by Laura Childs
‘This could become a habit,” Sam drawled. He smiled at her in the morning light, his hair tumbled and mussed, looking more youthful man ever.
“The coffee?” Suzanne asked, modestly arranging a sheet around herself.
“No, you.” Sam sauntered over to her and handed her the coffee.
Suzanne accepted it, took a sip, and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. ‘Ten thirty! I can’t believe I slept so late!”
“You were in dire need of restorative sleep,” said Sam. He sat down next to her on the bed and gently kissed her forehead.
“We didn’t get to sleep that early,” she told him.
He grinned. “No, we didn’t.”
The dance card of last night’s bizarre events flashed through her brain. “Did you call...?”
“Shelby’s.” He nodded. “They’ll tow your car to the garage. What’s left of it.”
“I don’t think hammering on a new fender or ironing out the front bumper is going to do the trick.”
“No, but they can put together an estimate for your insurance company.”
“Ah,” she said, “that’s how that works.” Suzanne savored his closeness as she thought for a few moments. “I better call Toni and see if I can get myself a loaner for a couple of days.”
‘Toni owns a used car lot?”
“Junior has a collection,” said Suzanne.
“Sounds like a plan then. And while you’re busy with that, might I inquire where you keep the kibble? You have two canines who are demanding room service, s’il vous plait.”
“Red plastic barrel in the pantry off the kitchen,” she said, as she reached for the phone.
Toni answered on the sixth ring. A sleepy, “Hello?”
“Happy Halloween!” was Suzanne’s greeting,
“You’re chipper this morning.” Toni yawned.
“I got my full eight hours of sleep,” said Suzanne. Well, maybe seven and a half. “Listen, does Junior have an extra car I can borrow?”
“What’s wrong with your car?”
“Somebody barbequed it,” said Suzanne. “Outside Schmitt’s Bar last night”
“What!” came Tom’s shrill bark. “Are you serious? Can it be repaired?”
“We might be able to salvage the engine block and turn it into an end table.”
“Holy smokes,” breathed Toni.
“So I was hoping,” said Suzanne, “that Junior could loan me a car. Or rent me one.”
“For you, it’s gratis,” said Toni. “And, yes, Junior has an entire fleet of available junkers. He’s your basic nightmare used car dealer who can’t bear to part with anything.”
“Excellent,” said Suzanne. “At least it’ll give me a set of wheels until I square things away with my insurance company.”
“Not to worry,” Toni promised. “I’ll have Junior run one of his classics over to you right away.” She paused. “Only one problem.”
“What’s that?’
Toni cackled wickedly. “The tires are probably gonna be a lot like Junior, overinflated and going bald!”
“I love that sound,” Sam told her. He was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping coffee, moving a sugar bowl around in circles.
Suzanne dipped another slice of French baguette into her mixture of eggs, milk, cinnamon, and vanilla, then plopped it into a heavy cast-iron skillet bubbling with butter.
“You mean the sizzle of the French toast?’ she asked.
“I’m talking about the sound of someone fixing breakfast for me,” said Sam. “All the little tips and taps and clicks and clacks of home cooking.”
“Happy to do it,” she said, grabbing a bottle of Vermont maple syrup from the refrigerator. “And could you pop this in the microwave to speed things along, please? Oh, take the metal cap off first”
“And set the table?”
“Sure,” she said, sounding a little surprised. “If you don’t mind.”
“Mind?’ said Sam. “I’m usually puttering around by myself in the morning, eating three-day-old Entenmann’s Crumb Cake. This is a rare treat.”
Hopefully not too rare, she decided. Hopefully an event that will be repeated again and again.
Suzanne focused on her French toast, while Sam set cheery orange plates on linen placemats, then peered in a couple of drawers until he found the silverware.
“Fantastic!” Sam declared; when they finally sat down to eat.
“If I’d had the right kind of goat cheese, I would have made stuffed French toast,” Suzanne told him.
Sam closed his eyes and let his fingertips do a light pitty-pat dance against his chest “Be still my heart.”
Suzanne managed to eat three slices of French toast, while Sam downed five slices. As well as another mug of coffee, a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice, and great puddles of syrup.
Finally, after they’d eaten, chatted, and marveled at how sticky their fingers were, Sam hunched forward across the table and said, “You’re sure somebody torched your car on purpose?”
“Pretty sure. I mean, how often do you see cars just blowing up?”
“In Bruce Willis movies,” said Sam, “a lot”
“But in real life?” Suzanne asked.
“Hmm,” said Sam. “Hardly ever.”
“Exactly my point.”
“And you think it was a warning,” said Sam.
“Had to be,” said Suzanne. “Somebody got wind that I’ve been doing a little sleuthing.”
“Snooping,” Sam amended.
“No,” said Suzanne, “snooping is being nosy for amusement purposes only. Sleuthing is trying to connect clues to an actual crime.”
“Did you just make that up?” Sam asked. “Or did you read it in a Nancy Drew mystery?”
Suzanne shrugged. “It just came to me on the spot.”
“You’re really quite brilliant, you know that?”
“No,” said Suzanne, “I really don’t.” But I sure don’t mind hearing it. From you, that is.
“This is great,” said Sam, stretching his legs out. “I wish we could sit here all day and just eat and talk.” He peered at her. “But I’m guessing you have to take off for the Cackleberry Club fairly soon?”
“We’re officially closed today, so no breakfast or brunch to prepare. But I do have to head over and help with preparations for tonight”
“Are you looking forward to your big Halloween party?”
“I am, although two murders have kind of taken the edge off things. That and my exploding car.”
“I predict this evening will be smooth sailing,” said Sam. “No problems, just your magical little goblin fantasy party.”
“I hope you’re right,” said Suzanne, reaching for his plate. She stopped, gave him a speculative gaze. “You have to wear a costume tonight, you know.”
Sam looked startled. “I do?’
“Sure. It’s a costume party.”
Sam didn’t look convinced. “You’re not just saying that, are you? I mean, if I show up dressed like a Klingon, you’re all not going to be in street clothes laughing at me?”
“It’s a funny idea,” said Suzanne, “but no. It really is a costume party.”
“What are you going to wear?” Sam asked.
She gave him a conspiratorial wink. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m going as the Headless Horseman.”
Sam was momentarily charmed. “So you’re going to ride your horse, too?”
“Mocha’s part of it, sure,” said Suzanne. “And when the moment is right, I’ll gallop through the party and scare the living daylights out of everyone!”
“I love it!” Sam declared. “So I do have to dress up. But what should I wear?”
“Maybe go as a doctor? Wear scrubs or something.”
“No, no, no, I get enough of that every day.”
Suzanne thought for a minute. “Maybe...” She held up an index finger. “Wait right here, I have an idea.”
Suzanne returned a few minutes later to find Sam standing a
t the sink, up to his elbows in sudsy water.
“An employed male who isn’t afraid of soapsuds. Almost as good as a multimillionaire who loves to shop.” She grinned at him. “Come on over here and sit down. I want to try something.”
Sam wiped his hands, then obediently followed her to the table and plopped down.
“Now tilt your head back,” said Suzanne. Using red lip liner, she drew a lightning bolt scar on Sam’s forehead. Then she balanced a pair of round, wire-rimmed reading glasses on his nose and wound a long scarf around his neck. Finally, she rumpled his hair and brushed it forward.
“You have a dark tweed jacket?” she asked.
Sam nodded.
“Perfect.”
“What am I?” Sam asked.
“Welcome to my Halloween party, Harry Potter!”
That sent him skittering to the mirror. He came back, moments later, looking quite pleased. “You’re a very crafty lady,” he told her. “In more ways than one.”
“Really?” Suzanne responded. “I think you’re the crafty one, maneuvering another sleepover.”
Sam spread his arms wide, the better to envelop her. “What could I do? You were a damsel in distress.”
True to Toni’s promise, Junior had parked a red Chevy Impala in front of her house. Correction, eons ago, it had rolled off a showroom floor as red. Now the car’s color was pretty much an oxidized liver brown spackled with demarcations of rust In some spots, even the rust had blisters of rust. But it was here, so it must still run.
Suzanne grabbed the keys that dangled from the rear-view mirror and held her breath as she cranked the engine. First the car shimmied, then it rattled like it was being buffeted by an F6 tornado. Maybe an exhaust system hanging on for dear life? A transmission ready to implode?
Suzanne pulled away from the curb, chuckling, wondering if the neighbors were getting an eyeful. And when she stopped at the comer, Junior’s clunker belched like a flatulent old man, then actually bucked!
But she made it to the Cackleberry Club, where Toni and Petra were already scurrying around like mad.
Junior was there, too, dressed in a black T-shirt that said Carpe Noctem across the front and his usual pegged jeans, pounding in the last stake that held up a ginormous white tent that was open on three sides.
“How’s it running, Suzanne?” was Junior’s greeting. He pulled a pack of Camel straights from his rolled-up sleeve and lit one. “Purring like a kitten?”
“More like a salsa dancer with indigestion,” she told him, with a wry smile.
Junior grinned like a maniac, loving her analogy. “Ha-cha!”
Toni came bounding up to them, in blue jeans, a chambray shirt tied at the waist, and a red bandana containing her wild fluff of hair. “When you finish pounding tent stakes, Junior, I want you to set up the tables and chairs.”
“Yeah, yeah,” mumbled Junior. Toni could be a tough taskmaster.
But Toni wasn’t finished. ‘Then you gotta haul those hay bales ...” She pointed at a stack of hay bales that had magically materialized from Ducovny’s farm. “And arrange them in concentric circles. That’s where we’ll set the fire pits for roasting hot dogs and s’mores.”
“What’s concentric?” Junior asked, tossing his dark forelock of hair back and pluming out a stream of smoke.
Toni rolled her eyes. “Round.”
“Oh,” said Junior, catching on, “yeah.”
“He’s like a fourth grader who needs remedial help with geometry and a juvenile delinquent all rolled into one,” Toni told Suzanne, when Junior finally stumbled off to his next task.
“But he’s working,” said Suzanne. “Which is what I need to do.”
“We’re actually in pretty good shape,” Toni told her. “Joey Ewald was here earlier, so he schlepped most of the heavy stuff for us. Of course, Petra’s going crazy inside.”
“It’s not high tea,” said Suzanne, “it’s hot dogs and beans.”
“Try to tell her that,” said Toni, as they headed inside.
“Hey,” said Suzanne, “does Junior know what’s on his T-shirt?”
Toni giggled. “Naw. He thinks Carpe Noctem means fishing at night.”
“Suzanne!” cried Petra. “I heard what happened last night!” She came flying from the kitchen, deep concern etching her broad face, and grasped Suzanne in an expansive bear hug. “I feel awful! More repercussions!”
“I think so,” said Suzanne.
“I’m going to say a special prayer,” said Petra, “so your guardian angel watches over you extra carefully today. Oh, and poor Cynthia!”
“Who’s Cynthia?” asked Toni.
“Her car,” said Petra. “Cynthia was her car.”
“You name your car?” Toni asked, scratching her head. “I thought only I did that. And Junior.”
Petra let loose a mock shudder that almost caused her chef’s hat to topple. “I hate to think what names Junior dreams up.”
“Dodie,” said Toni, “he calls his Mustang Dodie.”
Petra grabbed Suzanne’s hand and pulled her into the kitchen. “And I have an update on Reverend Yoder.”
“Good news, I hope.” For some reason, Suzanne felt guilty for not asking Sam how the good reverend was
doing. Then again, she really didn’t want to mix business with... pleasure.
“He gets out of the hospital tomorrow,” said Petra. ‘Too bad he couldn’t make it to the party tonight.”
“You really think a minister wants to rub shoulders with people dressed like witches and ghosts?” asked Toni.
“Mmm,” said Petra, reconsidering, “though it’s all in good fun, you make a good point. He might not appreciate it.”
“Maybe more than his heart can take,” Toni muttered.
“Oh my gosh,” said Suzanne, gazing at a huge silver tray, “you made your special bedeviled eggs.” Petra’s bedeviled eggs included hot peppers, diced pimento, onions, and homemade mayo.
“Honey,” said Petra, giving an offhand wave, “that’s just the tip of the iceberg. There are two more trays in the cooler.”
‘This has to go down in the annals as a Cackleberry Club specialty,” said Suzanne. She glanced around the kitchen. “What else?”
“Beans are on the stove,” said Petra, pointing to an enormous vat of bubbling brown liquid. “I’m going to toss in more molasses and brown sugar, then shove ‘em in the oven to finish off.”
“Yum,” said Toni.
“The bakery came through with a special delivery of hot dog buns,” said Petra, “and I ordered bratwurst instead of hot dogs.” She shrugged. ‘Tastier, I think. Meatier.”
“Our wurst is our best,” Toni joked.
“Oh,” said Petra, “and Junior gave me his recipe for deviled ham.”
“Junior has a recipe?’ asked Suzanne. This from a man whose idea of haute cuisine was Old Country Buffet?
“Petra said we could whip it up,” said Toni, jumping in. “I guess it’s not too complicated.”
“No,” said Suzanne, “I doubt it is.”
They worked together for the next twenty minutes, prepping the rest of the food, discussing the best way to arrange the buffet table, and trying to figure out how many fire pits they’d need for making s’mores—or S’mortuaries, as Petra insisted on calling them.
Just as they decided that Petra would oversee the cooking of all the brats on the outdoor grill, Junior strolled in. He grinned, grabbed a sugar cookie that was shaped like a bat and decorated with chocolate icing, and promptly bit off its head.
“You’re here to help us set up, Junior,” said Toni, trying to snatch the cookie away from him. “Not eat”
Junior danced out of reach. “Yeah, but think of all the free consulting work I’ve given you.”
“Consulting work?” said Suzanne.
“Sure,” said Junior, looking earnest. “Coming up with ideas on where to put the tent, figuring how many chairs you’d need, deciding where to put the band. You guys didn’t even thi
nk about the band.”
“You’re right,” said Petra, “we didn’t. Have another cookie, Junior.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” said Junior, grabbing an entire handful of cookies. “You can’t let a musical group dominate festivities,” said Junior, “but they still need to be front and center. For entertainment purposes.”
“Where’d you learn this stuff, Junior?’ asked Petra. “How did you get to be such a crackerjack party planner?’
Junior shrugged, looking pleased. “Jeez, I don’t know. Going to stock car races, I guess. Hanging around in the
pits, where they have music and beer tents and sexy tire models and stuff.”
“Well put, Junior,” said Suzanne. “Well put.”
“Done with your break?” Toni asked as she pinched his arm hard. “Because we’ve got lots of decorating to do.”
“More work?” whined Junior.
“And then you have to set up the games,” Petra reminded them.
“Oh man,” he groaned.
Chapter Twenty Nine
It took a lot of sweat and effort, but by the time the sun sank low on the horizon, turning the sky a perfect Halloween orange, the parking lot in front of the Cackleberry Club had been transformed into a veritable Halloween land. Filmy white chiffon ghosts fluttered from tree limbs. Life-sized witches hunkered over cauldrons filled with steaming dry ice. A grinning glow-in-the-dark skeleton clicked and clacked ominously from his perch in a large oak tree. Entire cadres of black vinyl bats dipped and swung from the tent’s rafters. And realistic-looking tombstones tilted crazily in the yard.
“This looks spectacular,” said Suzanne. She and Toni were doing a quick reconnaissance. Junior had set up the tables and chairs, some under the tent, some under the stars. The buffet station and large grill had been moved into the tent Hay bales were arranged in circles and an area for the band had also been marked with hay bales.
“All we need to do is haul out a few more pumpkins,” said Toni. She pointed at a row of stakes that had been pounded into the ground. “You see that? I’m gonna plant a grinning, glowing jack-o’-lantern on top of each stake.”