Egg Drop Dead

by Laura Childs

  Suzanne shrugged. “I could go on, but then you’d probably say I was threatening you.”

  Elder’s lips twitched. “I don’t threaten easily.”

  “That’s okay, I wouldn’t go easy on you.” She wondered if Elder had been the gas mask man. If Baxter’s tooth marks were imprinted on his leg.

  “You’re a regular little spitfire, aren’t you?” Elder said.

  “Just trying to get to the heart of things.”

  “I heard that about you. That you like to . . . snoop.”

  Suzanne offered a thin smile. “Inquiring minds want to know.”

  “And what is it you want to know?”

  “Did you get your horses back?”

  Elder nodded. “That I did.”

  “Are they still for sale?”

  “I suppose they are, for the right price.”

  “Care to name that price?” Suzanne asked.

  Elder studied her. “Are you a serious buyer?”

  “You bet I am.”

  “Got a pen?”

  Suzanne pulled a pen from her apron pocket and handed it to Elder. He took it, wrote a number on his paper napkin, and slid it across the counter to her.

  She glanced at what he’d scrawled. “Big number,” she said.

  He shrugged. “I’d need an answer today. Otherwise . . . well, I’ll have to make alternate arrangements.”

  Suzanne thought for a few moments. “I’d need some time to pull things together. Could you drop by tonight? We’re having our big Halloween party and . . .”

  “I know all about your Halloween party,” Elder said. He took a final sip of coffee and slid off his stool. “I’ll see you then.”

  * * *

  ELDER took off, Byron Wolf left some ten minutes later, and then, in what felt like a game of musical chairs, Sheriff Doogie came striding in. He sat down on his favorite stool and planted his elbows firmly on the counter.

  Suzanne hurried over to pour Doogie a cup of coffee. She dearly needed to talk to him.

  “I’ve been thinking about your high adventure last night,” Doogie said for openers. “Dang, Suzanne, you sure set somebody’s whiskers to twitching.”

  “Yes, but whose?”

  Doogie dumped two sugar cubes into his coffee, stirred it, then added a third for good measure. “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?”

  “Two possible candidates have already been in here this morning.”

  Doogie lifted a furry eyebrow. “Who’s that?”

  “Byron Wolf and Julian Elder.”

  “Elder say anything about the horses?”

  “Mostly that they’re still for sale.” Suzanne decided not to tell Doogie that she was contemplating buying them herself. Since she wasn’t sure she could pull it off.

  Doogie shook his head. “I’m gonna phone the county attorney. See if they can do anything to help those horses.”

  “And then there’s Byron Wolf. If Junior got beat up outside of one of Wolf’s construction trailers, it stands to reason it was done by a couple guys from his crew.”

  “But who were the guys?” Doogie asked. “We can’t haul his entire crew in and question them.” He pointed to the glass pie case. “I think that caramel roll has my name on it.”

  Suzanne put a caramel roll on a plate for Doogie, along with two pats of butter. “But you could question the guys who were last seen at that trailer.”

  “I doubt they’re gonna fess up,” Doogie said.

  “And you can’t beat it out of them. Innocent until proven guilty.”

  “Yup, that sticky little rule of law does get in the way sometimes.”

  “Have you checked to see if Byron Wolf has ever been popped?”

  “You mean does Wolf have a record?” Doogie took a bite of sweet roll and chewed thoughtfully. “Wolf’s had a DUI as well as a lien from a finance company placed against a leased Range Rover. And he’s had an assault charge stemming from a bar fight.”

  “Did he do time?” Suzanne asked.

  “Nope. He hired some hotshot attorney and the assault charge was reduced to a misdemeanor so he only had to pay a fine.”

  “But Wolf’s no angel.”

  “Neither is Julian Elder. He’s had his share of minor skirmishes with the law.”

  Toni suddenly ducked behind the counter to talk to them. “Guess what I did?” she asked.

  “Finally divorced that no-account Junior?” Doogie asked.

  “Nothing quite that drastic,” Toni said. “No, I invited Byron Wolf to our Halloween bash tonight.”

  “You didn’t,” Suzanne said. “Wait a minute, did he say he’d come?”

  Toni dimpled. “He said he’d try to make it.”

  “You’re awfully flirty for a woman whose husband is still lying in a hospital bed,” Doogie said.

  Toni waved a hand. “I just talked to Junior again. He’s being released at noon. His car wash buddy, Buggy Butters, is gonna pick him up and drive him home.”

  “That was a quick stay,” Suzanne said.

  Toni shrugged. “No insurance.”

  “That would explain it,” Doogie said.

  * * *

  PETRA chuckled as she handed her menu to Suzanne. “You put this on the chalkboard and you’ll get a few laughs,” she said. “It’s very Halloween themed.”

  Suzanne studied the menu. “I’ll say. Egg Drop Dead Soup, Witch’s Chicken Salad Sandwiches, Omelet with Voodoo Cheese Fondue, deviled eggs, and Skeleton Finger Cookies.”

  “You think I worked in enough Halloween?”

  “And then some,” Suzanne said. She flicked Petra’s notes between her fingers and said, “I have a favor to ask.”

  “Sure.”

  “It’s kind of strange.”

  “Well,” Petra said. “I wouldn’t want to do anything illegal.”

  “This doesn’t involve horse rustling or anything like that,” Suzanne said. “But what I’d like you to do is call Claudia Mullen and invite her to drop by tonight.”

  Petra looked a little taken aback. “You want her to come to the party? Why on earth?”

  “I don’t know. Call it a hunch. A weird vibe.”

  “It is weird,” Petra said.

  “The thing is, Toni already invited Byron Wolf and I kind of invited Julian Elder. If you invited Claudia Mullen . . .”

  “Then all your suspects would be corralled in one single place,” Petra said slowly. “Namely our place. You really think you can shake something loose?”

  “It’s a shot in the dark,” Suzanne said. After all, nothing else has worked.

  Petra eyed Suzanne nervously. “Eeny, meeny, miny, moe . . .”

  Suzanne grinned but there was little warmth behind it. “Catch a killer by the toe.”

  * * *

  AT quarter to twelve, just as the noon rush was beginning to build, Sam called.

  “Suzanne?” Sam said. “Do you have something to tell me?”

  Dang, Suzanne thought. Somebody got to him before I could figure out how to sanitize my story.

  “I just ran into Sheriff Doogie over at Pilney’s Pharmacy,” Sam said. “And he said something about you and Toni being harassed by a guy in a gas mask? Is that true?”

  “That happened at the Haunted Forest. Didn’t I mention that Toni and I were going to the Haunted Forest?”

  “Um . . . no. And I got the distinct impression from Doogie that this incident was unrelated to the students’ event.”

  “I suppose you could say that . . . yes.”

  “This comes on top of you being present when Noah Jorgenson was arrested for stealing horses,” Sam said.

  “You know as well as I do that Noah was set up. Somebody left a machete in his barn in order to point the finger at him.”

  “Suzanne, we
need to talk about this!”

  Oh jeez, now Sam’s mad at me.

  “Are you really mad at me?” she asked

  “Not entirely,” Sam said. “But only because I don’t have all the details about the Haunted Forest. Then I can work up some serious steam and indignation.”

  “Maybe we can talk at the Halloween party tonight?”

  “Suzanne, I definitely think we should.”

  * * *

  “NOW Sam’s mad at me,” Suzanne said to Toni as they carried out bowls of Egg Drop Dead Soup and plates of Witch’s Sandwiches.

  “Sam could never be mad at you,” Toni said. “He gives you that puppy dog look and comes running whenever you crook your little finger at him. You could probably get away with bloody blue murder and that man would still stick a wedding ring on your finger.”

  “No, this time he was really upset about the Haunted Forest thing.”

  “How could you tell?” Toni asked.

  “Sam wasn’t yelling. He was talking in a cool, controlled voice.”

  “Like the voice he uses when he tells some poor patient they need to have their gall bladder cut out?” Toni asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “Holy hiccups,” Toni said. “Sam really is mad at you.”

  CHAPTER 29

  SUZANNE was just putting a slice of apple pie in front of Gene Gandle, the Bugle’s crackerjack reporter, obituary writer, and ad sales guy, when Junior came stumping in on his broken leg. His blue jeans had been slit up one side to accommodate his plaster cast and he was using crutches.

  When Toni saw him, she came flying out of the kitchen. “What are you doing here?” she cried. “You should be home in bed resting.”

  Suzanne joined in the haranguing. “You should probably still be in the hospital.”

  Junior shook his head. “Too late for that. I already checked myself out and reserved a room at the Super 8.”

  Toni’s mouth literally fell open. “What?”

  “That doggone hospital charges almost two hundred bucks a night for a lumpy bed and bad food while the Super 8 is only thirty-nine bucks,” Junior said. “Plus they got cable. HBO and Showtime.”

  “But . . . but . . .” Toni was so flabbergasted she couldn’t spit out her sentence.

  Junior held up a hand. “It’s a room back by the Dumpsters, but the garbage truck doesn’t haul away until Thursday so everything should be hunky-dory. As long as the trash don’t pile up and stink too bad.”

  “Junior, you can’t just skip out on your treatment,” Suzanne said. “What about physical therapy? What about medication?”

  Junior reached into his hip pocket and pulled out an amber prescription bottle. He held it up and rattled it. “That’s all been taken care of.”

  “This is crazy talk,” Toni said. “You need rest and recovery.”

  “I can’t lay in bed all day,” Junior said. He hobbled over to a chair and sat down heavily.

  Toni threw up her hands. “This from a man who lays around in his underwear munching Doritos and watching Duck Dynasty.”

  “That’s recreational laying around,” Junior said. “This is medical. Medical laying around is boring.”

  “You hear that?” Toni said to Suzanne. “Junior’s bored. His pea-sized brain is actually challenged.”

  “Maybe we should give him something to do,” Suzanne said.

  “Like what?” Toni asked.

  But Junior was suddenly interested. He poked one of his crutches at them and said, “That’s right. Put me to work. I’m happy to hang around and help out.”

  “Like you helped out before?” Toni said in an angry, accusing tone. “Snooping around that construction trailer and getting the stuffing beat out of you.”

  “Those goons caught me by surprise,” Junior said. “I let my guard down. Otherwise I could have taken them.”

  “Instead you got taken to the hospital,” Suzanne said.

  “Do we gotta rehash this?” Junior whined. “You make me feel like some kind of wimp. Come on, give me something to do. I’ll do anything you want.”

  “I suppose you could put together the trick or treat bags for the kids,” Suzanne said.

  Junior’s face fell. “You’re gonna make me do a menial task?”

  “Okay,” Suzanne said. “How about figuring out a macroeconomic stabilization policy for the country?”

  “Huh?” Junior said.

  “Have you even eaten yet?” Toni asked Junior.

  Junior patted his stomach. “No, because that hospital grub was awful. It gave me a case of the burps.” His chest rose and fell. “Oh, scuse me.”

  “Maybe you’d better feed him,” Suzanne said. “We don’t want Junior to keel over from hunger.”

  “I really should keep my strength up,” Junior said. “Then I might be able to tackle those trick or treat bags after all.”

  * * *

  “WAS that Junior I heard out there?” Petra asked when Suzanne walked into the kitchen.

  “Newly released from the hospital,” Suzanne said. “On his own recognizance.”

  “You think he’s okay?”

  “It’s Junior, does that answer your question?”

  “Got it,” Petra said. She pointed to a couple bags of trash. “Could you carry those out?”

  “Still worried about the opossum?”

  “A little bit.”

  “Did you have a chance to call Claudia?”

  Petra nodded. “She says she’ll come. That she can get a ride over from Jane Breimhorst, one of her friends from church.”

  “Was she suspicious about why we invited her?”

  “Not so much. I think she might have been a little bit pleased to get the invitation. She sounded kind of lonely.”

  I’d be lonely, too, Suzanne thought, if I murdered my husband.

  On the other hand, Claudia might be completely innocent. Her only crime—and it wasn’t really a crime—her anxiousness to sell the farm.

  Suzanne grabbed the trash bags and carried them out to the Dumpster. She tossed them in and turned around to scan the woods, looking for the little opossum.

  “Where are you, you little bandit? I bet if Petra knew what a sweet guy you really are she’d put out leftover donuts for you to snarf.”

  Suzanne stepped past her work shed and into the woods, where she was immediately surrounded by golden poplars, bright red sumac, and a clutch of pine trees. It was beautiful and peaceful in this little strip of woods that marked the border between her back parking lot and the farm field just beyond. Today, the recently harvested cornfield was playing host to a small flock of grackles that were carefully picking around for plump, dried kernels.

  Friendly visitors passing through, she thought to herself.

  But as she scanned the horizon in the direction of her farm, her eyes caught a quick flash of light from way across the field.

  What was that?

  Suzanne stood stock-still and continued to stare. There it was again. What was going on? She knew that Reed and Martha Ducovny, the couple who leased the farm from her, were out of town. Visiting their daughter in Sarasota, Florida.

  Could someone be standing over there watching her through a pair of binoculars? Who would do that?

  Feeling chilled, thoughts of gas mask man still swirling in her brain, Suzanne dashed inside.

  * * *

  “TELEPHONE,” Petra said as Suzanne flew through the door.

  “Who is it?” she asked.

  “I think it’s that cheese guy.”

  Suzanne stared at Petra for a few moments before her brain finally caught up to Petra’s reference. “The pushy guy from Claggett Foods?”

  “I think so.”

  Suzanne grabbed the phone. “This is Suzanne.”

  “Suzanne,” came Rick Boy
le’s booming voice. “Rick Boyle here. Glad I caught you.”

  Did you try to catch me? Suzanne suddenly wondered. Was that you chasing me last night?

  “Mr. Boyle,” she said in a crispy voice. “How can I help?”

  “It’s I who can help you,” Boyle fake-chuckled. “We’ve just added three new cheese products to our line and I wanted to give you a heads-up.”

  “Okay.” Whatever.

  “I’m going to be in your neighborhood later on today and I thought I would drop off some product sheets.”

  “We’ll be pretty busy later on—tonight’s our big Halloween bash.”

  “Sounds charming,” Boyle said. “I’ll see you then.”

  Suzanne hung up the phone, trying to recall her impression of the guy who’d chased her last night. He’d been fairly tall and carried some weight on him. At least that was her general impression. Could it have been Rick Boyle? She supposed it could have been. Stranger things had happened.

  “You invited him to our party?” Petra asked. She pulled up her green Gumby hood and was peering out of it.

  “The more the merrier,” Suzanne said.

  “Know what I think?” Petra said. “The more the murderous.”

  * * *

  WHEN Suzanne slipped into the café, Junior was sitting at a table working diligently. He was filling orange trick or treat bags, moving his lips as he counted out miniature candy bars, wrapped pieces of toffee, and lollipops.

  He glanced up as she approached his table. “Suzanne, I have a question.”

  “Yes?”

  “There are fewer Krackel bars than there are Mr. Goodbars. Do you think I should heavy up on toffee if a bag is minus a Krackel bar?”

  “Just put eight pieces of candy in each bag,” Suzanne said. “Don’t stress over it.”

  Then Toni crept in with a roll of black netting draped over one arm. “Suzanne? My costume?”

  “Oh right,” Suzanne said. “I was going to help you with that, wasn’t I?” She glanced around the café and saw there were only two tables of customers left. They were both finishing their coffee, ready to head out.

  “You were going to help me fashion a ballet skirt,” Toni said. “‘Fashion’ being the operative word.”