by Laura Childs
Petra was in an upbeat mood as she shuttled between her cast-iron skillet and her industrial-strength oven, where she was checking the progress of her cheddar cheese popovers.
“So you two had a good time last night?” Petra asked. “On your cross-country ski trek?”
“Pretty good,” Suzanne said.
“It was okay,” Toni said.
They’d agreed not to tell Petra about veering off course and getting locked in the cemetery shack. It would scare her too much and they didn’t want to upset her hours before her wine and cheese party at Hope Church.
“Skiing I can understand,” Petra said as she opened the oven door and pulled out her popovers. “Now, snowshoeing, that strikes me as a weird form of locomotion.”
“Lots of people around here do it,” Toni said. “Hunters, especially.”
“I guess snowshoes would make it easier to follow your trail back home,” Petra said. “So you don’t get lost in the woods.”
Suzanne and Toni exchanged glances.
“What?” Petra asked. “What did I just miss?”
“Nothing,” Toni said. She grabbed an apron and slipped through the door into the café.
“Is there something going on that I should know about?” Petra asked Suzanne.
“I think Toni’s just upset that Junior’s still bunking at her place.”
“Ah, he’s a bad roommate, all right. I’m sure four days is beginning to feel like four years. Junior has the innate ability to create a weird kind of time warp.”
The menu Suzanne printed on the chalkboard was abbreviated today. French toast and bacon, oatmeal with apples and cinnamon, cheddar cheese popovers with chili, and California burgers with sweet potato chips.
Toni looked at the menu, then took a pencil from behind her ear and used it to scratch the top of her head. “What time are we closing today?”
“I’m guessing one, one-thirty,” Suzanne said. “As soon as we can shoo everybody out and still be relatively cordial about it.”
“Then we have to schlep everything over to Petra’s church?”
“Just the cheese part. Bill Probst will be delivering French baguettes right from his bakery and Mark Pieri from Quicker Liquor is delivering all the cases of wine.”
“What kind of wine?” Toni asked. She looked genuinely interested for the first time that morning.
Suzanne gave a casual shrug. “I don’t know. Sacramental wine, I suppose.”
Toni’s mouth dropped open. “What!”
Suzanne pointed a finger at her. “Gotcha! I’m just kidding, Toni-O. I’m sure there’ll be a lovely assortment of vino to choose from.”
“I hope there’s Chardonnay.”
“And I hope the church gets a good turnout.”
“Yeah, that too,” Toni said. She walked to the front door and turned over the sign that said Open, and three minutes later they were busy seating customers and taking orders.
They did their brunch ballet for the next couple of hours, serving entrees, grabbing plates, spinning table to table with coffee- and teapots, dipping back to deliver the checks. By eleven o’clock there was a welcome lull. Which is when Kit Kazlik burst through the front door.
“Look who’s here!” Toni screeched at the top of her lungs, causing Suzanne to turn in surprise and Petra to stick her head out the kitchen door to see what all the fuss was about.
Still pretty and blond, but six months pregnant now, Kit was starting to move a little slower as Toni swept her up in an excited but gentle hug.
Suzanne and Petra also welcomed her with warm hugs. Kit had occasionally filled in as a part-time waitress at the Cackleberry Club. Now, of course, she was biding her time until she became a full-time mom.
“You look so beautiful,” Toni exclaimed. “Glowing.”
“Healthy,” Suzanne said.
“When are you due, honey?” Petra asked. They were all talking at once, the buzz of excitement about Kit’s pregnancy absolutely contagious.
Kit patted her tummy. “Exactly three more months to go.” Then she dug in her shoulder bag and pulled out a pair of Raggedy Ann and Andy dolls. “Here, I even brought along toys to donate to your holiday toy drive.”
“Thank you,” Suzanne said.
“Blessings on your head,” Petra said.
“I hope you did more than that,” Toni said. “I hope you also brought along that guest list I asked for.”
“That’s right,” Suzanne said. “Because we plan on throwing you the fanciest shmanciest baby shower this town has ever seen.”
“Got my list right here,” Kit said.
“How’s Ricky?” Toni asked. Ricky was the dad-to-be.
“Still with the National Guard but coming home next month.”
“Wonderful,” Suzanne said.
“Come on in, sit down,” Petra urged. “Can we get you a cup of tea? Raspberry and mint teas are supposed to be good for pregnant women. Or maybe something to eat?”
“I’m afraid I can’t stay,” Kit said as she handed her guest list to Toni. “But it’s just so wonderful to see you all.”
“I’m thinking six weeks from today,” Suzanne said. “For your baby shower. We’ll send the invitations out right after Christmas.”
“That sounds fabulous,” Kit said. And then, as they all huddled around her again, Kit added, “You’re all so kind. Thank you so much.” Her eyes misted over as she looked directly at Suzanne. Thank you, Suzanne, she mouthed.
What seemed like eons ago, but had only been a year, Suzanne had convinced Kit to quit her job as an exotic dancer at Hoobly’s Roadhouse. When Kit tearfully agreed, Suzanne had loaned Kit some money and given her a part-time job. And that one simple kindness had helped turn her life around.
Suzanne kissed Kit on the cheek. “You and your family deserve all the happiness in the world.”
* * *
• • •
WHEN the little hand was on twelve and the big hand was on three, Sheriff Doogie came creeping through the front door like a cat tiptoeing after a mouse. Maybe he was trying to remain inconspicuous; maybe he was worried that Toni would accost him with her mop again.
Suzanne saw Doogie and wiped her hands on her apron in anticipation. Good. He’d shown up after all. Now she could share some critical information with him. Like how Amber had lied about dating Teddy Hardwick, and how she and Toni had been locked in the cemetery shack.
Doogie stopped short of the counter, cocked his head, and said, “What’s shakin’, Suzanne?”
“More than you can imagine.”
Doogie sat down hard on his favorite stool and rested his elbows on the counter. “That right? Something I’m not privy to?” He glanced around quickly. “Maybe you should fill me in.”
“Black coffee first,” Suzanne said. She poured out a steaming mug and shoved it in front of him. “Because after I share a couple pieces of news with you, you’ll need a hot cup of java to restart your heart.”
“Then you’d better toss one of those donuts on a plate, too,” Doogie said. When Suzanne reached for a glazed donut, Doogie said, “No, no, gimme the chocolate one with the pink and orange jimmies.”
With Doogie slurping coffee and spilling jimmies down the front of his shirt, Suzanne leaned over the counter and spelled out everything that had happened in the last twenty hours. She enlightened Doogie on the fact that Amber Payson had indeed admitted to dating Teddy Hardwick. Then she told him about getting locked in the cemetery shack the previous night.
Doogie’s eyes grew bigger, his expression more disbelieving, as Suzanne delivered her stories. Then he stopped chewing his donut altogether, which was pretty amazing for Doogie since he was your basic down-to-the-last-crumb guy. When Suzanne finally finished, Doogie slammed a clenched fist down on the counter and said, “Doggone it, I knew that girl was lying. I could
feel it in my bones.”
Suzanne shrugged. “Who knew?”
“Nobody knew. But now, thanks to you, we all know. I tell you, Suzanne, the fact that Amber dated Hardwick changes the picture completely. Puts her right back at the top of my list.”
“The one thing I can’t get past is that Amber doesn’t profile as a killer,” Suzanne said.
“Profile? What do you know about profiling?” Doogie’s face bloomed red all the way up to his receding gray hairline.
“I know some. And my contributions to your investigation haven’t been completely inconsequential,” Suzanne said.
“I’ll give you that, Suzanne. You’ve been a big help in some ways. But in others . . . well, face it, Suzanne, last night you dropped your guard and let somebody lock you in a shack full of stiffs! And it could have been worse. The guy could have had a gun—and decided to use it! He could have been some crazy biathlon expert. You know, like they have in the Olympics? Skiing and shooting?” Doogie pulled out a white hanky and mopped perspiration from his brow. “What have I been warning you about all along, Suzanne? You gotta stay out of this investigation. Whoever killed Allan Sharp and Teddy Hardwick is a genuine monster. A stone-cold killer.”
“Which brings up another question,” Suzanne said.
Doogie peered at her with a certain amount of apprehension.
“Could Reverend Jakes be the killer?”
“I know you’ve had your suspicions about him all along, but I just don’t see it,” Doogie said. “Where’s the evidence? Show me something concrete.”
“I keep thinking that Jakes had something against Hardwick.”
Doogie considered Suzanne’s words. “You mean like some kind of grudge? I haven’t seen anything that would indicate such hard feelings.” Doogie took a quick sip of coffee. “But you say Jakes is a real Bible-thumper?”
“He’s quite religious, yes.”
“All I can think of is that Hardwick was a kind of artsy, free spirit,” Doogie said.
“A libertine.”
“And that somehow went against Reverend Jakes’s strict sensibilities.”
“Possibly,” Suzanne said. It was as good an explanation as anything else.
Doogie shook his head. “I don’t know. This whole thing is a horrible mess.”
“If that’s how you feel, maybe you should bring in reinforcements.”
Doogie closed one eye. “What are you talking about?”
“You could ask Sheriff Burney from Deer County to lend a hand. Or at least a few of his deputies. Or even call in the state’s Bureau of Criminal Apprehension.” Suzanne leaned forward even more. “Please realize, you don’t have to deal with these murders all by yourself.”
Doogie lifted a shoulder. “I know that. But I am the duly elected sheriff. The two cases are under my jurisdiction. So . . . it’s my duty.”
“Well, you know you can count on me.”
Doogie drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Suzanne . . . no.”
* * *
• • •
AT one o’clock, Suzanne and Toni began to discreetly clear away dishes and slip luncheon checks to their customers. By one-fifteen, most everyone had taken the hint and cleared out. Not only that; many of these same customers had generously half filled one of the toy bins with donations.
“Your stealth plan worked like a CIA operation,” Toni said. She had a spray bottle and a rag and was busily cleaning tables. “I don’t think our customers even realized they were being eased out.”
“Gotta do it gently; that’s the key,” Suzanne said.
“Now that we finally have an empty parking lot, maybe our snowplow guy will come by and scrape it clean. Clear away some of those nasty ice ruts that have been building up. It’s like a bobsled run in some places.” Toni glanced out the window, curled a lip, and said, “Uh-oh.”
“Why the sourpuss face?” Suzanne asked. Then her question was answered as Junior barged through the front door.
Junior looked left, then right, then whipped off his trapper hat complete with ear flaps. “Where is everybody?” he asked.
“Gone,” Toni said. “Just like you’re going to be.”
“Junior,” Suzanne said. “Thanks again for the rescue last night.”
Junior waved a hand. “No problem. Anytime.” Then he put a hand to his mouth and giggled noisily. His face pinched into a grin and he started doing a little tap dance on the run-down heels of his motorcycle boots.
“What’s got you all revved up?” Suzanne asked.
“Ants in your pants?” Toni asked.
But Junior continued to dance and smirk, as if he had a great big secret to share.
Which he kind of did.
“Take a gander outside,” Junior said.
Toni looked out the window, caught sight of something she hadn’t seen before, and did a kind of double take. “What’s that?” she asked.
“I’ve been busting my buttons to tell you guys. I just closed the deal this morning on a brand-new camper!” Junior said.
“Looks used to me,” Toni said. “Beat-up, really. You paid good money for that piece of crap?”
“Traded for it,” Junior said. “Even Steven.”
Toni looked blank. “Traded with what, Junior? Your good looks and sparkling personality? You don’t actually own anything of value.”
“I hated to part with her, but I traded Old Yeller for the camper,” Junior said.
“I thought that car didn’t run very well,” Toni said.
“Maybe the camper doesn’t, either,” Suzanne said.
“I’ll be the first to admit the camper’s got a few bugs,” Junior said. “The tranny is a little squishy and the brakes are plumb shot. But I can fix it. I got the know-how; I’ve got the tools.”
“Wrong,” Suzanne said. “I’ve got the tools. The ones you stuck in the backseat of my car.”
“And I thank you for hanging on to them because I’m gonna be needing them any day now,” Junior said.
Suzanne looked out the window at Junior’s new acquisition. It was a rounded little camper shell sitting atop a shabby truck. The camper part was painted a desultory aqua blue and white, the colors of an old swimming pool from the fifties. The entire rig listed badly to one side and reminded Suzanne of a small tugboat that was about to capsize.
Junior saw the look on Suzanne’s face and said, “I have to outfit it with new tires, too. Increase the stability.”
“Maybe you should work on your own stability first,” Toni said.
“That camper looks awfully small,” Suzanne said. “Can you even fit inside?”
“That’s why I’m going to have to downsize,” Junior said.
Toni snickered. “You own two pairs of saggy jeans, some ratty T-shirts, and a leather jacket. What else do you have to cram in there?”
“Got my golf equipment,” Junior said.
“That set of used women’s clubs you found at the dump?” Toni asked.
Junior wasn’t put off in the least. “And I got my fishing tackle.”
This time Toni really let loose a guffaw. “A Popeil Pocket Fisherman as seen on late-night TV and a stinky bait bucket hardly qualify as fishing gear.”
“Gonna need that bait bucket for ice fishing,” Junior said. “Got a big tournament coming up.” Then he tucked his thumbs into his belt and grinned. “I’m happy to say, that camper’s got all the comforts of home. A one-burner stove, a little icebox, and a table that folds down into a bed. You ever heard the term glamping?”
“You mean like glamour camping?” Suzanne asked.
Junior nodded toward his camper. “That’s it right there. In a nutshell.” He reached over, picked up Toni’s spray bottle off the table and squirted the liquid into his mouth. “Breath spray?” he asked.
“Cleaning
fluid,” Toni said.
Junior coughed. “Does the trick, though.”
* * *
• • •
SUZANNE was actually looking forward to the wine and cheese party this afternoon. Maybe it was the thought of getting away from the investigation for a few hours; maybe it was the camaraderie among the three of them as they diced and sliced cheese and arranged it on platters.
“This cheese smells funky,” Toni said.
“Earthy,” Petra said. “Because it’s goat cheese. From Straw Ridge Farms, one of our local growers.”
“What about this cheddar cheese?” Suzanne asked.
“That’s from Annandale Farms,” Petra said.
Suzanne nodded sagely. Even though the Cackleberry Club was predominantly a breakfast and lunch café, they prided themselves on sourcing products from local growers and producers. Apples came from local orchards, eggs from Calico Farm, poultry from local chicken farmers, bread from the Kindred Bakery. Even their jams, jellies, pickles, and preserves were made by hand by locals who prided themselves on their techniques and their recipes. They were a farm-to-fork restaurant, as Suzanne liked to say. A designation that gave them all pride.
“Do I stick colored toothpicks in all the diced cheese hunks?” Toni asked.
“Yup,” Petra said.
“There sure are a lot of cheese hunks,” Toni said.
“Good thing I bought a lot of toothpicks,” Petra said. She glanced at Suzanne and said, “I overheard you talking to Doogie at lunchtime.”
Suzanne flinched. “How much did you hear?”
“Oh, pretty much all of it,” Petra said. “And what I couldn’t hear I kind of surmised on my own.” She paused. “I know the two of you got locked in that cemetery shed last night.” She shook her head as if in disbelief. “And that Amber was dating Teddy Hardwick.”
“So now you know it all,” Suzanne said.
Petra held up a finger. “Give me a minute, I want to say a piece.”
“Which is?” Suzanne asked.
“I’m upset, Suzanne, that after getting a stiff—no, let’s call it a severe—warning from Doogie, you still want to investigate,” Petra said.
