Eggs Benedict Arnold

by Laura Childs

  “Hey,” said Kit, squinting at Suzanne with a tentative smile. “Remember me?” She added a brief wave.

  “I do,” said Suzanne.

  “Bet you didn’t think I’d show up,” said Kit. She stared through the screen, taking in Suzanne’s startled expression and added, “No, you really didn’t think I’d accept your offer.”

  Suzanne recovered quickly, smiling warmly as she pushed open the door. “But here you are, so come on in.” She was pleased Kit had elected to spend her Saturday at their Take the Cake Show instead of jiggling at Hoobly’s roadhouse.

  “Petra,” said Suzanne, taking Kit’s hand and gently pulling her toward the stove, where Petra was deeply involved in caramelizing large rings of Vidalia onions. “We have reinforcements. This is Kit.”

  Petra glanced at the girl in the white T-shirt and denim skirt. “Kit?” She studied her for a moment, then said, “I remember you.”

  Kit seemed to pull back slightly.

  “You worked at the Dairy Bar a couple of summers back,” said Petra. “Scooping ice cream and making milkshakes.” She shot a glance at Suzanne, who’d clued her in yesterday about Kit.

  “That’s right,” said Kit.

  “Haven’t seen you there lately,” said Petra.

  “Been trying out some other stuff,” said Kit, a little nervous now.

  “Well, plop one of those aprons around your neck, darlin’,” said Petra. “And, say, how are you at frosting cake? We’re serving mocha cakes for our cake and ice cream social this afternoon, which means each individual piece has to be frosted with coffee cream icing, then rolled in chopped walnuts.” She paused. “Can you do that?”

  “I can do that,” said Kit. “In fact, it sounds like fun.”

  “Then you’re heaven-sent,” replied Petra.

  “Well... not quite.” Kit giggled as Suzanne gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

  Ten seconds later, Toni came crashing through the swinging door. “It’s crazy busy out there!” she exclaimed.

  “Folks are pouring in from all over the county. And not just women. There’s a fair share of guys, too. You wouldn’t think fondant fairies and flowers would be that popular with the fellas, would you?”

  “Calm down, Toni,” instructed Petra. “Take a deep breath.”

  “I would,” responded Toni, “except Joey’s out there ladling lemonade like a one-armed paperhanger, and I’m pretty sure we’re gonna run dry in about two minutes flat.” She glanced around the kitchen, finally noticed Kit. A big smile creased Toni’s face. “Hey, it’s Lady Dubbonet! How ya doing, girlfriend? Did you bring your dancing shoes?”

  Suzanne held an index finger to her lips. Shhh was the mantra, discretion the watchword.

  “Oh ho,” said Toni, “no stage names today, huh? Okay, no problem.”

  Petra rolled her eyes. “You’re incorrigible, Toni.”

  Toni gave a wicked grin. “Incorrigible. That’s good, huh? That’s a good thing, right?”

  Just as the pulled sugar demonstration was about to begin, Suzanne took a little break. Stepped around back to give Baxter a Milk-Bone. She’d brought him along today, since chances were good she’d be at the Cackleberry Club until well past ten tonight. And here he could be close to her and still enjoy the out-of-doors with minimum supervision.

  “Bax,” she said, holding out the treat.

  Baxter’s plumed tale thumped dry dirt as he pulled himself to his feet.

  “Got a goodie for you.”

  “Rwrrr?” Really?

  “You deserve it because you’re such a good guy,”

  Suzanne told him. “Staying here, putting up with our silly cake party. All those cars rolling in and people out front.”

  Baxter took the treat and gave it a good crunch. One half fell from his mouth, while he happily tossed back the other half and chewed with relish.

  “Suzanne?” A low voice called to her from the back line of trees.

  “What?” Suzanne replied, startled, spinning around. But she didn’t see anything. Had she really heard a voice? Or just a shout from out front? Narrowing her eyes, Suzanne took a single step and peered at the cedar trees and underbrush that stood in a jagged line behind her back shed. “Who’s there?” she called. Baxter picked up the other half of his bone and held it in his mouth while he gazed silently.

  There was a flutter of green and, for a moment, Suzanne thought it was just remnants of leaves or cedar branches moving in the breeze. Then a figure, dressed in camouflage colors of olive green and drab, seemed to unfold and rise up from the underbrush. It was Dil.

  “Good Lord!” exclaimed Suzanne. “I’ve been wondering where you disappeared to!”

  Dil extended both arms out to his side in a gesture that seemed to say, I’m here now.

  “Where have you been?” Suzanne asked, rushing toward him. “Where did you run off to?”

  “Back to the cave,” said Dil. His voice was low and hesitant, like he was still getting used to conversing with people. “Safer there.”

  “You went back to ...” Suzanne stopped, stared at him, then grabbed the lapels of his tattered jacket with her fingertips. “Never mind, we’ve got to get you out of here.”

  Dil glanced around, as though he was suddenly fearful of being discovered.

  “There are a hundred people out front,” began Suzanne, “any number of whom would like to see you questioned about a couple of murders.”

  Dil’s eyes grew large. “I didn’t do no murders. I wouldn’t!”

  “I believe you,” said Suzanne. “The thing is, what am I going to do with you?”

  “I could stay by your dog,” Dil volunteered.

  Suzanne stared at him. “What do you ... ?”

  He made a casual gesture. “Over in that shed.”

  “The tool shed,” said Suzanne, suddenly catching on. “Gotcha. Great idea. Brilliant idea.” She knew she had to get Dil out of sight now!

  Grabbing one arm, she half pulled, half dragged Dil into the shed where her old Toro lawn mower was stashed.

  “Now you stay here,” she told him, quietly. “Until I figure things out.”

  Slamming the door, Suzanne dusted her hands together.

  Okay, now what?

  She turned, a little unnerved... and found herself staring directly into the steely gray eyes of Sheriff Roy Doogie!

  Chapter twenty eight

  “Doogie!” Suzanne screamed. “Whoa!”

  Doogie took a step backward and held his arms out toward her, palms facing up. “Easy, easy, Suzanne,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Suzanne clamped a hand to her chest, trying to still her timpani drum-beating heart. “Well . . . you did,” she told him, fear and a little anger creeping into her voice. She drew a deep breath, hoping against hope that Doogie wouldn’t notice how discombobulated she suddenly was.

  “Toni said you were out here,” said Doogie. His eyes slid past Suzanne toward the old shed. “Said you were just... putting stuff away?”

  “Right,” said Suzanne, adding a touch of brightness to her voice. “Packing stuff away ... um... hoses and things. Probably don’t need them anymore. Sure don’t need them today.” Still panicked, she glanced up at the sky where storm clouds seemed to be bunching in the west, ready to crowd out the gradually thinning sunshine. “It’s probably going to rain later on.”

  “Could be,” said Doogie, who turned his languid focus back upon Suzanne.

  Suzanne smiled. “How you doing, Sheriff? How’s the investigation going?” She was terrified Dil would suddenly come lumbering out from the shed and announce his presence. Get himself arrested, plunge her back into hot water.

  “I’m still pretty ticked at you,” said Doogie, arranging his face in a stern, stoic gaze. “Going out to that farm and all.”

  “Sorry,” said Suzanne, trying to lead him toward the back door, praying Baxter wouldn’t give anything away. “It was all a big oops. A complete blunder.”

  “No
kidding,” said Doogie. He stood with his feet spread wide apart, listing ever so slightly.

  “You didn’t find anything else out there, did you?” Suzanne asked. “Chemicals or anything?”

  “Nope,” Doogie told her. “If they’d had some of the same chemicals that were stolen from Driesden and Draper, then I’d be on to something. But for now . . .” He blew out air, making a slight whistling sound between his front teeth. “I’m perplexed.” And, with his bushy brows knit together, Doogie really did appear perplexed.

  “So you’re back to square one?” Suzanne asked.

  “It ain’t that bad,” said Doogie, backpedaling now, trying to save face. At the same time, he certainly wasn’t bubbling over with hot, new leads.

  “My money’s still on Earl,” Suzanne told him. ‘There’s something hinky about him. Especially his ... what would you call it? Whirlwind second courtship with Missy?”

  “Some people are just naturally hinky,” said Doogie. “They look suspicious and act suspicious, but they don’t really have anything particularly sinister going on.”

  Suzanne nodded. She understood what Doogie was talking about.

  “Although,” continued Doogie, “that hale-hearty type of personality can sometimes be an outward manifestation of someone who’s actually quite secretive.”

  “Seriously?” said Suzanne. “Did you read that in a book or did you postulate your own theory?”

  Doogie glowered at her and struck a slightly defensive pose. “For your information, I once took a class on psychological profiling. Given by an ex-FBI agent fella. And that was the basic gist of one of his hypotheses.” Doogie shook his big head and his jowls sloshed. “Jeez, Suzanne, sometimes you make me feel like I’m some poor dufus who can’t find his way out of a corn maze.”

  Suzanne patted his arm. “Sorry, Sheriff, I didn’t mean to insult you. Truly. Last thing on my mind.” And the number one thing on my mind is to get you as far away from here as possible. “I think you’re running a heck of an investigation.”

  Doogie cast his eyes downward and did everything but dig his toe in the dirt.

  “Also,” said Suzanne, “I’m delighted you dropped by. I have a favor to ask.”

  “What are you talkin’ about?” asked Doogie.

  “I was wondering if you could lend your expertise and be a guest judge.”

  “Guest judge?” said Doogie, looking faintly surprised. “For what?”

  “You saw all the tents and people and cakes?”

  “Yeah,” said Doogie, “I ain’t blind.”

  “Well, I was hoping maybe you could help Petra judge the cake-decorating contest. One of our judges cancelled at the last minute.”

  That simple request seemed to throw Doogie for a loop. “Really? Cakes, huh?” He looped a finger through his belt. “Do I get to taste them?”

  It took all the fortitude Suzanne could muster not to smile. “No, but there’s going to be a cake social later on.

  That’s a cake tasting of sorts. We’ll be serving up little slivers of five or six different kinds of cake along with dabs of ice cream and sorbet.”

  Doogie straightened up. “That sounds mighty good,” he said, then glanced over toward Baxter. “What’s your dog sniffing at?”

  “Coyotes,” Suzanne said, quickly. “Doggone things are all over the place. Running wild.”

  “Little pests,” agreed Doogie.

  “So let’s go get you a piece of cake,” Suzanne cajoled. “And then you can help with the judging. You’ll be a duly elected official serving in the Cackleberry Club’s official capacity.”

  “Yeah,” Doogie said, playing a little hard to get. “I suppose I could help out. But I gotta be out of here by three. I’m on my way to check some county records, then do a patrol.”

  “This won’t take long,” Suzanne assured Doogie as she led him around to the front of the Cackleberry Club and into the large tent where Petra was hovering at the back, watching a silver-and-Tiffany-blue wedding cake take shape. “Look who I found,” Suzanne told Petra. “And it’s our good luck that Sheriff Doogie’s graciously agreed to help with the cake judging.”

  “Wonderful,” trilled Petra. “Pleased you can lend your opinion, Sheriff. We have four dozen cakes already and there are more trickling in.” She fluttered her hands nervously at Suzanne. “Suzanne? Could you ... ? In the other tent?”

  “Of course,” said Suzanne. Together, she and Doogie strolled into the other tent, where five of the six tables were laden with cakes waiting to be judged.

  “All these cakes need to be judged?” asked Doogie. He seemed surprised and a little overwhelmed at the number of entries.

  “Well, there are only four basic categories,” said Suzanne. “So it’s not as tricky as it looks.”

  Doogie gazed across the sea of cakes toward the parking lot, where a silver SUV was just pulling up. It rocked to a stop, then Missy climbed out the passenger side, followed by Earl from the driver’s side. “Huh,” was all Doogie said.

  Suzanne watched Missy and Earl as they headed for the demonstration tent. “Couldn’t you just sort of talk to Earl again?” she asked Doogie. “Question him?”

  “What I’d really rather do is find that homeless guy who’s probably still squatting up in those caves,” replied Doogie.

  “Why?” asked Suzanne.

  “Because he was near the park last Sunday,” said Doogie, still following Earl and Missy with his eyes. “And he’s been spotted around town.”

  “I don’t think he’s your guy,” said Suzanne.

  Doogie gave her a studious look. “Now why would you say that?”

  Suzanne shrugged. “Call it a hunch? An instinct I have about this whole thing?”

  Doogie planted his feet wide. “You’re not keeping something from me, are you, Suzanne? Like when you scouted that farmhouse of dopers?”

  She smiled at him, hoping her smile conveyed sweet innocence. “Nope.”

  Doogie studied her for a moment. “Good. Because I’d sure hate to arrest you for obstructing justice.”

  “I only want justice,” said Suzanne.

  “What people want and what people do are often two separate matters,” said Doogie.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” said Suzanne.

  “Sheriff?” said Petra, coming up behind Doogie. “Are you ready to feast your eyes on a few cakes?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,” said Doogie, as Petra took him by the arm and led him toward the table filled with decorated sheet cakes.

  Whew, was Suzanne’s only thought. She plopped down onto a folding chair, picked up a stack of entry forms, and tamped them briskly on the table, straightening them.

  “Oh, Suzanne,” came a sugary voice.

  Suzanne stared up into the hard, bright eyes of Carmen Copeland. What’s she doing here? was her first thought. And then she spotted the cake Carmen was carrying. A compact, four-layer cake, frosted in luscious orchid-colored frosting. It was covered with delicate green swirls and twined with miniature Dendrobium orchids.

  “I’ve come to enter your cake-decorating contest,” Carmen said in a smooth voice. “See?” She placed her cake in front of Suzanne, looking infinitely pleased with herself. “It just so happens I know a bit about baking and cake decorating myself.”

  Suzanne stared at Carmen, a vision of sophistication in her sleek, black shift and matching emerald earrings, and then at her cake. Just like Carmen, the cake was sleek and gorgeous. A total knockout. In fact, it looked like something a Park Avenue patisserie had created for a New York high-society party. And Suzanne was pretty sure ... no, she was almost positive ... that Carmen Copeland had not slaved in her kitchen all morning long, sifting flour, beating eggs, baking and frosting her cake, then piping on swirls and arranging live orchids with her own French-manicured pinkies.

  No, Suzanne figured Carmen had probably placed a discreet phone call, instructed some commercial baker to whip up this amazing creation, then nonchalantly charged it to
her gold American Express card.

  What if she wins? was Suzanne’s next troubling thought. It won’t be fair and we won’t know how to reward her.

  “Oh,” said Carmen, touching a delicate forefinger to the hollow at her neck. “Looks like the judging’s already started.”

  “Actually, you just squeaked in,” said Suzanne, pushing an entry form across the table to Carmen. “Fill this out and we’ll get you registered.”

  Carmen pulled a Montblanc pen from her crocodile bag and, in big swooping letters, completed her form.