Eggs Benedict Arnold

by Laura Childs

  Chapter six

  Missy Langston wasn’t just upset, she was practically hysterical.

  “My poor Ozzie is dead and now Sheriff Doogie says I’m at the top of his suspect list!” she wailed.

  Suzanne led Missy to a table and got her seated. Toni quickly brought a glass of ice water.

  “Take a sip,” urged Toni.

  “Why do people always bring you water when you’re upset?” asked Missy, taking a tentative gulp. In her mid-thirties, Missy possessed fair, almost porcelain skin, hair the color of fine corn silk, and a full, ripe figure. She’d caught the eye of more than a few men in Kindred, but Ozzie Driesden had been her sweetie for more than two years. Except for lately.

  Suzanne wanted to get right to the heart of Doogie’s accusations. “Where were you yesterday afternoon?” Suzanne asked Missy. “Do you have an alibi?” She hadn’t watched Law & Order all these years for nothing.

  “I was at home,” sniffed Missy. “I was planning to go to Kindred Spirit Days, maybe hang out a little, but I was just so tired from working twelve-hour days, trying to get Carmen’s boutique ready. So I gave myself a break and took a nap.”

  “Poor dear,” said Toni.

  “Next thing I know,” said Missy, “Sheriff Doogie is pounding on my door, telling me Ozzie is dead!”

  Suzanne wrinkled her nose. George Draper had offered to break the news to Missy. Obviously, Doogie had engineered a serious change in plans.

  “So Doogie just barged in?” asked Toni. “Just dropped the terrible news on you?”

  Now Missy pulled a white hanky from her bag and dabbed at her eyes. “Yes.” Her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “And it was shocking, just shocking! The news hit me like a ton of bricks.” Missy took another sip of water.

  “What did Sheriff Doogie say after he broke the bad news?” asked Suzanne.

  Missy sniffled again. “Just rattled off a string of questions. Didn’t display a speck of sympathy. Or decency,” she added.

  “And the questions were all concerning you and Ozzie?” asked Suzanne.

  Missy bobbed her head. “Exactly. Sheriff Doogie asked me how long we’d been dating, how close we were . . .” She blushed slightly, then added, “really personal questions. Then he asked if Ozzie and I had cooled it over the past couple of months.”

  “What did you tell him?” asked Suzanne.

  “I told him we’d cooled it a little bit,” said Missy. “That I’d been so busy with the new boutique that I hadn’t had a lot of free time.”

  “But your relationship had cooled off, hadn’t it?” asked Suzanne. She felt so sad asking about Ozzie in the past tense.

  “Yes.” Missy’s voice was a soft whisper again. “It had.”

  “What was the real reason?” Suzanne asked, although she wasn’t sure she’d get a straight answer.

  But Missy surprised her. Biting her lip, twisting her hanky around her thumb, Missy said, “A couple of months ago, I kind of pressured Ozzie for a commitment.”

  “Okay,” said Suzanne. “I can certainly understand that.”

  Missy let loose a deep sigh. “But Ozzie said he wasn’t ready for marriage. That he preferred the status quo, as he so inelegantly phrased it, and told me that maybe he wasn’t even the marrying kind.” Tears trickled down Missy’s face. “Why do men do that?” she wailed. “Why do they get all cozy and buy you little gifts and lead you on like that? Then, when you dare to broach the subject of marriage, they turn completely squirrelly. What is it with this fear of commitment?”

  “It’s part of the male genetic code,” said Toni. “Like being unable to put the toilet seat back down.”

  “Not all men are like that,” said Suzanne. “But let me guess. Sheriff Doogie asked if you were hurt and angry about Ozzie being so noncommittal?”

  “He did,” said Missy. “In fact, he broached the subject a couple of different ways. Just kept coming at me.”

  “Were you angry?” asked Toni.

  Missy frowned and studied her French manicure. “Yes.” Seconds ticked by. “Maybe a lot angry. Furious, I suppose.”

  Suzanne pressed on. “And Doogie thought that Ozzie’s cool down might have put you over the edge? Might have served as an impetus to kill him?”

  Missy’s face turned harsh. “I think Sheriff Doogie’s convinced I’m one of those scorned, revengeful, stalker-type women.”

  “You mean like in Fatal Attraction!” asked Suzanne.

  “Except you’d never boil a rabbit in a pot,” pointed out Toni.

  Missy shivered. “No. Of course not.”

  “And what exactly did Doogie ask you about Earl?” said Suzanne.

  “Urn ...” said Missy. “Earl?”

  “He asked if you’d been seeing your ex-husband, right?” pressed Suzanne. “Dating him?”

  “Yes,” murmured Missy.

  “And you have been seeing Earl, isn’t that correct?” asked Suzanne.

  “Really?” said Toni. “Earl?”

  Missy looked slightly sheepish. “Yes. Some.”

  “Why would you do that?” asked Suzanne. “I thought you were through with him.” After Missy’s divorce was final, she referred to Earl Stensrud as a cretin not fit to sell watermelons by the side of the road.

  “I was lonely . . . and felt rejected,” said Missy. She seemed embarrassed by her own admission.

  “I can see that,” said Toni. “When Junior left me . . . the first time anyway ... I thought I’d go berserk.” She shrugged. “Now I’m getting used to it.”

  “The thing with Earl,” said Missy, “is that absence really did make our hearts grow fonder. And once Earl moved back here, we kind of picked up where we left off and one thing led to another.” She touched her hanky to her nose, sniffled, and continued. “A few phone calls, lunches out, a couple picnics, and suddenly, one night over a candlelit dinner, Earl was telling me how sorry he was that we ever got divorced in the first place.”

  “Let me guess,” said Suzanne. “Earl proposed that the two of you consider making a go of it again?”

  “We talked about that, yes,” said Missy. “But please understand . . . after Ozzie sort of backed away from me, I was utterly devastated. Very vulnerable. And Earl can be quite charming.”

  Suzanne remembered Earl Stensrud as a man who picked his teeth with a matchbook cover, but made no comment.

  “Anyway,” said Missy, “once Sheriff Doogie got wind that I was seeing Earl again, he was delighted to add Earl’s name to his suspect list. Oh, and the sheriff also had the audacity to call me a two-timer.”

  Suzanne raised her brows as she regarded Missy. “Doogie mentioned something about Ozzie and Earl getting into an argument last Friday night. What do you know about that?”

  Missy waved a hand dismissively. “That was nothing. Just male turf war stuff.”

  Toni looked concerned. “Sheriff Doogie doesn’t think the fight was just a minor incident. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he concocted a theory that you two were in this together.”

  Missy looked shocked. “Earl and I would never!” she sputtered.

  “I wonder what Earl’s alibi is,” Suzanne wondered out loud.

  “Hope he has a dandy one,” said Toni, “because Doogie’s on the warpath.”

  Sighing deeply, Missy said, “I’m just so heartsick and nervous over this entire situation. And of course it couldn’t come at a worse time. Alchemy Boutique is slated to open Friday afternoon and Carmen is driving me insane. She nitpicks absolutely everything I do! The other day I mistakenly hung silk tank tops on the same rack as wool slacks and she threw an absolute hissy fit. Shrieked at me. Told me I’d committed a dreadful fashion faux pas.”

  “What a bee-atch,” said Toni. She harbored no love for Carmen Copeland whatsoever, even if her books were constant best sellers in their Book Nook.

  “Suzanne?” Missy turned needful baby blue eyes on Suzanne. “Do you think you could kind of look into things?”

  “I don’t think that�
��s a good idea,” Suzanne responded hastily.

  “But you’re so good at sleuthing around and unraveling things,” said Missy. “Remember when Bobby Waite was murdered? You were the one who ...”

  Suzanne gave a reluctant nod. “Yes, I know. But this ... this is completely different.”

  “No, it’s not,” said Toni, jumping in. “Missy’s in trouble and she needs our help. Your help,” Toni corrected.

  Moments passed as both women stared at her, then Suzanne finally said, “Maybe I could just... I don’t know... ask around.”

  Leaning forward, Missy threw her arms around Suzanne and gave her a big squeeze. “Thank you, thank you very much.”

  “I’m not promising anything,” Suzanne cautioned.

  “But you’re tight with Sheriff Doogie,” said Toni. “So maybe you’ll have an inside track.”

  “I don’t think Doogie ever gives anyone an inside track,” replied Suzanne. “But I’ll see what I can pry out of him.”

  Still looking shaky, Missy said, “I’d better get going before your luncheon crowd comes swarming in and sees me looking all red-eyed and awful.”

  “Here, honey,” said Toni, handing Missy her handbag, “I’ll walk you out to your car.”

  “Thank you,” said Missy, “and thanks for being such good listeners.” She started to stand, then sat down again, a look of pain on her face. “Oh. I almost forgot to tell you.

  There’s going to be a visitation for Ozzie tomorrow night at Driesden and Draper. And then the funeral will be Wednesday morning at Hope Church.”

  “So soon,” murmured Suzanne.

  “Isn’t it?” said Missy. “But Ozzie only had the one brother, and I guess he just wants to move things along.”

  Now if only I could do that, too, thought Suzanne.

  Lunch was packed today and ran for a good two hours. At one point Suzanne had to run in and help Petra make a dozen more chicken wraps. Then Suzanne and Toni had to clean up quickly so they could set up for afternoon tea.

  While Petra assembled small tea sandwiches of curried chicken salad and carrot, pecan, and cream cheese, Toni brewed pots of Yunnan black tea and rosehips tea.

  That gave Suzanne a little free time to putter around in the Book Nook again. While customers came, browsed, and bought books, Suzanne worked at unpacking several new boxes of books that had arrived via FedEx that morning. By looking back at the last six months of sales, Suzanne had determined the reading trends of the local populace, and so had ordered mysteries as well as books about the stock market, quilting, knitting, and Mediterranean-style cooking.

  Just as she was ringing up a children’s book for a young mom and her five-year-old daughter, Suzanne caught a flash of jet black hair and the unmistakable sparkle of diamonds.

  She glanced up to see Carmen Copeland, romance author and owner of Alchemy Boutique, gazing at her intently from across the room.

  That was the wacko thing about Carmen. She never smiled, never displayed any interest in anyone but herself. Carmen just appeared and projected the air of an entitled, wealthy duchess waiting for court buglers to announce her arrival and the red carpet to be rolled out.

  “Carmen,” said Suzanne, determined to be friendly even if it killed her, “wonderful to see you.”

  Carmen crossed the carpet and dumped her handbag, a gorgeous mahogany-colored alligator bag with a dangling charm, D for Dior, on the counter. “Did you hear about the murder?” she asked, a trifle breathless. With her dark hair, heart-shaped face, and drop-dead figure, Carmen was a truly gorgeous woman. Of course, the slinky emerald-green dress, strappy Gucci heels, diamond necklace, diamond ring, and twin diamond bracelets didn’t hurt, either. Projected a certain air of luxe living.

  Suzanne decided not to tell Carmen that she’d actually been at the scene of the crime. “I heard all about it,” she told Carmen. “And then Missy dropped by a couple of hours ago, right before lunch. As you can imagine, she was extremely upset over Ozzie’s death. Heartbroken, really.” Peering closely at Carmen, Suzanne noticed that the tiny lines around her eyes seemed to have disappeared. Her lips were also much plumper, almost a trout pout, as one Hollywood gossip rag referred to collagen-enhanced lips. Yes, Carmen must have made a trip to a skillful cosmetic surgeon who specialized in injectables.

  “Don’t you find it weird . . . Ozzie being murdered on his own table like that?” Carmen’s eyes sparkled, as though she was thinking about switching from writing romance novels to true crime.

  “It’s bizarre,” agreed Suzanne, wondering just how much Carmen knew about the murder. How she’d picked up her facts.

  Carmen gave a slight frown. “I just hope Missy is able to pull herself together. We’ve got our grand opening Friday and there are still a trillion details to take care of.” Sighing, she said, “It’s just so hard to find people you can count on.”

  Suzanne decided Carmen must have been born without a heart. Or else it had been surgically removed and replaced with a mechanism of stainless steel or some other hard metallic substance. And Carmen was a romance writer at that! Made her millions penning love stories!

  “Missy’s got a good head on her shoulders,” said Suzanne, “but she’s going to need time to grieve. It’s only natural.”

  “As her employer, I’d prefer she do it on her own time,” responded Carmen.

  Suzanne wondered what would happen if she reached across the counter and gave Carmen a good smack upside of the head. Probably, she decided, Carmen would just smack her back. Carmen was like that. Mean. Fearless. Aggressive. Not unlike the timber rattlers that lived in the towering bluffs above Kindred. Even though the Midwest wasn’t their natural environment, the rattlers were there, and they were dug in. It was as simple as that.

  Something clunked against the counter, and then Carmen held up a large two-by-three-foot laminated poster that featured the colorful cover of her new book.

  “I always have my publisher make posters and ship them to the more prestigious bookstores,” said Carmen. “But we had one left over, so I thought I’d give it to you. See?” She pointed to a strip of paper that was striped across one corner. “It’s even got the date and time of my book signing.”

  “Wonderful,” said Suzanne. “We’ll place it right by the romance section.”

  “Don’t you think it would look better in the window?” asked Carmen.

  Suzanne wanted to tell her it would be better still shoved down her gullet. But she didn’t. Just held her tongue and accepted the poster.

  Once Carmen had left, once Suzanne had dug out a copy of Tragic Magic for a customer, she poked her head into the cafe. Three tables each held groups of four women, all enjoying tea, triangle-shaped tea sandwiches, and gingerbread scones.

  So . . . good. I can kick back in my office and place a few orders.

  Because Petra was such a prolific baker, and business had been awfully good—knock on wood—they were forever ordering flour, sugar, butter, and spices from their local restaurant supply house. But the minute Suzanne sat down in her chair and snugged it up to the antique oak library table that served as a desk, the phone jangled.

  “Suzanne,” came a cheery voice, when she picked it up. “How do?”

  She knew instantly it was Gene Gandle from the Bugle.

  “It’s Gene. From the Bugle”

  “I know that, Gene.”

  “I’m just putting the finishing touches on a story here,” said Gene, brightly. “And I wanted to make sure I included your perspective.”

  Oh crap. He’s doing a story on Ozzie.

  “Not sure what you’re talking about, Gene,” Suzanne told him.

  There was a forced chuckle and then Gene said, “You’re doing it again, Suzanne.”

  “What’s that, Gene?”

  “Playing dumb.”

  Suzanne snorted. “Thanks for your kind and generous observation.”

  “You know darn well I’m writing a story about Ozzie’s murder,” said Gene. “Gonna be front page. Abo
ve the fold,” he bragged.

  “And the headline will be forty-eight-point type?”

  “I’m just trying to put together a credible story,” Gene whined. “Before I have to turn it in to my editor.”

  “I’m sure Sheriff Doogie told you everything that he’s able to release to the press,” said Suzanne. “Or to the public, for that matter.”

  “And his information was pathetically scant,” complained Gene. “Lacked detail. C’mon, Suzanne, you were there. You saw poor old Ozzie dead on the table.”

  Suzanne dropped the phone to her chest and stared at a small framed needlepoint that Petra had finished last week and set on the desk. She’d created a lovely montage of weeping willows, bubbling brook, and birch forest, along with a quote by Dante that read, Nature is the art of God.