Eggs Benedict Arnold

by Laura Childs

  “Missy purchased tickets a couple of days ago,” murmured Petra. “If you ask me, the girl’s in love.”

  “A poor choice,” murmured Kit.

  “On the rebound from Ozzie,” said Toni, knowingly.

  “If you ask me,” said Suzanne, “I think Missy’s completely heartbroken over Ozzie and that she’s just sublimating.”

  “Earl’s her pacifier?” asked Kit.

  “So she might . . . what . . . dump him?” asked Toni. “Once everything settles down?”

  “We can only hope,” said Suzanne.

  The salmon medallions, when served to their dinner guests, were an instant hit. Ditto the Boston bib lettuce with walnut dressing and Maytag blue cheese. Suzanne, Toni, and Kit did the honors serving while Joey cleared dishes. Sam Hazelet, who was seated across the table from Carmen Copeland and Ray Lynch, fairly beamed at Suzanne every time she brushed past him. At one point he grabbed her hand and declared, “Your food is fantastic!”

  “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” she whispered back.

  When Kit removed Earl’s empty salad plate, she purred, “Hello, Earl, long time no see.”

  Earl’s face suddenly puckered in recognition and turned tomato red. “Huh?” he grunted.

  “You used to be a real regular at Hoobly’s, but I haven’t seen you for a while,” said Kit.

  There were giggles all around the table. They all knew about Hoobly’s. It was no big secret.

  “I wouldn’t say regular,” said Earl, looking defensive. He shifted nervously in his chair, then tipped it back onto two legs, looking as if he’d been caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar. “I had a meeting out there once. This one client...” But the rest of Earl’s words were suddenly lost as his chair skidded out from under him and banged hard against the cafe wall, causing a tremor in the wooden shelf directly above his head. That tremor seemed to send seismographic waves down the length of the shelf causing Suzanne’s prized collection of ceramic chickens to tremble and rattle.

  “Oh jeez!” shouted Toni as a yellow chicken with red tail feathers tottered dangerously, then, like a reluctant dive bomber, tumbled from the shelf!

  “Watch . . . !” began Carmen, who was sitting across from Earl.

  “Incoming!” yelled Toni, as the chicken struck Earl on the back of his head. Thwack!

  “Owwwww!” Earl let loose a howl that sounded like a scalded banshee. He jumped up, stomping about like he’d been stung by killer bees, while his chair continued its unfortunate trajectory and crashed over backward.

  “What an idiot,” muttered Toni, and the people close to her chuckled.

  Earl continued hopping up and down like a madman, pointing an accusing finger at the smashed chicken. “That... that thing attacked me!” he screeched.

  Toni hurried over to gather up pieces. “Take a chill pill, Earl,” she told him. “It’s just a fricking chicken.” She smirked and held up the chicken’s jagged head. “Not much left,” she said. “A head, a tail, a few paltry fragments.”

  “Doggone thing smacked me!” complained Earl, rubbing his hand against the back of his head. “Gonna have a goose egg.”

  “Some kind of egg,” murmured Suzanne.

  “What’s going on out there?” asked Petra, sticking her head through the pass-through.

  “Ceramic chicken,” Sam called to her. “Fell off your shelf. Smacked Earl.”

  Petra gave a wry smile. “The chicken has spoken.”

  Squash soup with fennel and onion garnish was the next course on the menu.

  “How’re you doing?” Suzanne asked Petra as she hurriedly braised the last bits of fennel.

  “Good,” replied Petra. “Fennel’s nice and tender with a lovely caramelization.”

  “Let me rephrase that,” said Suzanne. “How are you?”

  Petra turned with a grin. “I am woman. I am invincible. I am pooped.”

  “Of course, you are,” said Toni, flying through the door. “We’ve been at this all day. And by the way, Suzanne, Carmen Copeland is flirting shamelessly with your boyfriend.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” said Suzanne.

  “Yet,” said Toni.

  “Besides,” added Suzanne, “Carmen flirts with anyone and everyone in pants, long or short. You should know that by now.”

  “Good point,” said Toni, “since Carmen’s also making goo-goo eyes at Ray Lynch.”

  “Maybe you could con Carmen into taking Junior off your hands,” suggested Suzanne.

  “You’d have to pretend you were super jealous,” said Petra, going along with Suzanne’s suggestion. “So Carmen would take up the challenge.”

  “You mean bait her?” asked Toni. “Like she’s some kind of crazed, feral animal? I could do that. In fact, it sounds like fun.”

  Chapter thirty one

  Thunder pounded and lightning flashed overhead, but the rain had let up for the time being. One cell passing through, another one chugging its way toward them.

  Suzanne glanced out the window as another brilliant flare lit the backyard, leaching color from the grass, trees, and far farm fields, giving everything the curious appearance of a black-and-white negative. Earlier, she’d run out and stashed Baxter in the shed with Dil. Now she fervently hoped they were okay together. In fact, as soon as she got a chance, she was going to sneak out and check on them again.

  “I hope the power stays on,” worried Petra. Their guests were enjoying the soup course and now she was in the process of broiling the fillets. “If not, we’re going to be slogging away in the dark.”

  “Not to worry,” said Toni. “We’ve got enough candle power out front to keep things cheery. And my handy dandy flashlight’s sitting on the back shelf.”

  “We might need it,” said Petra. “If the main transformer out by the highway decides to go on the blink. Literally.”

  “How’s the potato gratin?” asked Suzanne, tactfully changing the subject. No sense courting disaster.

  “Looking good,” said Petra, pulling open the oven door. “Bubbling away and turning golden brown.”

  Joey struggled in with a gray plastic bin piled high with dishes, followed by an embarrassed-looking Nadine Carr. “Hey,” Joey said, “I accidentally spilled soup on this lady and she was nice enough not to yell at me. Do you guys got some soda water or something?”

  “Nadine?” said Suzanne. “Come over here and let me take a look.”

  Nadine waved a hand. “It’s nothing, really.”

  “Suzanne,” said Petra, “try soda water first. Need a rag?”

  “Got one,” said Suzanne. She was already scrubbing at Nadine’s blouse and making a difference.

  “What’s the next course?” asked Joey.

  “Fillet of beef with potato gratin,” said Suzanne, as she continued to work on Nadine. “That’s the main entree. As soon as Petra and I start plating, I want the rest of you guys to start serving. Don’t wait for us to finish. Just keep moving the entrees out.”

  “We’re going to be short on servers,” said Toni. “Kit has to leave in a couple of minutes.”

  “What?” said Suzanne, surprised, straightening up, Nadine’s blouse forgotten for the moment. She’d assumed Kit was going to stay all evening.

  “I promised Frankie I’d do a set tonight,” Kit explained sheepishly as she slid behind Joey.

  Suzanne sighed. “I thought you weren’t going to dance out there anymore. I hoped you weren’t.”

  “I know,” said Kit, “but I haven’t exactly given my two weeks’ notice yet. You want me to be a conscientious employee, don’t you?”

  “Why don’t you consider yourself an independent contractor?” suggested Suzanne. “And declare your independence?”

  “I see why everyone says you’re such a smart business woman,” said Kit. “You have a real knack for this stuff.”

  “Suzanne’s got great knackers,” said Toni with a laugh.

  “Toni!” said Petra.

  “I could help serve,”
offered Nadine.

  “Oh no,” said Suzanne. “That wouldn’t be right.”

  “It’s the least I can do,” said Nadine. “After all, you guys awarded me a big purple ribbon today.”

  Petra, juggling at the stove, glanced at Suzanne. “Suzanne? If it’s okay with you ... ?” she said.

  Suzanne took a final swipe at Nadine’s blouse. “In that case, Nadine, you’re hired!”

  The main course was the biggest hit yet and garnered not just praise but a round of applause.

  “You hear that?” said Petra, gazing at Suzanne. They’d just sent the last fillet out the door and were taking a well-deserved breather. “They like it.” She put her hands on her hips, looking both pleased and relieved.

  “It’s a rousing success, honey,” said Suzanne. “You did it.”

  “We did it,” said Petra. “Now we just have to finish with a great big bang.”

  “You’ve already got your pears poaching,” said Suzanne. “So we’re on the home stretch.”

  “Your doctor seems awfully nice,” said Petra, fussing at the stove.

  Suzanne nodded as she set out dessert plates.

  “You really like him, huh?” asked Petra.

  “I think so,” said Suzanne.

  “There’s a but there,” said Petra.

  “It’s still awfully soon,” said Suzanne. Her unspoken words were, It’s awfully soon after Walter’s death.

  “I know that, dear,” said Petra. “But you’ll know when it’s right. And you’ll know what’s right.”

  “You think so?” asked Suzanne.

  “The Lord knows the ways of the heart,” said Petra. “And helps guide us.”

  “Hey,” said Toni, as she and Nadine ducked back into the kitchen. “Our guests are absolutely gaga over their fillets and potato gratin.”

  “We heard the applause,” said Suzanne.

  “You two should go out there and feel the love,” urged Toni. “Everyone’s dying to talk to you.”

  “Once we get dessert served,” said Petra, “I’ll be able to relax. Then I’ll go out and do a little chitchat.”

  “Just remember,” chuckled Toni, “stressed spelled backward is desserts!”

  While Petra ladled pears from their steaming bath of Riesling wine, cinnamon, and cloves, Toni sliced the gingerbread and placed small pieces on each dessert plate that was laid out. “Are we gonna get to enjoy some of this, too?” she asked.

  “I think it’s high time we enjoyed a sugary nosh,” said Petra. “After all our hard work.”

  “Uh-oh,” said Toni, counting plates. “We’re a couple pieces short. Of gingerbread.”

  “What?” exclaimed Petra, whirling around. “We can’t be. I had two whole pans of it.”

  “I only saw one,” said Toni.

  “Other one’s not in the cooler?” asked Suzanne.

  “Nope,” said Toni, as she continued slicing.

  “Crap,” said Petra. “It probably got carted out and served during the cake social.”

  “Yeah . . . maybe,” said Toni, in a vague sort of way. “Sorry about that. So ... what do you want to do?”

  Petra frowned. “Maybe ...”

  Nadine, who’d been a little mouse in the kitchen corner, raised a hand tentatively. “Excuse me, but if you need a couple more servings for dessert, I have an almond cake in my car. Unfrosted. I was going to drop it by my sister’s house, but I can always bake another one tomorrow.” She smiled sadly. “With Julian gone, I’ve got nothing but time on my hands.”

  Petra took two giant steps toward Nadine and swept her into her arms, pressing Nadine against her ample chest. “You’re such a dear!” she said, hugging her. “It’s no surprise you’re a wonder at baking cakes—you’re so sweet!”

  “I’ll just slip out the back door and get it,” said Nadine.

  “You know what?” declared Toni. “This has been a charmed day. Pretty much everything has gone right for us.”

  “It has, hasn’t it,” agreed Suzanne.

  When the poached pears were finally being served, and Petra and Toni had stepped into the cafe to pour glasses of Moscato dessert wine and answer the myriad of questions posed about the various food courses and ingredients, Suzanne hastily put together a plate of food and carried it out to Dil.

  As she crossed the thirty feet of grass and mud, heading for the little shed, big, fat droplets began to plop down. Within seconds, the heavens had burst open once again.

  “Dil!” she cried, banging on me door. “I brought you...”

  The door was suddenly flung open and Dil’s crazed, red-rimmed eyes stared into hers. “I got to leave!” were his startling words.

  “What?” Suzanne put a hand on his chest and pushed him back, trying to step inside the shed and escape the downpour.

  He bent down to grab his tattered backpack and cowered nervously.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Like I said, I gotta get out of here!”

  “What happened?” asked Suzanne, stunned. “What’s going on?”

  “I just gotta go,” said Dil. He looked past her, his bleary eyes rolling back and forth with fear. “It isn’t safe,” he told her in a hoarse whisper.

  “You’re not making sense,” said Suzanne. And wasn’t that an understatement?

  “Can’t stay,” muttered Dil, struggling into his army jacket. “Scared,” he added.

  “Scared of what?” asked Suzanne. She was getting a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. Like she’d eaten something that didn’t agree with her.

  “I saw the woman,” Dil hissed. “She’s a bad woman.”

  Suzanne stood stock-still and stared at him. “What?” she whispered in disbelief. She glanced back at the Cackleberry Club. What was Dil talking about? Had he seen Missy or Carmen enter the Cackleberry Club? Had he had a previous encounter with either one of them? Or maybe with Kit? Was something going on with Kit that she didn’t know about? Suzanne glanced back toward the Cackleberry Club and frowned. Or... and it could be as simple as this ... was Dil the gingerbread thief and Toni had scolded him about it earlier?

  As if that notion seemed to hold a little credence, a shadow wavered inside the Cackleberry Club, behind the screen door.

  “Wait a minute,” Suzanne murmured. “Hold everything.” She was trying to make sense of Dil’s paranoia, to pull it all together into one nice, neat package. But her thoughts hadn’t quite gelled yet.

  “You stay here,” Suzanne told Dil, “while I go check on something, okay?”

  “No,” said Dil, pushing past her. “Got to go!”

  “No. Please!” cried Suzanne. She dashed out into the rain after him, reaching for him, but the tips of her fingers only caught the rough cotton of his army jacket. And then he was gone. Ducking around the side of the Cackleberry Club and virtually melting into the darkness.

  “Please?” she called after him in a small voice. She stared into the night, rain slashing down at her, drenching her in a cold spray. Then she turned and noticed Baxter, who had followed her out into the rain. “You poor thing,” she told him, “you’re absolutely drenched. Get back inside, okay? I’ll get a towel and dry you off. Doggone it,” she muttered, as the door creaked open behind her.

  Suzanne whirled around, expecting Petra to be standing there, peeking out the back door, gesturing for her to come inside. Or maybe even holding out a towel for her.

  Instead, the cold, hard face of Nadine Carr stared at her.

  “What?” said Suzanne, momentarily startled. “What’s . . . ?”

  That’s when Suzanne noticed the gun. A Smith & Wesson pistol pointed directly at her heart.

  Chapter thirty two

  “Where is he?” demanded Nadine.

  “Who?” said Suzanne.

  “You know who I’m talking about,” snarled Nadine. “That ragtag ex-soldier you were just talking to.”

  “Gone,” said Suzanne. “And why are you ... ?”

  “Shut up,” snarled Nadine. “Don�
��t say a word. From now on you do exactly what I say.”

  “Okay,” said Suzanne, staring at the small round hole that was so carelessly pointed at her rapidly thudding heart. “Sure. Whatever.”

  Nadine held out a hand. “Give me your car keys.”

  Suzanne stood still as a statue, her wet hair plastered against her head, her teeth beginning to chatter. “What?” she said, feeling stupid. Is that what this is about? No, it can’t be. She’s after Dil. “What’s wrong with your car?”