Eggs Benedict Arnold

by Laura Childs

  And then, way too soon, Suzanne was at the head of the line. Missy put a hand on her shoulder and urged, “Smile!”

  Suzanne gritted her teeth and smiled.

  “You look like you’re bracing for a root canal,” Missy hissed.

  Suzanne tried again.

  “Better,” said Missy. She put her hand in the small of Suzanne’s back, gave a slight push. “Now ... go!”

  Suzanne stepped out from behind the curtain to face a low bank of stupendously bright lights as well as a sea of familiar faces. She smiled, cocked her head, stuck her hands into the pockets of her oh-so-stylish leather jacket, and strode down the white Mylar runway. Six steps in, she felt the excitement and the beat grab hold. The high-heeled boots she’d been given lent her walk a little swagger. Gaining confidence now, she kicked up her heels a bit and moved her shoulders in a slight exaggeration, appropriating the walk of the supermodels she’d seen parading around in teddies and glittery angel wings on the Victoria’s Secret TV fashion show.

  Suzanne high-stepped down the runway, chin up, smile for real. She was headed for the sweet spot Missy had pointed out. The point where you were supposed to pause, pose, then turn around.

  I can do this! she told herself. I’m feeling it!

  She swished past purple hoodie girl, who was returning from her pause and pose moment and heading for the second half of the runway. And that’s when it all fell apart.

  The front door of the shop crashed open loudly and a large shadow suddenly loomed in the doorway! Then the figure surged forward and the sound of stomping boots contrasted crazily with the thumping soundtrack.

  Heads turned, models suddenly faltered in their tracks, and from the back of the shop, Carmen yelled a shrill, “What the Sam Hill?”

  Sheriff Roy Doogie, dressed head-to-toe in unfashionable khaki, his chapeau a modified Smokey Bear style, had blundered in and brought the entire fashion show to a screeching halt!

  Caught like a deer in the klieg lights, Doogie lurched to a stop and let his beady eyes roam the crowd. Finally they landed on Suzanne. His face turned the color of a ripe persimmon and seemed to swell up. His mouth and jaw worked frantically.

  Uh- oh, thought Suzanne. Here it comes.

  “Suzanne!” Doogie shouted at the top of his lungs.

  Doggone, she thought to herself. He picked up Dill

  Turns out, she was way wrong.

  “You were the one who called in that anonymous tip!” Doogie thundered in front of everyone. His brow furrowed angrily as he shifted from one clodhopper to the other while a sea of startled faces stared at him. But—and here, Suzanne had to give Doogie full credit—he didn’t back down.

  Like a crazed wraith, Carmen Copeland suddenly flew out from behind the white curtain and hurled her fashionable self in Doogie’s direction. Which woke Suzanne from her semi-stupor and sent her catapulting toward Doogie as well.

  “Are you insane?” Carmen shrilled at Doogie. “What do you think you’re doing? Who do you think you are!” Her hands, clutched like claws, were poised to inflict bodily harm on the sheriff.

  “Carmen,” pleaded Suzanne, as she threw herself between them like a human sacrifice, “let me take care of this!” Grabbing Doogie’s arm, Suzanne tried to pull Doogie away from the spotlight and toward the still-open front door.

  “I. .. excuse me,” Doogie muttered to Carmen. But he still wouldn’t budge as he cast furious glances at Suzanne.

  “Pleeease,” Suzanne begged, tugging Doogie again. But it was like trying to move a locomotive. “Let me explain.”

  “You’d better,” snarled Doogie.

  “Please,” Suzanne repeated. “Outside?”

  Doogie finally relented and allowed Suzanne to lead him by the arm. “You better explain,” he seethed, as they trod past shocked and sniggering onlookers. “You’d just better have a doggone brilliant explanation!”

  “I do,” said Suzanne, when they were finally outside, away from prying eyes, away from the fashion show itself.

  “Because you and Toni were at that farm the other night!” screeched Doogie. “How do I know?” he continued angrily. “Because those two potheads finally broke down and spilled their guts. They told me you two girls were out there Wednesday night—snooping around!”

  “Okay,” said Suzanne, deciding the best thing to do was let Doogie carry on with his rant. Sooner or later he’d wear out and wind down. Wouldn’t he? Then maybe she could talk some sense into him. Or at least explain.

  “And I know for sure it was you two,” Doogie rasped, “because those bad boys described you and Toni to a T!”

  “Those guys pulled a gun on us!” said Suzanne, trying to muster a serious amount of rage and indignation. “And locked us in a barn!”

  Doogie was unimpressed. “I don’t care if they locked you in the storm cellar, filled it full of water, and threw away the key! You gotta tell me about this stuff when it happens. The minute it goes down!”

  “I know that,” said Suzanne, sounding slightly contrite. “And I’m sorry.”

  “You should be sorry,” grumbled Doogie. He was beginning to lose his head of steam. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got my hands full right now!”

  “Those dope guys didn’t have anything to do with Ozzie and Bo’s murder,” said Suzanne. “You know that, don’t you?”

  Doogie pulled off his hat, reached in his baggy trousers for a hanky, and mopped his forehead as well as the top of his head. “I been figuring that out.” More mopping. “S’not the point.”

  “Okay,” said Suzanne. She sincerely wished the people driving by would stop staring at them. Or maybe they were staring at her tight jeans and leather jacket. Or maybe they were utterly horrified by her visible panty line.

  Who knew? Who cared?

  “Just what in blue blazes were you two doing out there anyway?” demanded Doogie.

  Suzanne decided she’d better fess up. “Toni was all hot and bothered about Junior,” she told Doogie. “She was afraid Junior was involved in some sort of meth lab deal.”

  “Those two yahoos I got sitting in the can over at the law enforcement center say Junior was involved,” said Doogie.

  “No,” said Suzanne. “We found out he wasn’t. Trust me.” She cast a glance toward the sky, praying a bolt of lightning wouldn’t descend from the low-hanging clouds and strike her dead. Please, Lord, just forgive me this one little white lie, okay? I promise I’ll make amends. I’ll help out at the senior citizens’ home. And with the next pancake supper at church. I’ll even knit scarves for orphans, just as soon as I learn how to knit.

  “Junior wasn’t involved?” said Doogie. He looked more than a little skeptical.

  “That’s right,” said Suzanne. “We thought he was, but he wasn’t. We were just...” She took a gulp. “... we were completely overreacting.”

  “Huh,” said Doogie, half buying her story. “I wonder what else those potheads are lying about?”

  “I don’t know,” said Suzanne. “Probably a great many things. But I do know this—Toni is working extra hard to keep Junior Garrett on the straight and narrow.”

  “That so?” asked Doogie.

  “Absolutely,” said Suzanne, holding up two fingers, changing it to three. “Scout’s honor.”

  “You could have been hurt, you know,” said Doogie, starting to edge toward his cruiser.

  “But we weren’t,” said Suzanne. “We used our wits to get away.”

  “Sheesh,” snorted Doogie. “No wonder you wanted that stupid old mule.”

  “You owe me big time,” Suzanne told Toni when she stopped by the Cackleberry Club around four o’clock.

  Toni looked up from where she was sweeping the floor. Little bits of dust mingled with bread crumbs and a hunk of doughnut. “Huh?”

  “Remember our good pals Eel and Lenny?” said Suzanne. “Turns out they ratted us out.”

  Toni’s broom clattered to the floor. “Those dirtballs ratted us out? Aw, man! You mean they tol
d Doogie we were out at their farm?”

  “You got it, sister,” said Suzanne.

  “Did they rat out Junior, too?” Concern suddenly clouded Toni’s eyes.

  ‘They tried to,” said Suzanne, “but BFF that I am, I lied like a rug about it. Swore up and down to Doogie that Junior wasn’t involved. Told him we thought he was, but then we found out he was pure as the driven snow.”

  “Now you’re making me feel bad,” said Toni. “I mean, I’m happy you pulled Junior’s fat from the fire and all, but sorry you had to lie.”

  “Yeah ... well, let’s just say it’s not the first time I blew past the ninth commandment,” replied Suzanne.

  “It’s the other commandments that are the real biggies,” said Toni. “Although . . .” She frowned, thinking. “Maybe it’s best we don’t go there.”

  “Let’s not,” agreed Suzanne.

  “And you’re sure Junior’s safe?”

  “As long as his phony baloney story jibes with ours,” said Suzanne

  Toni clapped a hand to her heart. “As long as Junior fibs, too,” she murmured.

  “For now,” said Suzanne, “let’s just think of it as moral relativism.”

  Toni blew out a glut of air. “Okaaay.” She stared down at her broom and dustpan for a couple of moments, then knelt and gathered everything up. “So. How was the fashion show? I see you got to keep the clothes. And may I just say your makeup looks fantastic! Did Gregg do your eyes? Because your look kind of reminds me of Kathleen Turner, back in her gorgeous, pre-pudgy days.”

  “I’ll take that as a left-handed compliment,” said Suzanne, as they walked into the kitchen together.

  “Was it really fun?” Toni asked, almost wistfully.

  “The fashion show,” said Suzanne. Where to start? “First of all, there was a phenomenal turnout. It looked like one of those paparazzi scrums you see at the Academy Awards or something.”

  “Wow,” exclaimed Toni. “I guess I should have come after all.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” sighed Suzanne. “The program did get slightly derailed.”

  “Carmen did something stupid?”

  “That’s a given,” said Suzanne. “But Sheriff Doogie was a big hit on the runway, too.”

  Toni stared. “That’s where Doogie accosted you about Eel and Lenny?”

  “Oh, yeah,” said Suzanne. “Right in the middle of Carmen’s precious fashion show! It made for quite the dramatic moment.”

  Toni suddenly grinned like a maniac. “I can just see it!” she chortled. “And now the latest in wrinkled khaki, with a tarnished gold badge worn as a single, bold statement piece.”

  “That’s about the size of it,” said Suzanne.

  “Extra large if it was Doogie,” said Toni with a giggle. She paused. “But you had fun.”

  “Only if you consider removing my clothes in front of younger, skinnier women, and having Doogie scream at me in front of everyone as the height of hilarity.”

  “But not a total loss,” said Toni. “You got your makeup and hair done professionally.”

  Suzanne stabbed an index finger at Toni. “Lady, you just found a ray of sunshine in the middle of a shit storm.”

  “Ever the optimist,” said Toni.

  Suzanne, glancing into the cracked mirror that hung by the back door, said, “You don’t think the eye makeup’s too garish, do you?” She poked a finger at her newly enhanced eyelashes, testing them. They felt rubbery and a little spidery.

  “You look gorgeous,” Toni assured her. “Perfect for your big date tonight.”

  “I just hope Sam doesn’t think it’s too over-the-top,” said Suzanne.

  “Honey,” said Toni, “take it from me. He’s gonna love what he sees.” She paused. “You gonna wear the clothes, too?”

  “The jacket, yes,” said Suzanne. “The jeans, no.”

  Chapter twenty six

  Toni wasn’t far off with her prediction. In fact, the date was going swimmingly well. Sam Hazelet had arrived promptly at seven o’clock. Parked his BMW right in front of Suzanne’s house and ran up the walk to meet her at the door. Very proper and courteous, unlike Junior who tooted his horn outside Toni’s apartment, then scowled and drummed his fingers impatiently while he waited for her to dash out.

  Then they’d driven over to Kopell’s Restaurant and B and B, in nearby Cornucopia. Sam had popped a Rihanna CD into the player and they’d chatted easily as they enjoyed the music. Once they’d arrived at Kopell’s, they were shown to a cozy table for two near the fireplace. Sam perused the wine list, asked a couple of questions, then ordered a bottle of Rombauer Cabernet Sauvignon. Once the cork was popped and they’d gone through the swirling-sniffing-tasting ritual, the Cabernet turned out to be quite spectacular.

  “You know wine,” Suzanne said, sounding pleased.

  “Just enough to be dangerous,” Sam told her, pouring a little more into her wineglass. “You like this Cab?”

  “Love it,” Suzanne told him. Actually, she was loving the evening out. It had been well over a year since she’d sat across a candlelit table from a man. Feeling relaxed, enjoying each other’s company.

  “May you live in interesting times,” said Sam, raising his glass.

  “Cheers,” said Suzanne, gently clinking her glass to his, then taking another sip.

  “So,” said Sam, leaning forward slightly. “How was your day?”

  “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you,” said Suzanne.

  “Then you have to tell me,” said Sam.

  “I let someone twist my arm and convince me to be in a fashion show.”

  “Huh. The one at Alchemy?”

  “How would you know about that? asked Suzanne. Men didn’t really pay attention to fashion and clothing trends, did they?

  “Are you serious?” said Sam, rolling his eyes. “That’s all the women at the clinic have been talking about. They’re all charged up because now they can buy K Brand jeans in Kindred instead of driving all the way to Minneapolis or Sioux Falls.”

  “J Brand,” corrected Suzanne.

  “And something called Spanx,” said Sam, looking puzzled. “I assume Spanx are also some kind of fashion item?”

  “Uh ... yeah,” said Suzanne, deciding this might not be the ideal time to elaborate.

  “That Carmen Copeland’s quite a go-getter,” remarked Sam. “Though I’m not convinced she can wave her magic wand and turn all the women of Kindred into fashion plates overnight.”

  “She’s convinced she can,” said Suzanne.

  Sam leaned back in his chair. “I also heard something about Carmen making an offer on the Driesden and Draper Funeral Home.”

  “That’s the rumor around town.”

  Sam looked interested. “I got the feeling it’s more than just a rumor.”

  “Not sure,” said Suzanne. “Carmen’s pretty sly about getting a buzz going—over anything. But if she wants the property bad enough, I imagine she figures now’s the time to take advantage of the situation.”

  “The murders,” said Sam.

  Suzanne nodded. “Sure. With George Draper still being a suspect.”

  “And I heard Earl Stensrud, too,” said Sam. “And . . . well, I probably shouldn’t say anything, because she’s a friend of yours ...”

  “Missy Langston,” said Suzanne. “Who now works for Carmen at Alchemy.”

  “Does this whole murder conundrum strike you as being slightly incestuous?” asked Sam

  Suzanne thought for a moment, then said, “A little. But that’s pretty much the small-town way.” She peered at him. “You didn’t grow up in a small town, did you?”

  Sam shook his head. “Not really. Lynn. Outside Boston.”

  “In a small town everyone is always slightly involved with everyone else,” said Suzanne. “Or at least they think they have a pretty good bead on them.”

  “One big happy family,” said Sam.

  “Oh, there are always a few enemies tossed in for good measure,” added
Suzanne. “Although, for the life of me, I’m not sure who had it in for Ozzie Driesden. He always seemed like a pretty decent guy. Got along with everyone.”

  “You’re talking about motive,” said Sam.

  “Sure.”

  “What about the kid who worked for him? The kid they found hanged?”

  “Bo Becker,” filled in Suzanne.

  “Did he hate Ozzie? Or have his own enemies?”

  “No clue,” said Suzanne.

  Sam stared at her. “That’s what you’ve been looking for, isn’t it? Clues.”

  “Excuse me?”