Egg Drop Dead

by Laura Childs

  Turns out she did. So they dragged out all their vases, plopped in some colorful leaves along with dried milkweed pods, hydrangeas, and yarrow, and tied orange ribbons around the base of the vases.

  “Perfect,” Toni said.

  The front door opened and a whoosh of cool air rushed in, setting the ghosts in motion.

  “What up!” called a voice.

  Suzanne and Toni turned to see who their visitor was. Only it wasn’t really a visitor at all. It was Joey, their slacker teenage busboy who fancied himself a rap star. Duded out in baggy pants with chains hanging down to his knees, an Oakland Raiders jacket, and his baseball cap stuck on backward, he was here to help with the pizza party.

  “Those ghosts are bumpin’,” Joey said.

  “Pardon?” Suzanne said.

  “That means I like ’em,” Joey translated.

  “And I’m crazy about your costume,” Toni said.

  Joey scrunched up his young, almost babyish, face in protest. “No, ma’am. These are just my everydays.”

  “Do you always talk like that, Joey?” Suzanne asked. “Even at home?”

  “Yo,” Joey said. “My peeps are cool with it.” He looked around again. “So . . . wassup?”

  “I’ll tell you what,” Suzanne said. “Go hang up your jacket, pull up your pants, and wash your hands. Then you can slip into a bumpin’ black apron and get to work. The mozzarella needs to be shredded, and then the long tables need to be lined up for our pizza buffet. And, let’s see, maybe you could bring in the sheet cake from my car.”

  They all got to work in the kitchen. Slicing onions, mushrooms, and pepperoni, sautéing sweet Italian sausage, and greasing the pizza pans.

  Once Joey had finished with the cheese, Suzanne had him haul out the extra tables and set them up.

  “Be sure to lock the legs,” Suzanne told him. “We don’t want these tables collapsing on us.”

  “What all are you gonna serve?” Joey asked.

  “Five different kinds of pizza, an Italian salad, garlic bread, trays full of relishes, and chocolate cake.”

  “Tasty.”

  “Joey,” Suzanne said as she draped red-and-white-checkered cloths across the tables, “do you know Noah Jorgenson?”

  “Kind of,” Joey said. “At least I used to. We were in fourth and fifth grades together. But then his old lady pulled him out of school.”

  “Why was that? Do you know?”

  “I don’t know all the details. But Noah’s mother has always been kind of freaky. She’s always jacked up about something. School shootings, drugs, you name it.”

  “Do you think Noah has a learning disability?”

  Joey scratched his head. “I don’t know. Seems to me he was smart enough, but I remember somebody saying something about a problem.”

  “Do you think he has Asperger’s? Or autism?”

  “I don’t remember hearing that.” Joey gave a rueful chuckle. “But you know, half the kids in my class have been diagnosed with ADHD. Some of them even have a sweet little side business going. They sell their Ritalin to the other kids.”

  “That’s awful,” Suzanne said. Then, “Are there kids in your school who deal other drugs?” She knew Sam was scheduled to give a talk on drugs in the next couple of weeks.

  Joey’s eyes slid away from her. “I guess sometimes they do. You know, weed, poppers, that kind of thing.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Maybe.”

  Suzanne lifted an eyebrow. “Maybe?”

  Joey looked stricken.

  “I’m not accusing you,” Suzanne said. “I’m just wondering.”

  “Ah gee, Mrs. D. These days, there’s nasty stuff all over the place. Bath salts, PCP, meth, crack, whatever you want. I even see dealers hanging out sometimes. But I never get involved in that shit. It rots your brain.”

  “Good boy,” Suzanne said. She hoped she could believe him.

  * * *

  AT four o’clock they all gathered in the kitchen, ready to start making the pizzas.

  “Where did you get all these pizza pans?” Toni asked.

  “The Save Mart,” Petra said. “They were having a sale.”

  “Wait a minute,” Toni said as Petra suddenly brandished her rolling pin. “We’re just going to roll out our pizza crusts? Why don’t we toss them up in the air like you see those fancy chefs on TV doing?”

  Petra gave her a thin smile. “Be my guest. Who am I to stifle your culinary flair and showmanship?”

  “Hah,” Joey said. “You mean doughmanship.”

  Toni grabbed a blob of dough and flattened it out gently with her hands. When it was almost pie sized, she started spinning it on top of her palm, rapidly moving her fingers like she was playing a clarinet.

  “Don’t tell me she can really . . .” Petra began.

  That’s when it all went a little crazy. Toni tossed the dough high above her head where it grazed the ceiling and managed one full, magnificent twirl, unfurling into a flat crust almost magically. Then, seconds later, it dropped like a rock and landed directly on top of her head. Plop!

  “Agh!” Toni screamed. Draped in dough, looking like some kind of high-gluten ghost, her voice was muffled. Then her fingers scrabbled frantically to dig the dough out of her nose and mouth. “I can’t breathe!” she wheezed. Suzanne and Petra were laughing so hard they were almost choking.

  “I mean it!” Toni cried out as her arms flailed wildly. “Get this crap off me.”

  Joey made a two-handed grab and yanked the hunk of dough off Toni’s head. “You okay under all that?” he asked.

  “I guess,” Toni grumped. “I felt like I was smothering.” She brushed bits of dough from her face, then felt around her right eye and blinked rapidly. “Uh-oh, I think my fake eyelash got yanked off with the dough.”

  Petra just shook her head.

  CHAPTER 20

  AT six o’clock the floodgates opened and customers began to pour in. Suzanne stood at the front door, a smile on her face, welcoming everyone. Business looked like it was going to be good, so blessings on everyone’s head. They were going to turn a nice profit tonight.

  As Suzanne directed guests to their tables, she gave everyone a quick rundown on how the pizza buffet worked. Which was basically telling everyone that they could help themselves to as much food as they wanted for the $7.95 admission charge. Petra was in the kitchen popping pizza pies into a hot oven as fast as she could pull out baked ones. Toni and Joey floated in between, pouring water, serving soft drinks, cutting the pizzas into slices, and then ferrying the still-steaming pies out to the buffet tables.

  Suzanne was thrilled with the turnout—it looked like half the town had showed up! Bill and Jenny Probst, Gene Gandle, the writer and ad sales guy from the Bugle, Lolly Herron and a couple of her friends, and four dozen more. The sweet scent of basil, onions, herbs, and sausage spiced the air along with the buzz of lively conversation.

  “We’re the hottest ticket in town tonight,” Toni said to Suzanne.

  Suzanne had to agree. “It’s looking good.” Of course, they had another couple hours to go. They needed to have, in restaurant parlance, a second seating.

  “Uh-oh.” Toni glanced out the door and made an unconscious grimace.

  “What?”

  “Look what the cat just dragged in.”

  Junior was suddenly standing in the doorway, grinning from ear to ear. “Hello, ladies.” He rocked back on his heels and, with sleepy eyes, casually surveyed the restaurant as if he were the lord of the manor checking on his loyal subjects.

  Toni leaned forward and sniffed his breath. “Junior, you miserable little weasel. Have you been drinking?”

  Junior shrugged. “I might have had a bump on the way over.”

  “Bump or bumps?”

  “Why do you have to be s
o snoopy?” Junior asked. “I don’t see you coming by my trailer to cook dinner for me. Or pay me any attention for that matter.”

  “That’s because we’re getting a divorce,” Toni snarled back. Even though she still hadn’t bothered to file.

  “How’s the car wash coming along?” Suzanne asked suddenly. If she didn’t change the subject, Toni and Junior would snipe at each other all night.

  Junior immediately brightened. “It’s good, Suzanne. And thanks for asking. I got my new hydrovalve installed today and it’s shootin’ jets of water better than a gosh darn water park. I even ran my truck through to test things.”

  “How did that go?” Suzanne asked.

  “Got some bugs to work out,” Junior admitted.

  “Water bugs?” Toni asked.

  Junior shuffled his feet. “Some of the mechanicals need fine-tuning.”

  “That means the machinery probably ripped the bumpers off his truck,” Toni said.

  “Just a few minor scratches and dents,” Junior said. “Nothing I can’t buff out.” He glanced around the café. “Hey, why don’t you let me play maître d’ for a while?”

  “Think you can handle it?” Suzanne asked. She really did need to check on a few other things.

  “Sure. All I have to do is welcome folks and direct them to a table, right? It’s all self-service.”

  “Hey, genius, a buffet is generally self-service,” Toni said as she wrapped a white apron around Junior’s waist. “Now just be friendly,” she admonished. “Act nice and don’t breathe on anyone.”

  * * *

  TEN minutes later Sam showed up, as well as Reverend Yoder from the church next door. Sam came by himself; Reverend Yoder brought his Friday-night youth group.

  “We’re forgoing Bible study tonight in favor of pizza,” Reverend Yoder told Suzanne as two dozen teenagers stampeded for the food.

  “Glad to have you,” Suzanne said. “Our fire-roasted peppers and green chili pizza should easily take the place of a little fire and brimstone.”

  Reverend Yoder, who was tall, thin, and almost Calvinistic in his bearing, just chuckled. He may have looked like a stern, Bible Belt preacher but he had a gracious heart and finely tuned sense of humor.

  Sam grabbed Suzanne by the hand and pulled her into a corner. “I missed you,” he said. He gave her a modest peck, but his lips still managed to convey a warm urgency.

  Suzanne wanted nothing more than to throw her arms around Sam, but figured she had to restrain herself. At least for another couple of hours. Then she could drag this wonderful man back to her house and have her way with him.

  “Hey, no nuzzling in the corner,” Toni yelled at them.

  “Sorry I had to skip out at noon,” Suzanne told him.

  “Business problems?” Sam asked.

  “Kind of. I’ll tell you about it later.”

  Sam moved closer to her. “I suppose I should let you get back to your pizza party.”

  “And you should hurry up and grab a plate,” Suzanne said. Or we could duck out the back door right now.

  Toni came hustling over and stuck a clean plate in Sam’s hands. “If you don’t start loading up with goodies, you’re gonna miss out,” she told him. “These people are chowing down like a bunch of marauding Visigoths. Especially those Bible study kids.”

  While Sam helped himself to the food, Suzanne grabbed two empty pizza pans and ran them back into the kitchen. Luckily, Petra was just pulling two freshly baked pizzas from the oven.

  “Sausage and mushroom,” Petra said. “And pepperoni and green pepper.”

  “They sound delicious,” Suzanne said.

  Joey was suddenly hovering nearby. “You want me to slice those pizza pies?” he asked.

  “Go ahead,” Petra said. “But cut them in smaller squares instead of triangles. They’ll go farther.”

  The door swung open and Toni appeared. “Are there more pizzas? We’re almost wiped out.”

  “Coming right up,” Suzanne said.

  While Joey was slicing the pizzas like a pro, he said, “Have you guys heard about our Haunted Forest?”

  “I think I read something about it in the Bugle,” Toni said.

  “The junior and senior classes at my high school put it together,” Joey said. “It’s like a haunted house only we’re staging it outdoors in the woods. We’re trying to earn enough money so we can all take a trip to Chicago next spring.”

  “How’s it going so far?” Suzanne asked.

  “Pretty good,” Joey said. “We’ve only been open two nights and we’ve already made some serious coinage. You guys should come. We’re set up in the woods over near Catawba Creek.”

  “And it’s some kind of ghost walk?” Toni asked.

  “That’s right,” Joey said. “And it’s real spooky, not just fake spooky. What happens is . . . you walk down this dark wooded path and all sorts of weird shit pops out at you. Monsters, vampires, Freddy Krueger, you name it.”

  “It sounds exciting,” Toni said.

  “It sounds too much like real life,” Suzanne said.

  * * *

  FIFTY minutes later they were turning over their tables. The early birds had eaten, burped happily, and shuffled off. Now a second shift had arrived. These new arrivals grabbed slices of pizza and soft drinks and settled in at the tables.

  Suddenly, right in the middle of all this good food and cheer, the front door flew open and smacked hard against the wall. Whap!

  Suzanne, who was busy replenishing the salad bowl, looked up distractedly and said, “What?”

  That’s when Sheriff Doogie stomped into the Cackleberry Club. He glowered over the crowd until he finally spotted Suzanne. “All right, where are they?” he yelled at the top of his lungs. His belly jiggled, his jowls sloshed, even his Smokey Bear hat teetered precariously on his head.

  Suzanne, who was dealing with a tumble of baby field greens, barely glanced at him. “Where are what?” she asked in a slightly perturbed tone of voice. Honestly, what was Doogie’s problem? Why was he yelling at her? What had set off his magic twanger this time?

  “The horses!” Doogie thundered.

  That brought everything to a screeching halt. Customers paused mid-bite, the people going through the buffet line turned to stare. Petra peeked out the pass-through, gave a shrill scream, and batted away fake cobwebs.

  Suzanne stared at Doogie as if he were the only person standing in the café. “Horses?” she said. What on earth was he babbling about?

  Doogie spread his feet apart and self-importantly adjusted his utility belt. “Come on, Suzanne, don’t play cute with me. Julian Elder just alerted me to the fact that you stole four of his horses.”

  Suzanne touched a hand to her chest. “He said I stole them?” This wasn’t just confusing—Doogie had obviously been completely misinformed. “There must be a mistake. The rescue people—Cassie from Hoof-Beats Horse Rescue—she must have bought them all.”

  “Elder says she didn’t,” Doogie said. “He says she bought four horses early this afternoon. Then a few hours later, the remaining four horses that he didn’t sell to her mysteriously disappeared from his pasture.”

  “Cassie must have bought them all,” Suzanne repeated.

  Doogie shook his head. “That’s not how Elder tells it.”

  Suzanne was dumbfounded. “Then what . . . ?” She looked at Sam for help, but he seemed even more confused than she was. A movement off to her left caught her eye. Junior was easing his way into the Book Nook, tiptoeing like a cartoon bank robber, a guilty look pasted across his face.

  “Junior!” Suzanne yelled out. “Did you say something to Julian Elder?”

  “Who, me?” Junior halted in his tracks and made a big production out of trying to look innocent. That’s when Suzanne knew he was the one who’d been running his mouth off.


  “Did you talk to Julian Elder?” Suzanne asked.

  Sheriff Doogie frowned at Junior. “Junior?” he barked. “How are you involved in this? What’s going on?”

  Junior hung his head. “I dunno. I might have said something. I ran into Julian Elder at the pawn shop this afternoon. I was looking for a good used servomotor.”

  “Junior,” Suzanne said again. “Did you tell Elder that Toni and I were looking at his horses last night?”

  “You were what?” Doogie whooped. His florid face turned an even deeper crimson.

  “I might have,” Junior said. He scratched his head as if he were deep in thought. “Well, I guess I probably did. But mostly I was fishing around for information, trying to figure out if Elder knew anything about poor Mike being stabbed.”

  “I specifically told you not to investigate!” Suzanne hissed.

  “Nobody should be investigating,” Doogie thundered. “I don’t want any one of you hunyucks sticking their nose in my official investigation.”

  * * *

  OFFICIAL or not, Doogie still insisted on having Suzanne accompany him to her barn across the back field. Naturally, she was furious over his accusation of horse thievery, but she went anyway. Sam went along with her.

  Suzanne slid open the barn door and flipped on the light. Dust swirled in the faint yellow glow of the overhead bulbs, revealing a mountain of stacked hay bales. Off to the left, two polished saddles rested on sawhorses. Bridles, halters, and other tack hung on metal hooks.

  Doogie strode into the barn, then stopped in a puddle of light. Hands planted firmly on his hips, feet set apart, he gazed around.

  From between the wooden slats of the two box stalls way at the back of the cavernous barn, two animals stared back at him. Suzanne’s horse, Mocha Gent, and her large black mule, Grommet.

  Doogie’s face pinched into a frown as he did a three-hundred-sixty-degree scan of the entire barn. Finally, he said, “I’ll be darned.”

  “No kidding,” Suzanne said.

  Sam stepped in swiftly. “I’d say you owe Suzanne an apology.”

  Doogie spun around a second time, as if to make sure the missing horses weren’t hiding in the hayloft or peeking out from behind a Navajo saddle blanket. Then he gazed at Suzanne. “What did you do with them?”