Eggs Benedict Arnold

by Laura Childs

  Foxworthy glanced at his feet for a moment, then said, “No, nothing like that.”

  “Business couldn’t have been that bad,” offered Toni.

  Foxworthy gave a rueful smile. “The whole funeral industry has changed,” he told them.

  “In a bad way?” asked Suzanne. She figured now that the baby boomers were aging, business would be booming, so to speak.

  “Changed in a big way,” said Foxworthy. “Now the big conglomerates are taking over and running things.”

  “Isn’t that always the case?” sighed Toni.

  “So what exactly happened?” asked Suzanne, curious now.

  “I did what most independents are doing today,” said Foxworthy. “I sold out.”

  ‘To what company?” asked Suzanne.

  “Roth Funeral Home Consortium,” Foxworthy told her.

  “The funeral home over in Cornucopia has been sold to them, too.” He sighed. “I guess it’s the way of the future.”

  Something didn’t sound right to Suzanne. “Sounds like you didn’t want to sell,” she said to him.

  Foxworthy kept a stoic look on his face.

  “Did this Roth Consortium pressure you?” asked Suzanne.

  Now Foxworthy scrunched up his face. “Not direct pressure. In fact, they were always extremely polite and businesslike with their propositions. But after we declined their offer a few times, our suppliers started demanding payment up front and a lot of the medical sales reps seemed less anxious to call on us.”

  “So there was pressure,” said Suzanne.

  “I suppose you could call it that,” said Foxworthy, picking up a black pen and turning to sign the guest book. “Just nothing ... illegal.”

  “But you made money,” said Toni, trying to find some solace in the situation.

  “Oh yes,” said Foxworthy, but he didn’t look happy.

  As Suzanne stepped aside, she noticed a small camera hung overhead. It seemed to be focused directly on the front door. Probably installed up there so whoever was working in back could keep a watchful eye on whoever came in. Or at least that was the probable intent. Suzanne wondered if Doogie had checked out this camera and vowed to mention it to him.

  “Oh no,” Toni hissed. “Missy’s here.”

  Suzanne turned toward the front door and saw that Missy, accompanied by Earl Stensrud, had just entered the funeral home. Dressed in a somber black suit, Missy looked tired, drawn, and sad. Earl just looked bored.

  When Missy saw Suzanne and Toni huddled together, she sped over to greet them. “Thanks for coming,” she said in a breathless voice, administering hugs and air kisses to each of them.

  “How are you doing, honey?” asked Toni.

  “Okay,” said Missy, trying to keep a game face.

  “A tremendously big turnout,” said Suzanne.

  “Probably tomorrow, for the funeral,” said Missy, “the place will be even more jam-packed.”

  Interesting, thought Suzanne. Hadn’t Doogie mentioned that Ozzie didn’t seem to have a lot of friends? So this big turnout signified ... what? Professional interest? Or just a macabre fascination with Ozzie’s death? Probably so, since word had traveled like wildfire, just as Doogie had predicted, that Ozzie had, indeed, been murdered.

  Missy put a hand on Suzanne’s forearm. “I have a favor to ask of you,” she said.

  “Of course,” said Suzanne. “Anything.”

  “I was wondering,” said Missy, “if you’d be one of the models in our informal fashion show this Friday?”

  “Oh no, I couldn’t,” said Suzanne.

  “You just said you’d do anything,” Toni pointed out, giving Suzanne a sharp poke in the ribs.

  “Anything... um... reasonable,” said Suzanne, feeling a little embarrassed.

  “You’d be a wonderful model,” said Missy. “You’re ... what? About a size ten?”

  Suzanne nodded. “About.” On a good day. If I’ve sworn off carbs for two entire months.

  “And still great-looking for your age,” said Missy.

  “Thank you,” said Suzanne. “I think.”

  “You should do it!” urged Toni. “You’d be great!”

  “Plus you’re well-liked around town as a businesswoman,” added Missy. “Which would certainly lend credibility to the new boutique.”

  “Suzanne’s got street cred,” chirped Toni.

  After a few more encouraging words from both Toni and Missy, Suzanne finally relented. After all, Missy just looked so sad.

  When Suzanne finally spotted Sheriff Doogie’s Smokey Bear hat hobbling above the crowd, she sidled back into the parlor to talk to him.

  “Suzanne,” he said, staring at her with eyes that were red-rimmed and tired, as though he’d stayed up late for too many nights.

  ‘There’s a camera out in the foyer,” she told him. “I was wondering if you looked at the tape?”

  “Yup,” Doogie told her. “Nothing.”

  “So the killer came in the back door?” asked Suzanne, hypothesizing. “Maybe had a key?”

  “Or Ozzie knew him and let him in,” said Doogie.

  “Knew him,” said Suzanne, mulling over the idea. “If Ozzie knew him, that could be significant.”

  “Sheriff!” called a loud, aggressive voice.

  Suzanne and Sheriff Doogie both turned at once. Saw Mayor Mobley signaling with one chubby hand in the air.

  “A moment of your time?” called Mobley. It was more of a command than a question.

  “I’ll get back to you,” said Doogie, turning away from Suzanne. “Soon’s I talk to the grand poo-bah shithead over there.”

  And still the surprises kept coming.

  “Suzanne!” called Carmen Copeland. “I was hoping to see you here tonight. She sped across the floor, elbowing people out of her way.

  “Hello Carmen,” said Suzanne, not exactly thrilled to be cornered by the obnoxious author.

  “Hey, Carmen, what’s up?” asked Toni as she joined them.

  Carmen ignored Toni completely and instead launched into a litany of requests concerning tomorrow’s book signing.

  “I don’t know how well my publicist briefed you,” said Carmen, “but I’m going to need a comfortable swivel chair with a seat height of at least thirty-eight inches. I will also require bottled water—still, not effervescent—classical music playing in the background, and an assistant to open books to the correct front page.”

  Suzanne just stared at Carmen, while Toni giggled.

  “Oh,” said Carmen. “And I must have my back against a wall.”

  “Excuse me?” said Suzanne. Had she heard Carmen correctly?

  “I detest people moving around behind me,” said Carmen. “Makes me uneasy. Gives me the creeps, in fact.”

  “Carmen,” said Suzanne, fighting now to keep a straight face, “I’d be delighted to back you into a corner.”

  “Good evening, ladies.” They all three turned to find Dr. Sam Hazelet smiling at them.

  “Sam,” said Suzanne. “You know Toni. And this is Carmen Copeland.”

  Carmen thrust a gloved hand at Sam. “Delighted to meet you. These are sad circumstances, of course, but the pleasure is all mine.” She batted her eyes at him and Suzanne wondered about the feasibility of simply reaching out and pulling off Carmen’s false eyelashes.

  Too radical? Or not rad enough?

  “I’ve just come from the most wonderful art dealer over in Cornucopia,” Carmen said, moving in on Sam Hazelet. “He has a tiny little gallery, but access to the most amazing outsider artists.” She paused. “That’s what I’m collecting now. Outsider art.”

  No, thought Suzanne, you’re trying to collect compliments. And my date for Friday night.

  “I understand that type of art is a hot commodity right now,” Sam Hazelet replied, his eyes dancing with mirth.

  “But so much more speculative than the modern art being done in New York right now or some of the very contemporary British artists,” said Carmen.

 
Sam stole a glance at Suzanne, smiled, then said, “I’ve got to speak with George Draper. If you’ll excuse me ...”

  “Isn’t he a cutie?” said Carmen, narrowing her eyes at the retreating Dr. Hazelet. “And divorced, I understand.”

  Suzanne edged away from Toni and Carmen. She really didn’t need to hear Carmen’s fawning remarks.

  Carmen finally acknowledged Toni’s presence with a knowing smile and said, “I wouldn’t mind getting to know him better. Do you know any juicy tidbits about him? Or, better yet, do you think you could hook us up?”

  Toni raised her eyebrows and pretended to look shocked. “Excuse me, do I look like Heidi Fleiss?”

  Suzanne caught up with Sheriff Roy Doogie just as he was storming out of the funeral home. “Sheriff,” she called. “A word?”

  Doogie didn’t look happy, but stopped anyway to let Suzanne catch up to him.

  ‘Trouble with the mayor?” she asked.

  Doogie rubbed the back of his hand against his stubbly chin. “He’s just putting pressure on me. Thinks I oughta be working harder to solve Ozzie’s murder.”

  “Seems to me you’re doing the best you can,” said Suzanne. “It’s only been, like, two days.”

  “These days, everyone wants instant gratification,” sighed Doogie. “I got all my people workin’ this case, but. . .” He spread his hands in a gesture of exasperation. “There’s just so much we can do.”

  “Maybe you should call in the BCA,” suggested Suzanne. The Bureau of Criminal Apprehension helped solve crimes state-wide.

  “I’d rather give it another couple of days,” said Doogie. He wasn’t a man who readily asked for help.

  “So your prime suspects are still Missy, Earl, and George Draper?” asked Suzanne.

  Doogie pulled a piece of Juicy Fruit gum from his pocket, unwrapped it slowly, and folded it into his mouth. Suzanne didn’t know if Doogie was upset by her question or stalling for time.

  “They’re on the list,” Doogie said, finally. “As well as a homeless guy who’s been spotted around town.”

  Suzanne thought back to that Sunday afternoon at Kindred Spirit Days. Hadn’t Petra taken pity on some homeless guy and slipped him some cupcakes? Sure she had. Should she mention that to Doogie? Hmm. Maybe wait and see.

  Doogie rattled on, unaware that Suzanne had actually seen his so-called homeless guy suspect. “Word is, he might be living in a cave. Probably one on the far side of the bluff. Me and Deputy Driscoll took a trip over there and crawled around some, but we didn’t see signs of anybody living there.”

  Suzanne knew exactly what caves Doogie was referring to. She’d climbed around them and played inside them the whole time she was growing up here. In fact, that far hillside was fairly honeycombed with caves. Lots of secret little places for a guy to hide. But why on earth would some drifter or homeless guy have killed Ozzie? What possible motive could he have had?

  “So you’ve also put this homeless person on your list,” said Suzanne. “Four suspects now.”

  “Five,” said Doogie.

  “What?” said Suzanne. Who else had fallen under Doogie’s shrewd gaze?

  Doogie cocked an eye at her. “Bo Becker.”

  “Ozzie’s assistant?”

  “Former assistant,” said Doogie, “since he’s now officially missing.”

  “That’s interesting,” said Suzanne. “Considering I just saw Bo Becker last night.”

  Doogie registered surprise. “What?” he stuttered. “You did? Where?”

  “Why ... right outside here,” Suzanne told him. “In the back alley. Becker was loading a big batch of flowers into his car.”

  “I wish you would have collared him,” said Doogie, “ ‘cause I can’t find him anywhere.”

  “You think Becker skipped town?”

  “I told him not to. But it sure looks like he might have hightailed it out of here.”

  “With a load of funeral flowers in his car?” said Suzanne. “Doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”

  “Nothin’ makes sense,” mumbled Doogie.

  “Did you ask George Draper about the flowers?” asked Suzanne.

  “Ayup,” said Doogie. “Becker was supposed to take ‘em up to Memorial Cemetery, but he never made it. Probably just dumped ‘em somewhere.”

  “You checked all over town for Becker?”

  “Not all over, but Becker’s not at his apartment. Landlady says she hasn’t seen him since early Monday.”

  “Seen who?” asked Toni, joining the twosome.

  “Sheriff Doogie says Bo Becker skipped town,” said Suzanne.

  Toni let loose a low whistle. “That doesn’t bode well.”

  Doogie nodded. “I already put out an APB for him.”

  Becker still didn’t seem right to Suzanne and she said so: “But if Bo Becker killed Ozzie, what was his motivation? Seems to me Ozzie had been nothing but kind to him. Giving him a job when other folks wouldn’t.” She pondered the situation. If Becker had left town, what was he running from? Ozzie’s murder or something else entirely? And with that distinctive red Mustang, you’d think he would have been spotted by now.

  But Doogie seemed to have his mind made up. “He’s the one,” said Doogie, “I’m sure of it.”

  “So the case is closed,” said Toni.

  Doogie looked grim. “It will be once I find him.”

  Chapter thirteen

  “Do you think Carmen Copeland’s as fancy as she looks?” asked Toni. They were speeding along a dark county road, twisting through the hilly countryside, headed for Cloverdale Farm. Hot on their cheese run.

  “I’ve been to Carmen’s house over in Jessup a couple of times now and it’s really something,” said Suzanne. “Big palatial place decorated to the nines.”

  “So a mansion,” said Toni.

  “You could say that,” allowed Suzanne. She was well aware that Toni worked her butt off and could only afford a one-bedroom apartment.

  “What if Carmen really drinks wine from a box and eats Spam burgers?” asked Toni, giving a nasty giggle.

  “Nothing would surprise me with that woman,” said Suzanne. She gazed out the side window, saw trunks of trees and lights from farmhouses flicker by. “So pretty out here,” she murmured.

  “Better without lights,” said Toni. Without warning, she flipped off her headlights. And, suddenly, they were hurtling through the darkness at sixty miles an hour!

  “What are you doing?” Suzanne demanded, frightened out of her wits.

  “It’s like flying, isn’t it?” said Toni, focusing intently on the straightaway ahead.

  “Like we’re in some kind of rocket ship, piercing a black membrane.”

  “You’re crazy, you know that?” replied Suzanne. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and now she was nervously but secretly enjoying this strange adventure. A stand of pine trees and a small pond slipped by, blue and black, like wispy images from an art film.

  “Oh yeah,” said Toni, happily. “I know I’m a little loco.”

  “Good thing you’ve got excellent night vision,” said Suzanne.

  Toni nodded as she flipped her headlights back on.

  “Thank you,” said Suzanne, her respiration and heartbeat slowly returning to normal.

  “Oh, we coulda gone a lot farther,” said Toni, “but we passed the marker for Deer County a little while back, so I think Mike’s place is coming up.”

  “And there it is,” said Suzanne. A sign advertising Cloverdale Farm—Farm Fresh Milk and Cheese flashed by, then Toni swerved into the driveway and bumped down the dusty drive that led to the farmhouse and barns.

  Mike Mullen watched them arrive, silhouetted in the yellow light of a doorway. Tall and beefy, he was dressed in striped denim overalls and green rubber boots.

  “How are the deliveries going?” asked Suzanne, peering past him into the dairy barn.

  “A huge success,” grinned Mike. ‘Two new calves.”

  “Can we see ‘em?” asked Toni, ever
the animal lover.

  “Sure,” said Mike, beckoning for them to follow. They trod down a narrow cement walkway between two rows of stanchions where dairy cows contentedly munched organic alfalfa. At the end of the barn was a row of box stalls. “In there,” said Mike.

  Suzanne and Toni peered through wooden slats into a dimly lit stall. A lovely brown Guernsey lay placidly with her hours-old calf nestled beside her.

  “Ain’t she a beauty?” asked Mike. He was acting like a proud papa.