Egg Drop Dead

by Laura Childs

  Mobley flashed a thousand-megawatt smile at her and said, “Why, Mike Mullen’s farm, of course.”

  Stunned, all Suzanne could do was turn and run for the kitchen.

  * * *

  “SUZANNE,” Petra said as Suzanne stumbled into the kitchen. “These chicken stir-fries need to be delivered to table six. Now I just have to . . .” Her words cut off abruptly when she saw the look on Suzanne’s face. “Suzanne, honey? What’s wrong? You look like your fiancé just ran off with some no-good floozy.”

  Suzanne took a step forward and leaned heavily against the butcher-block counter. “I was just talking to Mayor Mobley.”

  “Old blather butt,” Petra said. “Did he just try to make his problem your problem?”

  “No, it’s something else. He’s sitting out there with this real estate developer named Byron Wolf, who’s pretty much busting his buttons about putting an offer in on the Mullen farm.”

  “What!” Petra suddenly went cross-eyed. “Seriously?”

  “That’s what the man just said.”

  Petra fought to recover her composure. “That can’t be,” she said in a very deliberate tone. I can’t imagine that Claudia would ever sell the land to a real estate developer.”

  Suzanne held up a hand. “Not so fast. That’s the exact opposite of what Claudia told me an hour ago.”

  Petra shook her head in disbelief. “What? What are you saying?” She suddenly looked frazzled again.

  “Claudia said that she definitely would sell the farm. That she actually wanted to.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. She said that she and Mike had received several offers over the years, but he’d always turned them down cold.”

  “And she’ll turn this one down, too,” Petra said.

  “I don’t think she will,” Suzanne said. “I think this time she really means to sell the farm.”

  “That’s . . . outrageous.”

  Suzanne lifted a shoulder. “Face it, with Mike gone the farm is hers to do with as she wants.”

  “What about the cows?”

  “I suppose the cows will have to find another home. Barn.”

  “Does this seem strange to you?” Petra asked.

  “Does what seem strange to you?” Toni asked. She’d just slid through the swinging door, a plastic bin filled with dirty dishes in her hands.

  “That guy sitting out there with Mayor Mobley?” Suzanne said. “He says he’s going to buy the Mullen farm.”

  “Holy crap,” Toni cried. “Really?” Then, “Is the place even for sale?”

  Suzanne quickly went over what she’d just told Petra.

  “And this developer . . . what’s his name?” Toni asked.

  “Um, Byron Wolf,” Suzanne said.

  “He’s going to build a bunch of humongous houses?” Toni said.

  “Mega mansions,” Petra said. She spat out the words like she was referring to camel poop.

  “So what does all this mean?” Toni asked. Her eyes bounced from Suzanne to Petra as if she were watching a tennis match.

  “Here’s what I think it means,” Petra spoke up. “It means that the timing couldn’t be worse. It almost looks as if Mike’s death wasn’t an accident at all.”

  “Well . . . we know that,” Suzanne said.

  “But you’re saying that maybe his murder was orchestrated?” Toni said. “By Claudia? Oh jeez.”

  “No, no,” Petra said. “That’s not what I’m saying at all.”

  “Then what are you saying?” Toni asked.

  “I think Wolf wanting to buy the land is just a sad, strange coincidence,” Petra said. “Claudia and Mike had a wonderful marriage. She would never entertain such a terrible deed as murder.” They all stood there for a few moments, shuffling their feet, looking uneasy. “Would she?” Petra added.

  “Let’s hope not,” Suzanne said.

  Toni waggled her fingers. “Go ahead and dish up the orders for the mayor and his buddy. I’ll run them out and see if I can worm any more information out of Wolf.”

  Petra hurried to fill the orders. “What are you going to do?” she asked. “Shine a bright light in his eyes? Beat him with a rubber hose?”

  “No,” Toni said. She reached up and flicked open a button on her blouse. “I’m going to flirt with him.”

  * * *

  TONI was as good as her word. She sashayed out into the café, as sweet as pecan pie, and delivered the luncheon orders to Wolf and Mobley. Suzanne and Petra peered out through the pass-through, watching her.

  “A spinach salad for the good-looking gent,” Toni said, setting Wolf’s lunch in front of him. “Ham and cheese for the mayor.”

  Toni’s warm smile, husky voice, and eye-popping blouse full of goodies wasn’t lost on Wolf. “Say now,” he said. “You work here?”

  “I’m one of the partners,” Toni said.

  “You’re not exactly the shy, silent partner, are you?”

  “Honey, I’m just getting started.” Toni gave a throaty little growl.

  Wolf winked at her and gave her a little growl right back. “I do believe I’d like to take you out for a drink sometime.”

  Toni thrust out a hip. “I think I’d like that.”

  “Can I call you?”

  “Better yet, drop by anytime,” Toni said. “I’ll be here.”

  From her perch behind the pass-through, Petra said, “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  * * *

  ONCE the lunch rush was pretty much over, once Mobley and Wolf had departed in Wolf’s shiny red Porsche, Suzanne retired to the adjoining Book Nook. This small one-room bookshop had become her pride and joy. Without a proper bookstore in Kindred, Suzanne had converted this space into a well-stocked retail getaway that featured floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a frayed Oriental carpet on the floor, and two rump-sprung chairs to cozy up in. She stocked everything from mystery to cooking to romance, with lots of craft books, kids’ picture books, young adult, and even some military history for the men.

  Right now, with Halloween only a few days away, Suzanne was working the shelves, pulling out all the Halloween-themed books that she could find. There were lots of picture books, of course. Angelina’s Halloween and The Ugly Pumpkin. Oh, and she couldn’t forget classics like The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving and anything by good old Edgar Allan Poe.

  She piled up the books and then ducked into her office, a messy little alcove adjacent to the Book Nook. She grabbed a vase filled with dried flowers and added it to her small arrangement.

  Hmm. It needed something more.

  Suzanne hurried into the Knitting Nest next door. Mostly Petra’s domain, it was stocked with hundreds of skeins of colorful yarn, baskets of knitting needles, and stacks of quilt squares. Petra taught her Hooked on Knitting classes here and also displayed some of her homemade shawls and comforters on the walls. The place was elegantly rustic, shimmering with color and texture, and served as a magnet for their female customers.

  Ah, here they were. Suzanne grabbed a trio of orange knitted pumpkins and hurried back to the Book Nook. She plopped the pumpkins atop her stack of books and smiled. Perfect.

  Just as Suzanne was unpacking a box of books that UPS had delivered earlier in the day, Sheriff Doogie strolled in. He looked around, nodded at her, and picked up a book on classic cars. Doogie was a not-so-secret motorhead.

  Suzanne glanced sideways at him. “I need to talk to you about something.”

  “Oh yeah?” Doogie was acting nonchalant. Maybe a little too nonchalant. “I heard you paid a visit to Claudia Mullen this morning,” he said.

  Suzanne glanced sharply at him. “Who told you that?”

  “Claudia Mullen.” Doogie looked pleased that he’d been able to punk her.

  “Okay. So you’ve got your trusty spy ring operating.”


  “I know you’ve been snooping around.” Doogie closed his book and set it down. “I also bet you can’t wait to grill me about that kid, Noah.” He focused steel gray eyes on her. “I think he’s the guy you thought was a scarecrow.”

  “I’d definitely like to get the full story on Noah,” Suzanne said. “But right now I’m more interested in hearing what you know about Byron Wolf.”

  Doogie shook his head, obviously not recognizing the name. “Who the Sam Hill is Byron Wolf?”

  “Let me give you a hint,” Suzanne said. “Wolf is the sleazy developer who put up those monstrosity homes over in Jessup.”

  Doogie’s face was still a blank. “So what?”

  “Wolf was just in here for lunch,” Suzanne said. “Bragging about putting in an offer to buy the Mullen farm.”

  Doogie took an involuntary step backward, a look of pure shock crumpling his face. Then his voice dropped to an urgent whisper. “What did you say?”

  CHAPTER 7

  “I said that Byron Wolf is about to put an offer in on the Mullen farm,” Suzanne repeated.

  “I got that part,” Doogie rasped. “What I meant was, how do you know about this? Where did this guy Wolf come from? I mean, he didn’t just parachute out of a clear blue sky, did he?” He rapped his knuckles hard against the counter to emphasize his words. “How the crap did you find out about a developer wanting to buy the Mullen property, but I didn’t? How do you know this stuff?”

  “Take a look around,” Suzanne said. “I run a café where my morning customers are all lubricated by coffee and jacked up on sugar donuts. Half the people are from right here in Kindred, so they stop in to gossip about everything that’s going on. The other half are from Jessup, and they drive over just to get the poop on the Kindred folks.” She gave a quick smile. “Small towns, don’t you love ’em?”

  “Don’t give me a folksy lecture, just tell me about Wolf,” Doogie demanded.

  “Mayor Mobley brought him here for lunch.”

  “Whoa,” Doogie said, holding up his hands. “Rewind that tape for me, Suzanne. I want to hear about the land-buying part.”

  “Byron Wolf is a developer.”

  Doogie half closed one eye and cocked his head. “Okay . . . I’m startin’ to have a recollection here. Wolf is the fat cat who built those ugly McMansions over in Jessup?”

  “Bingo, my friend.”

  “Where half the places look like cut-down versions of the White House and the rest are faced with tacky fake plastic brick?”

  “Architecture for the ages,” Suzanne said.

  Doogie was nodding now. “And the whole place is surrounded by big brass gates and guarded by a bunch of dumb rent-a-cops. Huh. And you’re telling me this Wolf guy wants to build a development just like that outside Kindred? On Mike Mullen’s property?”

  “See,” Suzanne said. “I had a feeling this might grab your attention.”

  “Well, it did. In fact, it took me by complete surprise.” Doogie frowned. “But what gave Wolf the idea that the Mullen farm might be for sale?”

  “Because it is for sale.”

  “Say what?” His eyes popped again and he ran a hand through his sparse crop of hair, ruffling it so vigorously it almost stood straight up.

  “You already know that I was out there this morning,” Suzanne said. “Dropping off a basket of muffins for Claudia.”

  Doogie sucked air through his front teeth. “Yeah?”

  “That’s when Claudia confided to me that she’d been wanting to sell the farm for a number of years, but Mike was always dead set against it.”

  Now Doogie ran the back of his hand across his face. “‘Dead’ being the operative word here.”

  “Well . . . yes. That might be key.”

  “It’s a strange thing,” Doogie said. “Claudia never mentioned a word about this to me. Never said they might be selling the farm.”

  “Probably because they weren’t going to,” Suzanne said. “Until now. Now that it’s Claudia’s to do with as she pleases.”

  “Mike’s sudden death certainly makes things more convenient for her,” Doogie said. He sounded angry and more than a little suspicious.

  “I hate to admit it, but that’s exactly what’s been going through my mind, too.”

  Doogie hitched his belt, setting his sidearm, flashlight, radio, and nightstick in motion. “Looks like I need to have a sit-down, come-to-Jesus meeting with Claudia Mullen.”

  “I think you do.” Suzanne hesitated. “And maybe with Byron Wolf, too. Because I have to tell you, my first impression of the man wasn’t exactly positive.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Wolf is one of those guys who acts friendly and engaging, but probably has the personality of a pit viper. And he’s got all these fancy trappings. Shiny red Porsche. Expensive clothes. And I’m pretty sure he was blinged out with a Rolex watch.”

  “Wolf sounds like some kind of hotshot.”

  “I think Wolf knows his way around a multimillion-dollar deal. And I think he’s smart, too,” Suzanne said. “Not MBA smart, but smart like a fox. I had the feeling this is a man who understands how to negotiate.”

  “Forewarned is forearmed,” Doogie said. “He may be a fat cat developer, but I still gotta talk to him. This land deal with Claudia is just too much of a . . . coincidence.”

  Suzanne reached out and straightened a stack of books. “I was hoping you’d say that.” She glanced sideways at Doogie. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to hear what you’ve learned about Noah Jorgenson.” When Doogie didn’t say anything, she continued. “Claudia told me that she was frightened of Noah. Not at first, not when he was a little kid. But now that Noah has grown older and gotten a lot bigger, she said that he scares her to death.”

  “Yeah,” Doogie said. “That’s what she told me, too.”

  “So I have to ask,” Suzanne said. “Is Noah a suspect?”

  Doogie looked unhappy. “You really want in on this investigation, don’t you?”

  “I’d say I’m already in. I was there, remember? I found Mike’s body.”

  “Yeah . . . well.” Doogie seemed to be capitulating. Not gracefully, more like a rogue nation that had been forced to sit down at a bargaining table.

  Suzanne decided the best approach was to be direct. “Do you think Noah could have killed Mike Mullen?”

  Doogie mulled over her words for a few seconds and then said, “I honestly don’t know. Noah certainly had the opportunity. I mean, the Jorgenson farm is right there, directly adjacent to the Mullen farm. And I know for a fact that Noah’s mother wasn’t home yesterday morning.”

  “Where was she?”

  “Something to do with church. Straightening hymnals or waxing the pews, I don’t remember which.”

  “Was she purposely vague about what she was doing?” Suzanne asked.

  “No,” Doogie said. “I didn’t think her exact whereabouts were all that important so I chose not to retain that information on my hard drive.” He tapped an index finger against the side of his head. “I can’t keep track of every stinking little fact.”

  Doogie sounded stressed, so Suzanne backed off a bit. “So Noah was home by himself when Mike was killed?”

  “All morning and into the early afternoon. At least that’s what he said when I talked to him.”

  “You talked to Noah yesterday?”

  “That’s right.”

  “When was that?”

  “Late yesterday afternoon. After the coroner hauled Mike’s body away. Right after Claudia got home and pretty much pointed a finger at Noah.”

  “Let me ask you this—when you told Noah that Mike had been murdered, what was his reaction?”

  “The boy acted real upset.”

  “Did he have trouble understanding you? Or communicating with you? Claudia told me
that Noah is autistic.”

  “That’s what she told me, too, but Noah’s mother says he has Asperger’s syndrome. That the boy is actually very high functioning.” Doogie frowned. “Still, every time I asked Noah a question, Faith Anne, that’s his mother, jumped in to answer for him. She stuck to the kid like a bottle of Elmer’s glue. She obviously hated the fact that I was there, asking about Mike Mullen’s murder. In fact, she said she felt like I was interrogating them.”

  “I would have thought she’d want to cooperate,” Suzanne said. “After all, when a neighbor is murdered . . . that’s a very frightening thing. A violent crime happening so close to their own home.”

  “Exactly my thought. But Faith Anne acted like I had no right to talk to Noah at all.” Doogie stuck out his chin. “Me, the duly elected sheriff.”

  “What if you asked somebody from County Services to get involved? To mediate?”

  “What good would that do?”

  “If Noah is classified as having some sort of disability, then they could step in to help.”

  “To help me?” Doogie asked.

  “To help facilitate your questions,” Suzanne said. She figured a trained caseworker would use a much more gentle approach in questioning Noah. “Did you ask Noah if he saw anything out of the ordinary? If he saw anyone hanging around Mike Mullen’s farm?”

  “I asked and the kid said no.” Doogie rolled his eyes. “Or rather his old lady did.”

  “So you talked to Noah for quite a while?”

  “Not long enough. And it should have been just the two of us. Without his doggone mother constantly throwing me the evil eye.”

  “Does Noah really need his mother to run interference for him? Do you think he really has difficulty communicating?”

  Doogie shrugged. “Ah . . . I don’t know. He spoke in a kind of monotone, but he seemed like he got the gist of my questions just fine.”

  “Did he act frightened?”

  “Not at first, but after a while . . . yeah, I guess.”

  “Maybe Noah was worried that you were going to arrest him.”

  Doogie rocked back on his heels. “Maybe I should have. Maybe Claudia Mullen’s hunch is right on the money. That Noah flipped out for some strange reason and killed her husband.” He clenched his teeth together, tightening the muscles in his jaw. “Or maybe it was classic misdirection on her part. Maybe Claudia hired someone to off her old man and now she’s trying to pin the blame on Noah.”