Eggs on Ice

by Laura Childs

  “You don’t think I should?” Suzanne asked.

  “Duh,” Toni said.

  “I don’t think your involvement is particularly prudent,” Petra said. “And from everything I’ve heard, or overheard, you should probably steer clear of Mayor Mobley and that Amber person as well. At least until Doogie apprehends the killer. Or killers.” She picked up a large knife and stabbed it into a wheel of Swiss cheese.

  “And what if he doesn’t?” Suzanne asked.

  “He will,” Petra said. “I have faith in our law enforcement officers.”

  “I’m glad somebody does,” Toni mumbled.

  Petra continued. “But until Doogie makes an arrest, I think you should definitely take care. Don’t go snooping down dark alleys or breaking into houses.”

  “Been there, done that,” Toni said.

  “It’s not funny, Toni,” Petra said as she sliced off two large wedges of cheese.

  “Petra, I hear you and I will be careful,” Suzanne said. “And the fact that you’re so worried about me brings tears to my eyes. So I do promise to take extra care.”

  “I want to believe that,” Petra said.

  Suzanne smiled. “We could pinkie swear if that would make you feel any better.”

  “No,” Petra said. “I guess I believe you. You’re an honest, straightforward person, so . . . I trust you.”

  “Thank you, sweetie,” Suzanne said.

  “Oh, and I packed up some leftover chili for you to take to Sam,” Petra said.

  “Wonderful,” Suzanne said.

  “You know what we ought to do tonight?” Toni asked. “To stay out of trouble?”

  “Whatever you’re conjuring up, count me out,” Petra said.

  “What?” Suzanne asked. She didn’t relish the idea of sitting at home while Sam worked in the ER for a second night. Maybe Toni had a sensible idea for once.

  “We should take a nice leisurely drive over to Shooting Star Casino and have ourselves some fun,” Toni said. “You can’t get in trouble at a casino.”

  “Oh, yes, you can,” Petra said. “Anytime you spin a wheel, pick up a deck of cards, or drop your hard-earned money into one of those infernal machines, it’s right on the fine edge of sinning.”

  “You sound like Reverend Jakes from next door,” Toni laughed.

  “I know I do,” Petra said. “Because he’s a real hard-ass, too.”

  “Petra!” Suzanne said, looking stunned. “You never talk like that.”

  “That’s because I’ve never met a reverend like Ethan Jakes before.”

  CHAPTER 25

  EVEN though the wine and cheese party was held in the basement of Hope Church, the wine flowed freely and the cheese was a huge hit.

  “Can you believe it?” Petra exclaimed. “People actually came. A whole lot of people!” She was standing behind a long line of tables laden with platters of cheese and colorful bottles of wine. She, Suzanne, Toni, and a dozen other volunteers all had tasks to do. Pour wine, put out clean glasses, slice more bread, put out another platter of sliced or diced cheese, answer questions, make nice with the guests.

  “Probably one of the reasons you got such a big turnout,” Toni said, “is because the play got cancelled. People didn’t have anything else to do.”

  “That’s very hurtful, Toni,” Petra said.

  Toni looked startled. “I didn’t mean it to be; I was just trying to be analytical. Practical. You know, I . . . Jeez, I guess it did sound kind of dumb.”

  “If that’s an apology in the making, then I accept,” Petra said. “Because I’m too jazzed about this turnout to hold anything against you for very long.”

  “Thank you,” Toni said. She reached over and gave Petra’s arm a friendly squeeze.

  “Everything looks so pretty, too,” Suzanne said.

  The large room was strung with holiday décor, a small grouping of tables and chairs was arranged in one corner, à la French café, and a string quartet greeted guests at the door. Right now the strains of Schubert’s “Die Rose” mingled with the clink of wineglasses.

  “I love that we get to use real wineglasses,” Toni said. “Instead of plastic Solo cups.”

  “Look at Reverend Strait over there,” Suzanne said, pointing to a smiling silver-haired man in a conservative black suit. “He’s ecstatic that your event is such a rousing success.”

  “This is a much better turnout than the chili supper we had last fall,” Petra said.

  “Well, yeah,” Toni said. “Let’s see now . . .” She held out cupped hands and moved them up and down as if she were weighing something. “Kidney beans versus a tasty Shiraz? Heck, ladies, it’s hardly even a contest.”

  “I’m going to go over and talk to Reverend Strait,” Petra said. “Congratulate him.”

  “I think Reverend Strait should be congratulating you,” Suzanne said. “After all, this was your idea.”

  “With a little help from my friends,” Petra added with a smile.

  “Go talk to him,” Toni urged. “We’ll keep things hopping here.”

  Petra pulled off her apron. “If you don’t mind . . .” And she was gone.

  “Do you think we should open up these other bottles of wine?” Toni asked. She’d already grabbed a wine opener.

  “I don’t see why not,” Suzanne said. “We’ve been pouring . . . what so far?”

  “Rosé, Chardonnay, Shiraz, and merlot.”

  “And what else do we have?”

  “There’s a sparkling rosé, a Riesling, and a zinfandel. But the zin’s from Australia, so I really don’t know much about it,” Toni said.

  “Then let’s open it up and find out,” Suzanne said as she grabbed a wine opener.

  “Works for me.”

  Suzanne and Toni popped corks, poured wine, and chatted with more guests.

  “This is a real nice thing for Petra’s church, huh?” Toni said when there was a break in the action.

  “I’m betting they’ll make this an annual event.”

  “They should. What’d they charge per head for this thing?”

  “Ten dollars,” Suzanne said. “So ten times all the people that are milling about here today.”

  “That’s what? A hundred and twenty? A hundred and fifty people? And there’s still more folks coming in,” Toni said.

  “Who doesn’t enjoy a nice glass of wine?” Suzanne said.

  “I could certainly do with a glass,” a warm male voice said.

  Suzanne looked up to find Don Shinder smiling at her.

  “Hello,” she said, greeting him. “Welcome. What can we start you off with?”

  “Is that a sparkling rosé I see?” Shinder asked.

  “From Schramsberg Vineyards in Napa. Want a taste?”

  “I know a classic tasting means you should start with the white wines and work your way up to the reds,” Shinder said. “But I like to bend the rules a little.”

  “These days, a lot of us are bending the rules when it comes to wine,” Suzanne said. “I’m forever serving cabernet with roast chicken or pork.”

  “Good for you. It means you’re fearless and have eclectic tastes.”

  Suzanne poured out a half glass of sparkling rosé and handed it to Shinder. “Here you go.”

  “Have you tasted this?” he asked her.

  Suzanne shook her head. “I’m waiting on your recommendation.”

  Shinder took a sip.

  “Well?”

  “Delicious,” he proclaimed. “It’s got that mellow, fruity zip that I love in a good rosé. Now, what cheese do you recommend as an accompaniment?”

  “I’d personally go with a semisoft cheese,” Suzanne said. “A Gruyère or Havarti.”

  Shinder took a slice of Havarti, popped it in his mouth, and closed his eyes. “Sublime.”

&nbs
p; “And you should probably try the goat cheese, too.”

  “Don’t tell me this is from Straw Ridge Farms.”

  “It is,” Suzanne said. “They’ve been turning out some nice, rich, earthy goat cheeses in the last couple of years.”

  “Have you . . . ?” Shinder began. Then he stopped and shook his head. “No, this isn’t the time or the place.”

  “For what?” Suzanne asked. She had a feeling about what he wanted to ask. “Go on.”

  “I was going to ask if you’d heard anything more about the investigation,” he said. “Since you and Doogie are . . .” He made a whirling hand gesture. “Friends.”

  “Doogie warned me just this morning to stay out of the investigation,” Suzanne said.

  “Really? Because I thought you’d been somewhat helpful to him.”

  “Mostly because I poked my nose in where it didn’t belong.” Suzanne paused. “Wait a minute, you mean Doogie hasn’t been keeping you in the loop? Especially concerning the death of Allan Sharp? He was your law partner, after all.”

  “I can’t say Doogie’s made any major revelations lately,” Shinder said. Now he looked a little discouraged. “I was hoping there’d be some sort of closure on Allan’s death. I know his parents are taking this awfully hard. His mother called me just this morning. Myself . . . I’m in the middle of trying to hire a junior attorney.”

  “We saw you outside your office, right after Allan’s funeral. It looked like you had a couple of candidates.”

  “Yeah, well, I did. And I have to make a decision fairly soon. Problem is, my heart’s just not in it.”

  “I can understand that. You know, it felt like Doogie was zeroing in for a while,” Suzanne said. “And then Teddy Hardwick got killed and . . . well, that kind of threw Doogie off track. He started second-guessing himself. Was it one killer or two killers? What were their motives? Different? Same?” Suzanne shook her head. “It’s very confusing.”

  “To say the least,” Shinder said.

  “Then when new evidence surfaced, Doogie seemed just plain angry. Though I think the anger was directed more at himself.”

  Shinder frowned. “New evidence. What do you mean?”

  Suzanne lowered her voice. “It turns out Amber Payson had been dating Teddy Hardwick when she’d specifically told Doogie that they didn’t know each other.”

  Shinder seemed stunned. “She lied about it?”

  “Apparently so.”

  “But why? Hardwick was a single guy. He probably dated any number of women, don’t you think?”

  “Probably.”

  Shinder took another sip of wine. “Me, I still have a gut feeling about Mayor Mobley. He and Allan were so often at loggerheads. And Mobley’s been involved in so many disgusting cover-ups . . .”

  “Even his cover-ups have cover-ups,” Suzanne finished.

  “But the girl, Amber, I don’t see it.”

  “I advised her to get an attorney,” Suzanne said.

  “Most definitely. But probably more as an offensive strategy than a defensive one.” A bubble of people suddenly crowded up against the table, clamoring for glasses of rosé and cabernet. Shinder, still looking puzzled and a little bereft, stepped aside.

  * * *

  • • •

  A few minutes later, Petra rejoined them. “Reverend Strait is over the moon about our success,” she said. “Do you know they’re still selling tickets at the door? People keep showing up.”

  “I hope we don’t run out of wine,” Toni said.

  “Reverend Strait says he’s got that covered,” Petra said. “Mark at Quicker Liquor is on speed dial.”

  “I call that some forward thinking,” Toni said.

  One hour later and the cheese was dwindling and the empty wine bottles were starting to pile up.

  “I’m gonna stick these dead soldiers in the empty cases,” Toni said. “And move them out of the way.”

  “Thank you,” Petra said. She glanced over at Suzanne. “Are we down to our last bits of cheese?”

  “There’s enough for about a dozen more mice; then we’ll have to call it a day,” Suzanne said.

  “Wait,” Petra said. “We’ve still got a bowl of cubed Monterey Jack.”

  “Then pour it onto the platter alongside the sliced Brie.”

  As Petra poured, a man’s hand snuck in and grabbed a hunk of cheese.

  Suzanne reached out as if to slap the man’s hand in jest. Then she pulled back when she saw it was Reverend Jakes. He was wearing a camo-patterned nylon jacket and insulated pants. He looked like he’d been working outside. Chopping wood or something.

  “Hello there,” Suzanne said. “Come over to see how the other side lives?” She didn’t mean her words to sound so snarky, but they’d come out that way. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I didn’t mean to be so weird and hypercritical.”

  “No problem,” Jakes said. “And, yes, I’m in a very ecumenical mood today. Checking out another church’s fund-raiser, trying to keep an open mind.” He glanced around. “This event seems to be very successful indeed.”

  Suzanne was kind of amazed that Jakes wasn’t frowning today. He also wasn’t spitting hellfire and brimstone or urging everyone to drop to their knees and pray for forgiveness. Maybe he’d tippled a glass of wine or two?

  “How do you like our wine?” Suzanne asked, suddenly curious.

  Jakes held up a hand. “Never touch it. Just not my style.”

  “But you’re okay with turning water into wine, aren’t you?” Suzanne asked.

  “The Marriage at Cana. Oh yes. Absolutely. Can’t fault the Good Book.” Then Reverend Jakes’s face took on a serious, almost somber, look. “How did you enjoy the cross-country ski event last night?”

  “It was . . . very well thought out.”

  Jakes gave her a quizzical look. “I’m not sure how to interpret that.”

  “Aren’t you?” Suzanne asked.

  “Not really. I guess I’d better keep a careful eye on you.”

  “And I’m keeping an eye on you, Reverend Jakes.” Suzanne leaned across the table at him. “If you had anything remotely to do with Allan Sharp’s death, I’ll make sure that Sheriff Doogie arrests you. Then, the next time we meet, you’ll be wearing an orange jumpsuit compliments of Logan County Correctional Facility.”

  Jakes smiled at her. “That’s an awfully big threat for such a small woman.”

  “Try me,” Suzanne said. “Just try me.”

  * * *

  • • •

  “YE gads, I’m glad that’s over,” Toni said as she and Suzanne walked to Suzanne’s car. Suzanne was carrying an armload of empty platters. Toni had a half bottle of wine.

  “You either have to glug down the rest of that wine or stick the bottle in the trunk,” Suzanne said.

  “Yeah, I know,” Toni said. “I was just getting a jump start on the weekend. So I guess, um . . .” She looked uncertain, then said, “We’ll stick it in the trunk.”

  “Good choice.” Suzanne flipped open the trunk to reveal a jumble of tools. Junior’s tools. There were even more tools in her backseat.

  “I’ll just set my wine next to Junior’s punch pliers,” Toni said.

  “I’m impressed you even know what that is.”

  “Or maybe it’s a riveter. I really don’t know the difference.”

  “You feeling tired?”

  “Naw, if anything, I’m kind of jazzed,” Toni said. “Still thinking about hitting those slot machines over at Shooting Star Casino. Hint, hint.”

  “Gee, Toni, I don’t know.”

  Suzanne’s heart wasn’t really into going to the casino, but she didn’t exactly want to sit at home, either. She looked at her watch. It was five-thirty. She decided she’d drop off Sam’s chili, go home and feed the do
gs, and then slither into a pair of tight jeans and a ski sweater.

  “Okay,” Suzanne said to Toni. “I’m in.”

  * * *

  • • •

  AFTER stopping at the hospital, Suzanne took a detour. Tucked back behind the Cackleberry Club, on eighty acres of farmland, was a farm that she owned. It was currently leased to a farmer named Reed Ducovny and his wife, Martha. The Ducovnys grew corn and soybeans and watched over Suzanne’s livestock, which consisted of a single horse named Mocha Gent and a mule named Grommet.

  As Suzanne pulled into the farmyard, she noted that lights shone in the windows of the farmhouse, which was perched on a slight rise. Good. That meant Reed and his wife were home. With so many strange things going on around town, Suzanne wanted to be sure that Mocha and Grommet were safe.

  And they were. She turned on the lights in the barn and walked past empty cow stanchions to the two large box stalls at the back. Both animals heard her coming and poked their heads over the gates of their stalls.

  “How are you guys doing?” Suzanne asked. She walked over to Mocha first and scratched behind his ears. He pitched his ears forward and she ran her hand down the length of his muzzle and under his chin, enjoying the stubbly feeling. Then she leaned forward and exhaled a puff of air, the perfect way to tell a horse you were his best buddy.

  Grommet was next. He was a big guy, almost seventeen hands high, with a shambling gait, which meant Suzanne rarely rode him. Yet, he was a rescue animal and the perfect stablemate for Mocha. So a good deal all around.

  “Just the two of you now,” Suzanne said. A month earlier, she had bought six horses that also needed rescuing. Now, thanks to help from Hoof-Beats Horse Rescue, they’d all been adopted into good homes. Or, rather, nice, cozy barns.

  Suzanne reached into the oat bin, grabbed a scoop, and gave both Mocha and Grommet an extra helping. She watched them chow down for a few minutes, then turned and left, satisfied that they were happy and well cared for.

  As she crunched across the snow to her car, she saw a shadowy figure standing on the side porch of the old house. Then a hearty voice called out, “That you, Suzanne?” It was Reed, wearing just a knit cap and denim overalls.