Eggs in a Casket (A Cackleberry Club Mystery)

by Childs, Laura

  “Then who?” said Toni.

  Suzanne shook her head. “No idea.”

  “And what’s this about slipping sadly away?” asked Toni.

  “It sounds as if whoever wrote the note is feeling sad and mournful,” said Suzanne.

  “Or maybe whoever wrote this is sad because they killed him!” said Toni. “I mean, this is seriously freaky stuff.”

  “I think it’s just a bad coincidence,” said Suzanne. “Did you ever consider that the note might have been intended for some other grave and the note writer got turned around in the dark?”

  “I suppose that could have happened,” said Toni. “Or . . . or what if somebody was supposed to find this?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What if the note is really written in code?”

  “Why would someone do that?” said Suzanne. That didn’t seem at all logical.

  “I don’t know,” said Toni. “What if there was some kind of illegal deal going on? Something like that?”

  “Interesting theory.”

  “Think maybe we should pass this note along to Sheriff Doogie?”

  “Maybe so,” said Suzanne. But first she wanted to think about it. And more than anything else, she wanted to get the heck out of here.

  * * *

  THEY called off the rest of their candlelight walk and ambled back to the tent. While they’d been out tiptoeing through the tombstones, volunteers had set up a long trestle table where hot cocoa and hot cider were now being served. So Suzanne and Toni grabbed paper cups of cocoa and stood on the sidelines, sipping and watching people come and go, wondering if the note might have been left by one of them.

  When Suzanne had an inch of sludgy cocoa left, she said, “Time to pack it in?”

  “There’s just one more thing,” said Toni. “I’d like to visit the meditation garden.”

  “What meditation garden?” This was the first Suzanne had heard of any such thing.

  Toni smoothed her crumpled map, held it up to one of the portable lights, and read the short blurb aloud. “On the southwestern boundary of Memorial Cemetery, down a path through a quiet woods, a small meditation garden has been established. This garden, enhanced by stones, a small pool, and unusual plants, is intended to promote inner peace and serenity.” She paused. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”

  “It sounds like it’s off in the woods,” said Suzanne.

  “But doesn’t it sound tranquil?”

  “It sounds remote,” said Suzanne. “The only reason I came here tonight was because you promised me we’d be surrounded by people. You know, strength in numbers and all that jazz?”

  “I get it, I get it,” said Toni. “Still, wouldn’t it be nice to visit an area that wasn’t filled with dead people? Doesn’t that sound like a good way to cap off the evening?”

  In the end, Suzanne relented. They climbed into her car, drove half a mile through the cemetery, and parked next to a small brick building, what was probably a maintenance shed.

  “Jeez,” said Toni, “I hope that’s not where they store the dead bodies.”

  “I’m sure it’s a maintenance shed,” said Suzanne.

  “Hope so.”

  “I was afraid of this,” said Suzanne, as they climbed out of the car. “There’s nobody here.”

  “That’s a good thing,” said Toni. “Seeing as how it’s a meditation garden, the emphasis should be on peace and quiet.”

  “I had no idea you were so interested in meditation,” said Suzanne, as they walked down the path.

  “I watched an old kung fu movie the other night,” said Toni. “And I decided it wouldn’t be a bad idea to tap my inner Zen. I think being around Junior has an adverse effect on my brain waves.”

  “Oh, grasshopper,” Suzanne laughed. “You just said a mouthful.”

  “This sure is pretty,” said Toni as the woods closed in around them. “Look at all the ferns and hostas. And I love those glowing little garden lights.”

  “Solar lamps,” said Suzanne, squinting in the dark. She decided the solar lamps, which led down the path, were indeed a lovely touch. Unfortunately, because this area was so densely wooded, the little lamps hadn’t been able to absorb their full quota of sunlight. So for now they just glowed eerily.

  “And there are wood chips on the path, too,” said Toni. “This is really well done.”

  Suzanne had to agree. It was a nice winding path, and, as they meandered along, there were plantings of Japanese maple trees and winter-hardy bamboo, as well as several wooden benches.

  “But where’s the little pond?” Toni wondered.

  Where are all the people? Suzanne wondered. It bothered her that they were so alone out here in the woods.

  Toni was studying her map again. “It should be here somewhere.”

  “We’re probably getting close,” said Suzanne. They rounded a turn and her toe snagged on something. “Agh,” she cried, flailing out, almost stumbling.

  “What?” said Toni. She halted alongside Suzanne, putting an arm out to steady her.

  “Something on my shoe.”

  “Aw, you’re caught on a hunk of plastic,” said Toni. She bent down and snatched at a plastic bag, then crumpled it up and stuck it in her jacket pocket. “Probably from when they brought in all the plants.”

  Suzanne lifted her head and, as she did, caught a reflective glint of something. The little pond? Yes, there it was. Just ahead, a small oval body of water was surrounded by rocks and tucked into a small grove of birch trees. “There’s your pond,” she told Toni.

  “Ooh, this is so neat,” said Toni, rushing over to kneel on a large, moss-covered rock. “Do you think there are goldfish?”

  “If there are, they’d be a sushi dinner for all the raccoons, foxes, and woodchucks that live out this way,” said Suzanne.

  “Maybe it’s a wishing pond, then,” said Toni. She dug into the pocket of her slacks and came up with a few pennies. She stood up, spun around, and tossed the coins over her shoulder. Tiny splashes echoed as they plunked into the water.

  “What did you wish for?” asked Suzanne.

  Toni wrinkled her nose and gazed at her. “World peace.”

  “Well, that’s . . .”

  “Are you kidding?” said Toni, laughing. “I wished for a new refrigerator! Mine is totally on the fritz. My milk curdles so fast it looks like pancake batter.”

  “You tossed in more than one penny,” said Suzanne. “So I’m guessing you’ve got more than one wish coming.”

  “In that case,” said Toni, “world peace, a new refrigerator, and maybe a Wonderbra thrown in for good measure.”

  “Now you’re talking,” said Suzanne. She decided the meditation garden was having a slightly soporific effect on her. She did feel more relaxed and relieved. Go figure. Or maybe she was just getting tired.

  “I think if we keep meandering this way,” said Toni, flapping a hand, “the path will lead us right back around.”

  “Okay,” said Suzanne as they continued walking on a slightly narrowed path. “I have to admit, this garden is very cleverly done. I think, during the day, with sunlight filtering down through these stately oaks and pines, it will feel almost cathedral-like.”

  “And this is just the first season,” said Toni. “When there’s some real growth to the garden, then we’ll start to . . .”

  “Whoa!” said Suzanne.

  Toni halted in her tracks. “Huh?”

  Suzanne clutched Toni’s arm. “Did you hear something? In the woods?”

  Toni frowned. “Don’t be so jumpy. It was only a matter of time before some other folks showed up to check this out.”

  “I guess you’re right,” said Suzanne as they continued on. “Sorry.”

  “No problem,” said Toni. “It’s not like we’re gonna . . . What the heck!”


  A man suddenly stepped out onto the path in front of them. A big man, dressed in a camo jacket and carrying a 12-gauge shotgun.

  “Oh, jeez Louise!” cried Suzanne. She tried to say more, but nothing came out. It was as if the back of her throat had gone as dry as the Gobi Desert.

  CHAPTER 12

  “WHAT do you think you’re doing on my property!” the man bellowed at them.

  Still taken aback, Suzanne fought to find her voice. “Your property?” she finally squeaked out. “I thought we were on cemetery property.”

  “You thought wrong,” snarled the man. His eyes smoldered from within the deep creases of his face. His hair was long and unkempt and he wore a scruffy four– or five-day beard.

  “Isn’t this the meditation garden?” Toni stammered.

  “Property line’s back there,” said the man, gesturing with the butt of his shotgun. “Which means you’re on my land!” He cocked his head and shook it hard as if he were having a philosophical argument with himself. “This is private property,” he muttered. “And I won’t put up with people wandering around or driving cars in here all hours of the day and night!”

  Suzanne held up both hands in a placating gesture. “Okay, okay. We’ll go back the way we came. No harm done.” Suzanne wasn’t one to easily back down, but in this situation she decided it was the smartest thing to do.

  “Harm?” said the man. He turned his head, made a nasty, wet noise, and spat at their feet. “There’s been harm done all right.”

  Horrified and upset, Suzanne and Toni continued to back up. Then, in one coordinated move practically worthy of the Radio City Rockettes, they spun like tops and broke into a fast trot. Shaken and unnerved, all they wanted to do was get out of there!

  “Is he following us?” Toni asked. Her teeth chattered as they jogged over uneven ground.

  Suzanne ventured a quick look over her shoulder. “I don’t see him.”

  “Who the Sam Hill was that jerk?” Toni reached out and grabbed Suzanne’s hand as they ran along. “He lurched out at us like some kind of crazed zombie.”

  “I think,” said Suzanne, slightly breathless by now, “that we just made the acquaintance of Karl Studer.”

  “Who’s that?” Toni cried. They ran another hundred feet, then slowed down. Toni suddenly stopped and bent forward. In a shaky wheeze, she said, “Man, I gotta quit smoking.”

  Suzanne fought to catch her breath, too. “What are you talking about? You don’t smoke.”

  “Then it must be secondhand smoke that’s got to me,” Toni gasped out. “Because my lungs feel like somebody’s old duffel bag. So, who’d you say that guy was?”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s the man Dale Huffington warned me about. Don’t you remember? I told you about Karl Studer, the guy whose son is incarcerated at the prison.”

  “Oh yeah, yeah,” said Toni, practically hyperventilating. “You think that was him?”

  “Probably. Studer’s property supposedly borders the cemetery.”

  “Hence his obvious fixation on boundaries,” said Toni.

  “To say nothing of his lack of hospitality. But you know what the really strange thing is? What’s really frightening?”

  “There’s more?” said Toni, finally straightening up.

  “Dale told me that Karl Studer hated Lester Drummond!”

  “Excuse me,” said Toni, “but I think everybody in town hated Lester Drummond.”

  “But everybody in town doesn’t own land close to where Drummond’s dead body was found!”

  “Jeez,” said Toni, suddenly catching on. “You don’t think Drummond was trespassing just like we were and . . . and Studer blew his top, do you? Like . . . kaboom!” She glanced back over her shoulder. “I mean, you saw that gun.”

  “I don’t know if he’s a killer,” said Suzanne. “But Studer struck me as one angry man.”

  * * *

  TWENTY minutes later they were back in the safety of the yellow brick buildings and sparkling lights of downtown Kindred. Toni, feeling much braver now, said, “Well, that was kapow crazy. Like being on a new ride at the State Fair—a cross between the Wild Mouse and House of Horrors.”

  “To say the least,” said Suzanne, as they coasted down Main Street past Kuyper’s Hardware and Albright’s Dry Cleaning.

  “You want to stop at Schmitt’s Bar and have a bump? I sure could use a little liquid refreshment.”

  “After our adventure in never-never land,” said Suzanne, “I think I’d rather just go home and wind down. Try to get a good night’s sleep. Don’t forget, tomorrow’s a big day. We’re hosting the Historical Society’s tea party.”

  “Aw, that’ll be a slam dunk,” said Toni.

  “Don’t let the Historical Society people hear you say that,” said Suzanne. “They’re expecting lavender, lace, and super luxe treatment. They really want us to knock ourselves out.”

  “And that’s exactly what we’ll do,” said Toni. “What we always do!”

  Suzanne drove down Maple Street, dropped Toni off at her apartment, and headed for home. Halfway there, her curiosity kicked in big-time, even though she was craving some zzzz’s by now, and she took a short detour past Lester Drummond’s house. It was a nice-looking, white Cape Cod–style home set on a corner lot and surrounded by a dozen towering blue black pines.

  As she slowed down, Suzanne could see that lights burned brightly in the downstairs windows. Was Deanna Drummond in there? If so, what was she doing? Sitting there mourning her dead husband? Or something else?

  Suzanne was tempted to park her car in the shadows, tiptoe up to a side window, and venture a quick peek. But something inside her said no. There’d been enough strangeness and drama for one night, enough skulking through the dark.

  As Suzanne rounded a corner and headed down her own street, lights suddenly blazed behind her. Temporarily blinded, she saw that a car had nosed right up to her rear bumper. As she turned into her driveway and pulled up to her garage door, she held her breath, wondering who in the world it could be. Then she glanced in her rearview mirror and recognized a familiar blue BMW.

  Sam! Whew.

  She jumped out of her car and ran to greet him. “Hey, you got your car fixed. What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “I’m here on official business,” said Sam. He opened his arms and Suzanne stepped happily into them.

  “What’s kind of business is that?”

  “Neighborhood watch.” His cheeks dimpled. “I’ve been watching for you.”

  “In that case, you better come in.”

  They walked, arm in arm, into her home, and Suzanne finally found herself relaxing after all she’d been through. Baxter and Scruff, roused from their slumber, were sleepy but interested. The dogs circled them, lazy and stiff-legged, as Suzanne and Sam pushed their way through the entryway and into the kitchen.

  “I’ve got news,” Suzanne told him as she plunked her bag on the counter and kicked off her shoes. Being back in her kitchen, the heart of her house, made her feel safe and secure. She was so glad to be away from that cemetery! And it didn’t hurt that Sam was with her, too.

  “I’ve got news, too,” said Sam, as he helped Suzanne out of her jacket. “You want me to open a bottle of wine?”

  “I’m not sure I’m up to wine tonight,” said Suzanne. “But I could definitely brew a pot of tea.”

  “Tea,” said Sam. “That sounds rather enchanting. What kind of tea?”

  Suzanne glanced at her kitchen clock, a Felix the Cat clock with ticktocking tail and eyes. Felix said it was quarter after ten and getting near bedtime. “I’m thinking a nice chamomile.”

  “What magic will that golden elixir work?” asked Sam. “Besides being tasty?”

  “It should make you feel relaxed and a little sleepy.”

  Sam tilted his head and made a mock snorin
g sound. “Okay, count me in.”

  Suzanne washed her hands at the sink, trying once and for all to shake off tonight’s strangeness. Then she filled her teakettle with water and set it on the stove to heat. She grabbed a tin of chamomile tea, a small yellow teapot, and two matching teacups.

  “So fancy,” said Sam appreciatively.

  Suzanne raised an eyebrow as she measured out her tea. “Would you rather have a paper cup with a snap-on lid?”

  “No, I meant that this is all very nice . . . homey. You have to remember, I’m a single guy. Living alone. A tray of Lean Cuisine on a place mat is my idea of formality.”

  She smiled to herself. Maybe one of these days we’re going to have to do something about that.

  Once the tea was brewed, Suzanne placed everything on a silver tray and pointed the way to the living room.

  “I have a feeling there’s something you want to tell me,” she said, glancing at him sideways. They sat down on the couch and she poured him a cup of tea.

  “You first,” said Sam. He took a sip of tea, swallowed hard, and managed to choke out the word, “Good.” What he really meant was, “Hot!”

  “You know that Toni and I went to the candlelight walk tonight,” Suzanne began. It was a statement, not a question.

  “Up at the cemetery,” said Sam.

  “Well, it was not without incident,” Suzanne said as she poured a cup for herself.

  Sam leaned forward, interested. “What happened? Tell me.”

  “Let’s see,” said Suzanne. “Where should I start? First we were accosted by that sleazeball Allan Sharp, who was practically chortling over Drummond’s demise.”

  “Lovely fellow. Always the town charmer.”

  “Then,” said Suzanne, “we stumbled across the very same grave where we found Lester Drummond the other day . . .”

  “I’m assuming the grave had been filled in?”

  “Yes, but there was a note stuck on top.”

  “A note? What did it say?”

  Suzanne was just about to take a sip of tea herself when she stopped and looked at him. “What makes you so sure we read the note?”