are you perhaps in need of a snowblower? I’ve got a deal on Toros. No interest until spring, when you no longer need it.”

  “Already got a snowblower,” Suzanne said.

  Kuyper grabbed a metal snow shovel and held it up. “How about the low-tech model?”

  “Got one of those, too.”

  “Then how can I help you?” Kuyper asked.

  “I have a question about tents,” Suzanne said.

  “Pretty cold out for winter camping,” Kuyper said.

  “I’m more interested in the tents the youth group at the Journey’s End Church got from you. You really gave them the tents on credit?”

  Kuyper nodded. “Kids gotta have something to look forward to, you know? Not just online games and stuff but the kind of real outdoor adventure that stirs the soul.”

  “I hear you,” Suzanne said.

  “And I figure the kids are good for it. They’ll put on a bean feed or sell magazines to earn the money.” Kuyper brightened. “They’re even sponsoring a cross-country ski event tomorrow night.” He pointed toward the front window. “Got one of their posters in the window.”

  “You’re a kind and generous man,” Suzanne said.

  “I know what kind of heart you have, too, Suzanne,” Kuyper said. “You’d do the same for those kids.”

  “Just out of curiosity, how much money does the youth group owe you?”

  “You going to make a donation?”

  “Maybe.”

  Kuyper closed one eye. “Let me see . . . for six tents and four hunting knives, that’d be around six hundred eighty dollars.”

  “Wait a minute,” Suzanne said. “You said tents and hunting knives?”

  “That’s right.”

  There was a sudden whooshing sound in Suzanne’s ears. Must be her heart beating a little faster. “What do the, um, knives look like?” she asked.

  “Come on over here and I’ll show you.”

  Kuyper led her to the back of the store, where Coleman stoves, heavy-duty work gloves, Realtree jackets, and hunting knives were on display.

  “Right here.” Kuyper picked up a knife and slowly slid it out of its dark brown leather sheath. “This is the kind they wanted. The fixed-blade model by Buck Knives.”

  The stainless-steel knife with its clip-point blade gleamed wickedly under the lights, causing Suzanne to utter a surprised gasp. The knife looked terrifyingly similar to the one th
at had been leveled at her the other night.

  “What is this kind of knife generally used for?” Suzanne managed to squeak out.

  “It’s all-purpose,” Kuyper said. “For cutting ropes and cords, filleting fish, skinning hides.”

  Dear Lord, Suzanne thought. It’s maybe even perfect for committing murder.

  CHAPTER 18

  IT was four-forty-five, almost full-on dark, when Suzanne drove back to the Cackleberry Club. She pulled into the back parking lot and knocked loudly on the kitchen door right before she let herself in. She didn’t want to just burst in and scare the pants off Toni.

  “What are you doing back here?” Toni asked when she came to the door. She pulled it open and Suzanne hurried inside, anxious to get out of the cold.

  “I’ve been tramping through a spooky theater, talking to a distraught Amber Payson, and looking at the type of hunting knife that almost killed me,” Suzanne told Toni.

  “All that and you still have time for a madcap social life,” Toni said. “Aren’t you the busy little bee.”

  They made a pot of hot chocolate and sat down at the counter. Then Suzanne elaborated on delivering the costume to Hardwick, getting rebuffed at Amber’s place, and then popping into Kuyper’s Hardware.

  When Suzanne was finished, Toni sucked a marshmallow into her mouth, swallowed hard, and said, “You have been busy.”

  “It’s all pretty weird, huh?”

  “Like you fell down the rabbit hole into another dimension,” Toni said. “So let me get this straight. Teddy Hardwick is mooning around in a deserted theater like the Phantom of the Opera. Amber is feeling sorry for herself and crying her eyes out. And maybe, just maybe, Reverend Jakes borrowed one of those hunting knives so he could stab Allan Sharp.”

  “And then threaten me,” Suzanne said. “Don’t forget that part.”

  “And you’re sure it was the same kind of knife?”

  Suzanne lifted a shoulder. “Pretty sure. But all hunting knives look the same to me.”

  “If you want to shove all this information in Sheriff Doogie’s face, you’re going to have to pick your number one suspect. And your positive ID on the knife is going to have to be a whole lot better,” Toni said.