Egg Drop Dead

by Laura Childs

  “What’s he supposed to say?” Suzanne asked. “That he’s dead as a doornail?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe something like ‘He’s chilling out in Slumber Room A.’”

  “It’s a visitation, Toni, not a Coldplay concert.”

  They walked slowly into Slumber Room A.

  Toni touched a hand to her chest and said, “Whew. Closed casket.”

  “Happy now?” Suzanne asked. “No dead bodies? No pennies on the eyes?”

  “As happy as I can be in a funeral home, yeah.”

  “Come on,” Suzanne said. “Let’s go up there and say a little prayer. Light a candle or something.”

  “If you insist.”

  They slipped quietly up to the casket, bowed their heads, and stared down at the mahogany box for what Suzanne figured was the requisite minute and a half. Then they edged away from it.

  “There’s Claudia,” Suzanne said. Claudia Mullen was standing next to a purple velvet love seat, dabbing a hankie to her eyes. There was a sort of receiving line stretching out in front of her. “We should go and say something to her.”

  “Like what?” Toni asked.

  “How about ‘I’m sorry.’”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  They got in line and shuffled ahead slowly. When they were finally in front of Claudia, Toni stuck out her hand like a gawky child. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Claudia was far more gracious. “Thank you. Thank you both for coming tonight.” She snuffled loudly and dabbed at her eyes yet again.

  “You have our deepest sympathies,” Suzanne said.

  Claudia took Suzanne’s hand. “You’re very kind, Suzanne. And I’m so sorry that you were the one who . . .” A tiny sob escaped her lips.

  “Sorry, so sorry,” Toni said again as they shuffled past.

  When they were a good ten feet away, well out of earshot, Suzanne said, “Well, that was perfectly awful.”

  “Do you still think Claudia got up the guts to kill her own husband?” Toni asked.

  “Judging from the way she’s acting tonight, it feels like a long shot,” Suzanne said. “She seems to be genuinely grieving.”

  “Unless she’s a really terrific actress. You know, like Meryl Streep caliber.”

  “There’s always that,” Suzanne said. She was scanning the room, searching for Petra. “Do you see Petra anywhere?”

  “Not yet. But I do see Sheriff Doogie prowling through the crowd. And he’s got his trusty sidekick, Deputy Driscoll, with him.”

  “The Lone Ranger and Tonto,” Suzanne said as she eyeballed Doogie. He was clearly there for investigative purposes only, since he was scanning the crowd like a hungry lion might study a herd of zebras. His sharp eyes bounced from one person to another, obviously trying to discern the killer in the crowd. Driscoll was doing the same.

  “Get a load of Deputy Driscoll,” Toni said. “If anybody looks remotely guilty, he’s liable to draw his gun, fumble it, and shoot out all the lights in the chandelier.”

  “Law enforcement,” Suzanne said. “Ya gotta love ’em.”

  “Do you think the person who killed Mike might be here?” Toni asked. The notion seemed to both thrill and repulse her.

  “I don’t know. He might be. He could be.” Suzanne perused the room herself. It was crowded and filling up even more as people continued to pour in. She saw townspeople, business owners, and several people that she knew attended Mike Mullen’s church. There were also people from the Rotary club, the Jaycees, and two farmers, Todd Lansky and Mark Schoemer, who lived out on Highway 86, several miles past the Mullen farm.

  “Just think,” Toni said breathlessly, “the killer could be right here in this very room.”

  If the killer was here, Suzanne wondered if he would be easy to spot. Would he look guilt-ridden? Would he assume a sad countenance? Then she considered the sheer brutality of the crime. No, he probably wouldn’t be easy to spot at all. Anybody who could murder a man in cold blood like that was one cool character. A stone-cold killer.

  Toni gave her a nudge. “Take a look at who just showed up.”

  Byron Wolf had just sauntered into Slumber Room A, looking like he’d strolled into a private country club to enjoy a good cigar and a snifter of twenty-year-old cognac. In other words, the man looked both relaxed and entitled.

  “That’s still one good-looking man,” Toni growled.

  “And look where he’s headed,” Suzanne said.

  Wolf made no pretense of even glancing at Mike Mullen’s coffin. Instead, he headed straight for Claudia and embraced her gently. She smiled at him and, as he whispered something in her ear, nodded vigorously. Suzanne wondered if she was acknowledging his condolences or if they were sharing a private moment.

  “What do you think is going on over there?” Toni asked.

  “I don’t know,” Suzanne said. “Maybe they’re working out the final details of their real estate deal?”

  “You think?”

  Suzanne continued to watch the two of them. “Now they’re sitting down together and he’s acting very solicitous.”

  “So they could be coconspirators,” Toni said.

  “I suppose.” The idea was repellent to Suzanne, but she knew it was a possibility. She took a step back, the better to keep an eye on Claudia and Byron Wolf, and practically fell into the arms of Todd Lansky.

  “Whoa,” Lansky said as Suzanne stumbled, realized her mistake, and caught herself. “You okay?” Lansky was tall and lean, dressed in a freshly pressed red and yellow plaid shirt and olive drab slacks.

  “Yes, sorry,” she said, turning to face him. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  Lansky gave her a sad smile that seemed to emphasize the prominence of his cheekbones. “That’s okay. I’ve been noticing those two over there myself. And I have to say there’s no way I’d ever trust a guy like Wolf.”

  “You know who he is?” Suzanne asked, suddenly curious.

  Lansky seemed to consider his words carefully. “He’s a real estate developer, so he’s kind of at odds with a farmer like me who wants to preserve and protect the land. And—this is just my personal opinion based on a bunch of jacked-up hearsay—Wolf strikes me as kind of a carpetbagger type. He breezes into town with his swagger and fancy car, trying to ingratiate himself, when all he’s really got on his agenda is to make a shitload of money.” He glanced down shyly at his well-worn brown boots. “I think our community can do better than a guy like him.”

  * * *

  BECAUSE Toni had wandered off somewhere, Suzanne decided to circle back and talk to Claudia Mullen again. Byron Wolf was no longer bending her ear and Claudia was looking a little lost.

  “Claudia,” Suzanne said. “How are you doing? Really?”

  “Terrible,” Claudia said. “This whole thing—Mike’s murder—has finally hit me like a ton of bricks. At first I thought I could handle it.” She swallowed hard. “Like when you stopped by yesterday, I probably acted like I was all pulled together. But in reality I was just plain numb. And now, a day later, everything feels completely overwhelming.” Tears pooled in the corners of her red-rimmed eyes. “I’ve got the funeral tomorrow, trying to deal with the dairy herd . . .”

  “I thought Mike’s brother, Dan, was going to come over and take care of the cows . . . do the milking and all.”

  “He is and I’m incredibly grateful to him, but he can’t do it indefinitely. And it’s awfully late in the season to ship all that livestock to auction, the cows, those horses . . .”

  “Horses?” Suzanne said. Then she remembered. Oh yes, she had seen a couple of horses in Mike’s barn.

  Claudia made an unhappy face. “Mike bought a couple horses from one of our neighbors. Something about saving them from a bad end . . . I don’t know. He was always trying to do the right thing, be the good guy. And look where it got him.
” Tears rolled down Claudia’s face. “My poor Mike. He let some crazy person get the drop on him . . .”

  Suzanne put her arms around Claudia and hugged her tight. But at the same time . . . she wondered about the horses in Mullen’s barn.

  George Draper was suddenly there, whispering to Claudia, offering his professional brand of comfort. Suzanne let him take over. Surely he knew what was best for the bereaved. Besides, Toni was waving frantically at her.

  “What?” Suzanne asked once she’d slipped down a row of folding chairs and joined Toni.

  “We should take off. I’ve hit my creep load.”

  “Did Petra ever make it?”

  “Yes,” Toni said. “She’s sitting over there with some folks from her church. I think they’re having some kind of prayer circle.”

  “Let’s go light a candle,” Suzanne said. “And then we’ll go.”

  But before they could make their way to the wrought iron stand where white votive lights flickered like tiny beacons, there was an unexpected arrival.

  “What the . . . ?” Suzanne couldn’t finish her sentence because her jaw literally dropped.

  Faith Anne Jorgenson suddenly swished her way into the room. Dressed head to toe in a nubby black sweater and long skirt, her hair pulled tightly against her head, she looked like a Sicilian widow. Following in her footsteps was a teenage boy. He had a pale face with rosy cheeks, bright blue eyes, dark slicked-back hair, and he walked with a kind of herky-jerky gait. Although that could have been because he was following so closely on his mother’s heels and carrying a bulky violin case.

  “Holy guacamole,” Toni whispered. “You see that kid? I think that’s Noah Jorgenson.”

  Suzanne peered at Noah expectantly. So this was the much-talked-about but rarely seen Noah. He looked much more normal than she thought he would. In fact, he looked like any ordinary sixteen-year-old kid, albeit one who’d been coddled and secreted away by his mother.

  “What do you think is going on?” Toni murmured.

  Everyone else seemed to be wondering the same thing. The hum of conversation died to a low buzz, chairs creaked, eyes were suddenly riveted on Faith Anne and Noah. A sense of anticipation seemed to burn through the room.

  Faith Anne smiled serenely as Noah placed his violin case on a folding chair and clicked it open. Then carefully, almost reverently, he removed the violin and bow.

  Was he going to give a concert? Suzanne wondered.

  Noah certainly was. Once he had his violin carefully positioned on his shoulder and his bow held lightly in his right hand, he nodded to himself once and began to play.

  With eyes half closed, Noah played a violin rendition of Eric Clapton’s “Tears in Heaven.” The notes were pure and haunting as they poured out, building with assurance as Noah continued to play.

  Suzanne swayed slightly, hearing the words in her head. Would you know my name, if I saw you in Heaven . . .

  Everyone in the room listened with complete and rapt attention. Except for the violin’s sweeping notes, you could have heard a pin drop.

  I must be strong and carry on . . .

  Each note was sweet and sure and emotionally charged. Eyes filled with tears, men cleared their throats, nobody moved a muscle.

  When the final haunting note died in the air, there was a long moment of silence, and then a wave of thunderous applause.

  “That was amazing,” Toni exclaimed.

  “Just incredible,” Suzanne agreed.

  But Noah wasn’t sticking around for any compliments or attention. He quickly packed up his violin and doggedly followed his mother out of the room.

  “I want to talk to him,” Suzanne said. She spun away from Toni and pushed her way through the crowd. She spotted Noah’s head bobbing just ahead of her. Ducking into the foyer, she looked around. But Faith Anne and Noah were already out the front door.

  “Wait!” Suzanne cried as she scrambled after them. “Noah!”

  Outside on the sidewalk, Noah heard his name being called. He hesitated for a moment and then stopped in his tracks.

  “Excuse me, excuse me,” Suzanne called as she rushed up to him.

  Faith Anne spun around and came at her like an avenging angel. “Go away,” she said in an icy tone. “Leave us alone.”

  CHAPTER 14

  SUZANNE ignored her. “Noah,” she said. “That was just wonderful. You have an amazing talent. I hope you noticed there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.”

  In the faint glimmer of a streetlamp a crooked smile appeared on Noah’s face.

  “Are you not hearing me?” Faith Anne snarled. “I said, get away from us.”

  “Wait, please,” Suzanne said. She focused all her attention on Noah. “Noah, I’m Suzanne Dietz from the Cackleberry Club. I’m sure you’ve heard of me. And I’m pretty sure you know my dear friend Petra, who goes to your church.”

  “This is so not happening,” Faith Anne said.

  “And I think you and I kind of know each other,” Suzanne continued.

  Noah stared at her, a question dancing in his eyes.

  “I’m pretty sure I saw you the other day, standing in the pasture. And I wanted to ask you about that because it’s really important.”

  But Faith Anne would have none of it. “Get in the car, Noah,” she ordered in a no-nonsense voice. And Noah, looking back over his shoulder at Suzanne, was forced to comply.

  * * *

  “THAT’S one weird kid,” Toni said as they headed for Suzanne’s car.

  “I feel sorry for Noah,” Suzanne said. “His mother seems to dominate his life. From what I understand, he’s being homeschooled so he hardly ever gets to socialize with kids his own age.”

  “You think attending a regular school would be better for him?”

  “I don’t know, but it seems like it would be worth finding out. He’s got no peer group to relate to and his mother always comes across as overly protective.”

  Footsteps scraped loudly on the sidewalk and Suzanne and Toni froze, both of them suddenly feeling nervous and unprotected in the darkness and shifting fog. But it was just Sheriff Doogie coming up behind them.

  Suzanne touched a hand to her chest. “Oh, it’s you.” She exhaled slowly as she got in her car.

  “Yeah, it’s me,” Doogie said. As Toni dropped into the passenger seat, he leaned in and said, “You ask me, I think that kid knows more than he lets on.”

  “You mean Noah?” Suzanne asked.

  Doogie nodded.

  “What if Noah saw what happened to Mike?” Toni asked. “What if he was hiding somewhere nearby and saw the attack . . . the murder?”

  “And now he’s too traumatized to talk,” Suzanne said. “To tell anyone about it.”

  “Maybe,” Doogie said, a harshness coloring his voice. “That’s why I plan to question Noah again.”

  “Good,” Suzanne said. “Glad to hear it.” She continued, “But the thing that struck me as incredibly odd tonight is why Claudia allowed Noah to play his violin when she claims to be terrified of him?”

  “I just asked Claudia about that,” Doogie said. “She told me that Noah called her up this afternoon and asked if he could come to the funeral home and play his song. He said that Mike had always been his special friend. Claudia said the kid sounded so upset she just couldn’t say no.”

  “Interesting,” Suzanne said.

  “Yeah, interesting,” Doogie echoed. “One more dang thing to try and make sense of. Ah well.” He slapped his hand down hard on the top of the car and said, “You ladies take care. Drive safe on your way home.” And then he was gone, melted into the darkness.

  Toni closed the car door and pulled her seat belt across. “Whew, right now I’m way too pooped to worry about everything that’s going on. I can’t wait to jump into my jammies and sink into a soft mattress. My alarm clock’s gonn
a go off awfully early tomorrow morning if we plan to attend that funeral.”

  But Suzanne wasn’t quite so anxious to call it a night.

  “Toni, I have a favor to ask.”

  “Huh? What?” Toni’s head lolled back against the headrest. She seemed halfway to dreamland already.

  “I want to make a quick stop and I’m hoping you’ll go with me.”

  “Oh, honey,” Toni said, “As much as I’d love to stop at Schmitt’s for a quick bump, I’m just too tired.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of going there.”

  “No?” Toni said. “Then where did you want to go? I mean, there’s nothing else open this time of night, except for Hoobly’s Roadhouse. And I know you don’t want to go out there and hustle random trucker dudes while exotic dancers prance around onstage, twirling their tassels.” She chuckled. “I mean, we’re cute and all that, but the two of us wouldn’t stand a snowball’s chance against those USDA Prime babes.”

  “Remember what I told you about that herd of horses I saw yesterday morning?” Suzanne asked. “When I took the muffins to Claudia?”

  “Herd of horses?” Toni said. “Um, maybe. But I might have forgotten.”

  “But you didn’t forget about the horsemeat guy from last night, did you?”

  “No, that still bums me out.” Toni wrinkled her nose. She was starting to come awake. “Suzanne, where are you going with all this?”

  “I’m wondering if the horsemeat guy, Julian Elder, is the same guy who owns those poor horses out by Mike Mullen’s farm.”

  Toni turned to stare at her. “So what are you really asking, Suzanne? That you want me to go with you to check on those horses? To see if they really do belong to Elder?”

  Suzanne smiled into the darkness. “That’s it exactly.”

  “Huh.” Toni reached up and scratched her head. “Well . . . sure. Why the hell not? I mean, who needs eight hours of beauty sleep anyway? Especially when I got all this natural beauty goin’ for me.”

  “You certainly do,” Suzanne said. “Along with a devilishly curious mind.”