Eggs on Ice

by Laura Childs

  Suzanne frowned. “Why does everyone call them that?”

  “Because that’s where you always see them. In a church basement following a funeral.” Doogie finished his bar and reached for another one.

  “Not so fast, Sheriff. I have a few questions for you.”

  “Yeah? Shoot.” He chewed his second bar and chuckled. “That was a little law enforcement humor there in case you didn’t notice.”

  “I want to know about the fingerprints you were so anxious about,” Suzanne said. “Were Amber Payson’s fingerprints on that can of gasoline your deputy found?”

  Doogie shook his head. “No.”

  “No?”

  “Whoever handled it must have been wearing gloves.”

  “You think?” Suzanne said. “Since it’s, like, ten degrees below zero outside.”

  “You don’t have to get all snarky about it,” Doogie said. “I told you I wanted to talk to her, not arrest her.”

  “Do you have any evidence at all that Amber might have set Junior’s trailer on fire?”

  Doogie turned and stared at her with steely gray eyes. “Nope. But it was arson all right. Chief Finley found traces of an accelerant.”

  Suzanne noted that nugget of information and continued. “Do you have any evidence at all that Amber murdered Allan Sharp?”

  “Only what I’d call circumstantial evidence. Amber worked for Sharp, he fired her, and there were bad feelings on both sides.”

  “Bad feelings,” Suzanne said. “That’s how you refer to sexual harassment? As bad feelings?”

  “Before you get on your high horse and pack me off for a week of sensitivity training, Suzanne, please realize that this is one of those ‘he said, she said’ type of situations.”

  Suzanne wanted to bite back at him, but deep down she knew Doogie was probably right. It was Amber’s word against a dead guy’s. And the dead guy wasn’t talking anymore.

  “Have you taken a careful look at anybody else?” Suzanne asked.

  “Of course I have,” Doogie said. “I’m investigating my butt off. Jeez, you sound just like Allan Sharp’s brother. Take a look at this suspect, take a look at that suspect.”

  “So what about Mayor Mobley? And Teddy Hardwick? Are they viable suspects?”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Doogie said, holding up a hand. “What did I say about poking your schnoz into my business?”

  “You can toss your warnings right out the attic window,” Suzanne said. “Because I’m already involved. Have been ever since that ghost threatened to slice me open with his knife.”

  “Whose fault was that?” Doogie grabbed another brownie, tilted his head back, and tossed the whole thing into his mouth. “Yeah, you’re involved, all right. But you shouldn’t be,” he mumbled as he walked away.

  Suzanne was ready to explode with rage. Unfortunately, at that exact moment, a half-dozen people descended on their table for coffee and sandwiches. So she tamped down her anger, put on a faux-happy face, and got busy serving. Toni immediately pitched in to help, since Petra had wandered off to join some sort of prayer circle that Reverend Jakes was leading. As Suzanne poured coffee and plated food, she kept one eye on Jakes. Then Teddy Hardwick wandered back to the refreshment table.

  “Petra told me that you’ve been looking into the murder,” Hardwick said to Suzanne. “I think that’s wonderful, since you already have a reputation for being a kind of citizen watchdog.”

  “I’m interested because I was peripherally involved,” Suzanne said.

  Hardwick’s brows knit together. “I completely understand because I feel the exact same way,” he said.

  “I was wondering, did you actually see the murder take place?” Suzanne asked him. She was going to get to the bottom of this if it killed her. Even if her questions did come across as impertinent. “I mean, were you out in the audience watching the whole thing? If so, weren’t you at all curious about what was happening up onstage? Because that whole dance of death episode surely wasn’t in the script.”

  “Like everyone else, I thought it was a little weird at the time,” Hardwick said. “But I was caught off guard and never thought to . . . what? Interfere? And even if I had stepped in, could I have confronted an armed killer?”

  Like I tried to, Suzanne thought to herself.

  “So you were right there in the audience,” Suzanne said, her voice shaded with doubt.

  Hardwick stared at her. “Yes, of course I was.”

  That wasn’t what Dale Huffington had told her, but Dale could have been mistaken. Suzanne let it drop for the time being and said, “Did you ever find Sheriff Doogie and touch base with him? Earlier tonight, you said you needed to talk to him about . . . something.”

  “It’ll have to wait.” Hardwick sighed deeply. “I’ve got to take care of something else first.”

  “Problem?”

  “Ah, there’s an issue with my foundation. I’m expecting a contractor to drop by.”

  * * *

  • • •

  AN hour later, the visitation was all over except for the praying. Reverend Jakes was still mingling with a few of the mourners, holding hands and leading them in quiet prayer.

  “That boy sure does love to pray, doesn’t he?” Toni said.

  “Must be some sort of land-speed record,” Suzanne said. She didn’t mean any disrespect; it just seemed a little over-the-top.

  As they packed up leftover bars and sandwiches and dumped out the coffeepot, Petra wandered over to help. “Why don’t you let me . . .” she said.

  But Suzanne shooed her away. She and Toni could take care of it.

  Finally, they carried everything out to Suzanne’s car. Snow was still filtering down, coating trees, houses, and streets, turning everything into eerie white humps. Streetlamps were ringed with frosty haloes and cast a dim, almost grayish light on everything. It was difficult to tell where the sidewalk dropped down to meet the street.

  Toni opened the rear door of Suzanne’s Taurus and said, “I could try to wedge this stuff in your backseat, but I don’t think it’ll fit.”

  “That’s because Junior’s tools are still taking up space,” Suzanne said. “Got any idea when he’s going to come over and grab them?”

  “Nope,” Toni said. “Got any idea when his furry body is gonna stop stinking up my cramped one-bedroom apartment?”

  “Point taken. I’ll pop the trunk.”

  As they stashed everything in Suzanne’s trunk, Reverend Jakes ghosted past them, head bent, lips moving, as he scuffed along through three inches of new-fallen snow.

  “Excuse me,” Suzanne called after him.

  There was no answer.

  “Could I have a word with you?”

  Jakes kept on walking.

  “Reverend Jakes?” Suzanne called again.

  But Jakes never answered her, never turned back. He just climbed into his car and drove away.

  CHAPTER 15

  THURSDAY morning everyone in Kindred and the surrounding communities woke up to a winter wonderland. The heavens had dumped more snow overnight and snowplows were out in full force, struggling to keep the roads open.

  Suzanne drove over to Toni’s house and picked her up, then navigated a few more snow-clogged streets to get Petra. No sense everyone driving separately and risking getting stuck in a four-foot-high snowdrift or skidding into one of the enormous white piles of snow that the plows were depositing all over town.

  “Kindred is starting to look like Santa’s village,” Petra said as they drove through town. Snowplows muscled snow around, piling it wherever there was space. Shop windows were frosted in white. Trees were iced in white. Bundled-up snow-shovel-wielding shopkeepers and residents were working valiantly to clear their sidewalks.

  They drove another ten or twelve blocks through a residential section where sleds were par
ked in yards and a lone tricycle was iced in snow. They passed by a small office park and then headed out the lonely (but luckily plowed) road to Memorial Cemetery.

  “It’s fogging up in here,” Toni said.

  “That’s because we’re all breathing,” Petra said from the backseat.

  “I thought it was because we’re all wearing eight layers of clothing and radiating enough body heat to melt the ice caps on Mars,” Toni said. “And speaking of too much clothing, this getup makes me look like I’ve gained twenty pounds.”

  “I do it the old-fashioned way,” Petra laughed. “By eating cookies. That way I don’t need layers of nubby sweaters to make me look chunky.”

  Suzanne flipped the defrosters on high and the windows cleared just in time for her to see the black wrought-iron gates of the cemetery looming up before her. “So far, so good,” she said as they glided into the cemetery on a narrow track that had been haphazardly plowed.

  “Yeah, but are we gonna make it up and over the hills?” Toni asked. The cemetery occupied a hilly parcel of land, directly adjacent to a park reserve.

  “Hope so,” Suzanne said. She gunned the engine and fought hard to gain traction as she fishtailed up the narrow lane. Even so, she was climbing steadily with just a minor skid here and there.

  “It’s really a shame they’re not holding this service in a proper church,” Petra said.

  “I like the idea of a graveside service,” Toni said. “Easy in, easy out. Like pulling off the freeway for a Howard Johnson’s. You know, real convenient.”

  “I’ve never heard convenience and graveside services mentioned in the same breath,” Petra grumbled.

  “There’s a first for everything,” Toni said. “In fact, I even heard about a funeral parlor in Florida that offers drive-through visitations. I dunno, maybe they bought an old Long John Silver’s or something.”

  They churned past a stone statue of a kneeling angel with a damaged wing as wind whipped the snow across the windshield, creating a temporary whiteout.

  “Guys,” Suzanne said, “I’ll just be happy if we don’t get stuck.” She turned on her wipers and was peering around, trying to figure out where exactly they were and where exactly they were supposed to go. She saw stands of bur oak and lots of tombstones, but where was the spot for the memorial service?

  “There,” Petra called out. “I see a row of parked cars up ahead.”

  “Thank goodness,” Suzanne said.

  Toni pressed her nose against a window. “And I see a tent off to our left. Well, I suppose it’s more like a canopy flapping in the wind.”

  Suzanne pulled in behind three cars and an SUV and they all piled out. Luckily, someone had already established a beaten path through the snow so they didn’t have to break trail like a bunch of sled dogs. Still, they skidded and slipped along in their winter boots until they reached the security of a large expanse of green plastic funeral grass. Folding chairs had been set up on that little oasis, so they each scrambled to grab one.

  Then a dozen more people showed up, stomping snow from their boots as they stepped onto the green carpet. The funeral bier had been set up a few feet away. It was a low contraption, all polished wood and stainless steel, with hanging modesty panels of black velvet to conceal the actual grave. One thing was clearly missing, however.

  “Where’s the guest of honor?” Toni whispered.

  Suzanne gave her a nudge. “Look over there.”

  They all turned to watch as a long black hearse slid to a stop in front of a grove of shaggy blue spruce trees. Behind it was another black funeral car. George Draper got out of the hearse as six men, all dressed in black, exited the other car. They all headed for the back of the hearse. Draper pulled open the rear door and a motorized tray carrying the casket of Allan Sharp slowly slid out. The six men lined up, three on either side, to grapple with the casket. They slid the casket out farther, bent low, and hoisted it onto their shoulders. They staggered under the unexpected weight as everyone watched with bated breath. Would they drop it? No. Good. Then the men proceeded to carry the casket to the graveside and rest it on top of the bier. Reverend Ethan Jakes followed closely behind the casket, wearing a long black robe over his winter coat.

  Jakes again, Suzanne thought to herself. She glanced around and realized they were in the older section of the cemetery. It was a place of Civil War graves, marble obelisks, and a few mausoleums. She wondered if Allan Sharp had family buried around here. If he had a prepaid, reserved spot. She shuddered. It wasn’t a pleasant thought.

  Reverend Jakes stepped in front of the casket and lifted both hands in the air as if he were about to bestow a blessing. Which he kind of was.

  “Friends,” Jakes began, in what Suzanne thought was an overly dramatic oratorical voice, “we are gathered here to honor and say a final good-bye to our dear departed brother, Allan Sharp.”

  Down front, Earl Sharp, the deceased’s brother, blew his nose and dabbed at his eyes with a white hanky.

  Reverend Jakes went on to deliver a fairly standard homily concerning death and resurrection. Once again, Suzanne wondered why Jakes had stepped in to handle these services. After all, he’d had nothing but vitriol for Allan Sharp after Sharp had rebuffed him about holding a day of prayer. Was Jakes feeling a sudden abundance of forgiveness? Or could it be guilt? Had Jakes possibly had a hand in causing Sharp’s death? The notion unsettled Suzanne because it would mean he was also the one who’d threatened her.

  At this last thought, Suzanne glanced around quickly, looking for Sheriff Doogie. But Doogie’s khaki bulk wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Maybe this was a good sign. Maybe Doogie was busy doing something else, like interviewing a possible witness or following up on a new clue. On the other hand, maybe Doogie just didn’t like funerals.

  One thing Suzanne knew for sure. Today was Thrifty Thursday at the Cackleberry Club, which meant you could get a stack of six buttermilk pancakes for a dollar ninety-nine. Since Doogie responded positively to pancakes dripping with butter and maple syrup, he would undoubtedly drop by. She’d get a chance to grill him while he was eating and at his most vulnerable. But for now, Suzanne tried to refocus, to pull herself back to the moment. Reverend Jakes had just finished his prayer and was now gesturing for someone else to come up and address the small group of mourners.

  Suzanne shifted on the cold, uncomfortable folding chair. The low temperature was getting to her—to all of them—so she hoped whoever delivered this eulogy would be quick about it.

  Then Mayor Mobley lumbered to the front of the group and Suzanne inwardly groaned. Mobley was a blowhard, his speeches dragging on for what felt like hours at a time.

  “I thought Mobley and Sharp hated each other,” Toni whispered to her.

  “Death makes strange bedfellows, doesn’t it?” Suzanne whispered back. She spent the next ten minutes tuning out Mobley and shivering like crazy. True to form, Mobley droned on about how Allan Sharp had helped with his election campaigns, had been a pillar of the community, and, of late, had won a coveted seat on the Kindred City Council.

  Since Mobley reigned as mayor, Suzanne wasn’t sure how coveted that position really was, and she managed to drift off again, focusing instead on how awful the garish green funeral grass looked against the pristine white of the snow.

  When Mobley finished, Don Shinder stood up to deliver a tearful eulogy for his old law partner. But he had to conclude his remarks three minutes in because he was so upset. Then Jakes led everyone in a final prayer and a shaky a cappella rendition of “Amazing Grace.” With the song’s final notes hanging on the wind, the service was blessedly concluded.

  “Thank goodness, it’s over,” Petra whispered. “My buns were almost frozen to the seat of that chair.”

  More snow started drifting down as the mourners began to disperse. Suzanne gave Petra a hand as they shuffled back toward her car.

  Toni, o
n the other hand, kept glancing back at the grave site. “After everybody leaves, are they going to bury him?” she asked. “Lower his casket into the ground?”

  “I don’t know what they do in winter,” Suzanne said. She hunched her shoulders and pulled her scarf tighter around her neck. “The ground does seem awfully . . . frozen.”

  Back in her car, Suzanne cranked up the heater and made a clumsy K-turn. Luck was with her and she managed not to get stuck in the snow. She headed back down the hill, skidding a bit, noting that the narrow road now felt more like a toboggan run.

  “Before we hit the Cackleberry Club, can we stop at the Kindred Bakery?” Petra asked. “I have to pick up an order.”

  “What?” Toni said. “You’re buying sticky buns now instead of making them from scratch?”

  “Just picking up a couple dozen croissants,” Petra said. “What with the visitation last night I didn’t have time to mix the dough, roll it out, and then proof it.”

  “Not a problem,” Suzanne said. She wasn’t in a big hurry to get to work. She had lots to think about. Like the fact that two of her so-called suspects, namely, Mayor Mobley and Reverend Ethan Jakes, had featured prominently at the service. But neither Amber Payson nor Teddy Hardwick had been there. Did that mean something? Probably. She just didn’t know what.

  * * *

  • • •

  SUZANNE drove down Main Street and stopped directly in front of the Kindred Bakery. “You need any help?” she asked Petra. “You want us to come in with you?”

  But Petra was already scrambling out of the backseat. “No, no,” she said. “You two stay in the car and keep warm. I won’t be but a second.”

  “You think this snow is ever going to stop?” Toni asked. “I saw this made-for-TV movie once—I think it was written by Stephen King—and there was this gigantic snowstorm that just wouldn’t quit. Finally, all the buildings collapsed and everyone was buried.”

  “That’s just lovely,” Suzanne said.

  Toni held her hands up to the heater. “Well, you know what I mean.” She wrinkled her nose, tried to clear some fog off the side window, and said, “Hey, look over there.”