Doogie gazed at her sharply. “No. Why?”
“I was just wondering if you had any further impression of her,” said Suzanne.
“And had any idea if she intends to hang around town?” Toni said.
“I believe she does,” said Doogie. “Although it’s kind of strange since she doesn’t really know anyone.” He thought for a few moments. “Actually, her relationship with Drummond seemed a little strange, too.”
“Maybe they had an open marriage,” Suzanne mused.
“And now they’ve got an open casket,” said Toni.
* * *
SUZANNE and Toni hung around for a few more minutes, talking to Molly Grabowski, the woman who supervised the 911 responders at the Law Enforcement Center. She was planning a bridal shower tea for her daughter and wanted to know if Suzanne and the ladies could cater it. Then they got caught up in talking cake decorating and menus and, before they knew it, slumber room two had pretty much emptied out.
“Oops, time to go,” said Molly, glancing around.
“Us, too,” said Suzanne. “We stayed a lot longer than we intended.”
“Call me with that estimate,” said Molly as she dashed out the door ahead of them.
Suzanne and Toni followed the last of the crowd out into the anteroom of the funeral home.
“I’m gonna take one of these memorial cards,” said Toni, plucking a card from a metal rack. “Don’t know why . . .”
“Souvenir?” said Suzanne, lifting a brow.
“That does sound kind of creepy,” said Toni. “Maybe I’ll just . . . put it back.”
They pushed their way out the door and were instantly pelted with a cold drizzle.
“This weather is getting monotonous,” said Toni.
“Tell me about it,” said Suzanne.
“I was gonna plant some . . .” Toni suddenly stopped short and plucked at Suzanne’s sleeve. “Whoa, take a gander at that!”
Suzanne peered through the rain and suddenly saw Deanna Drummond sliding into Boots Wagner’s little red car. He waited until she was settled in the passenger seat, then closed the door carefully and scooted around to the other side.
“What’s that about?” wondered Toni.
“I don’t know,” said Suzanne. “But why is it I get an uneasy feeling about that woman?”
“Maybe because she killed her husband?” said Toni. “Look at her, all flirty and cute in her little lounge lizard dress.” She stuck an index finger up to her open mouth and made a poking motion. “Makes me want to gag.”
“Where do you suppose the two of them are going?” Suzanne wondered.
“Out for a drink?” said Toni. “Or over to Drummond’s house?”
“Said the spider to the fly?” said Suzanne.
Toni grinned wickedly. “Hey, you wanna follow them and see if that’s where they end up?”
Suzanne thought for a few moments. Wondering about Deanna Drummond, finding it strange that she was suddenly chummy with Boots Wagner. Or was she? Maybe he was just being kind to her. Or maybe she was flirting with him, the same way she’d flirted with Sheriff Doogie. Maybe Deanna Drummond was just that kind of woman. A tease.
“Well?” said Toni. “I’m waiting for an answer.”
“Okay,” said Suzanne, her curiosity suddenly kicking in. “But let’s just do a drive-by. Nothing tricky.” Toni had roped her into secret missions before—and they’d never ended well.
CHAPTER 20
WITHIN minutes they were back in Suzanne’s car, driving over to Lester Drummond’s house in the northern part of town. The pavement hissed beneath her tires as they sped along well-kept streets on a reconnaissance mission that Suzanne knew—right down to the tips of her pink painted toenails—had all the makings of a disaster with a capital D.
What made me say yes to this knuckle-brained idea? she wondered. Who do I think I am, Nancy Drew for the new millennium? Trixie Belden? Don’t I have my hands full with everything else that’s going on?
She knew the answer was a resounding yes. Still, curiosity had sunk its talons into her. And she wondered—would Deanna Drummond be there? Would Boots Wagner be with her? What the heck were they doing together?
As Toni craned her neck from side to side, keeping her eyes peeled for Lord knows what, the two women cruised past block after block of homes. Some were stately Georgian-style homes replete with columns, some of the older ones were stark American Gothic, and a few were small, cute Queen Anne–style homes.
Finally they spotted the Drummond residence up ahead on the corner. Tonight, with rain sluicing down, his Cape Cod–style home seemed dark and foreboding while the blue black pines surrounding the house lent an ominous forested look.
“This is it,” Toni said in a whisper. “Pull over.”
Suzanne slid to a gentle stop at the curb, her lights splashing against the house. They sat there for a few moments, gazing at Drummond’s house. The front door was a slab of oak with just a tiny peephole of a window at the top. A large D was draped to the side, above a copper mailbox.
D for Drummond, Suzanne thought. Or maybe, she thought ruefully, it could stand for deceased. Or dead as a doornail. She shivered involuntarily. Now that they were here, she wasn’t sure what to do.
“Hmm . . .” said Toni. “The place looks dark as a tomb.”
“No lights on,” said Suzanne, “means nobody home.” Truth be told, she felt a little relieved.
“Guess not,” said Toni.
They sat there for another thirty seconds, eyeballing the dark house and the empty street. Literally, not a creature was stirring.
“They probably went for a drink somewhere,” said Toni.
“Or maybe just a talk,” said Suzanne.
She was about to put her car back in gear and take off when Toni said, “Hold up a minute.”
“Why? What?”
Toni suddenly thrust open the passenger door and jumped out. “I want to check something.”
“What are you doing?” Suzanne hissed, as a gush of rain rushed in.
With a smirk on her face, Toni leaned back in and said, “Aren’t you coming?”
Suzanne’s heart did a sudden flip-flop.
“I thought we’d have ourselves a little look-see,” Toni continued. “Peek in the windows, see what’s shakin’.”
“Toni, we can’t do that. Somebody might see us!”
“Hey, we’re just two neighbors worried sick about poor Deanna Drummond. I mean, even though they were divorced, Lester’s death must have come as a terrible shock to her.”
Suzanne blinked at her friend. “You scare me, you know?” she said. “You really do. You’re such a good liar.”
“I think it’s from watching so much TV,” said Toni. “You kind of pick up sneaky techniques on how to act and what to say. It’s amazing what you can absorb by osmosis, just sitting there like a blob on the couch.”
Suzanne looked concerned. “Toni, you don’t fib or playact when you’re at the Cackleberry Club, do you?”
Toni looked shocked. “No! Never!” Then: “If you’re coming, Suzanne, you better step on it!”
Suzanne felt slightly ridiculous as the two of them scampered across the damp grass. When they got within a few feet of the front porch, they jogged around the corner of the house and ducked into the shadows.
There, under cover of darkness, with damp bushes hiding any view from the street, they hesitated.
“What exactly are we doing?” Suzanne whispered.
In response, Toni grabbed her hand and pulled her toward a side window. “Let’s just look inside,” she whispered back.
The two of them crouched beneath the window, staring at each other. Then, like a pair of wide-eyed gophers peeking out of a hidey-hole, they popped their heads up and stared in the window. Inside, the house looked dark, empty, an
d completely devoid of people.
“Like I said before,” said Suzanne, “nobody home.”
“But that’s good,” purred Toni. Then, grabbing hold of the bottom of the window, she let out a small grunt and pushed with all her might. There was a small squeak and then the window rose a good three inches.
“This is so dangerous!” said Suzanne. But Toni was putting even more muscle into it now and had shoved the window up another ten inches.
Toni’s face took on a cunning look as she turned toward Suzanne. “What are we waiting for?” she said. “Let’s creepy crawl this joint.”
Suzanne’s heart was thudding in her ears. “You mean . . . go inside?”
“Sure, why not? Nobody’s home and I think I’m skinny enough to fit through that window.” She paused. “I think you’re skinny enough.”
“I can’t!” said Suzanne.
“Sure you can. Just hoist one leg over the windowsill and . . .”
“What if Sheriff Doogie drives by and sees us?” said Suzanne, working hard to keep her voice low. “Or one of his deputies? Driscoll or one of the other guys? They could have this house under surveillance, you know.”
“We’ll just say we saw suspicious activity and had to check it out.”
“But we’re the suspicious activity!” said Suzanne.
“They won’t know that,” said Toni. “They’ll just think we’re doing a good deed. Tell you what, lace your fingers together and give me a little boost. I’ll go in first.”
“Apparently the word ‘trespass’ means nothing to you,” said Suzanne before she did any lacing of fingers.
“Not in my vocabulary,” said Toni. “Now c’mon, boost me up!”
Suzanne let loose a sigh as she gave Toni her boost. Skinny Minnie that she was, Toni was up and over the windowsill faster than you could say “breaking and entering.”
“Now you,” said Toni, reaching a hand down for Suzanne.
Suzanne looked around, saw a small red garden gnome, and quickly put a foot on its pointy little head. Within moments, she was hoisted up, up, up, and suddenly, with only a couple of muffled thumps, found herself inside Drummond’s house.
Wide-eyed, their breath coming quicker now, the two of them looked around.
“Whoa,” said Toni. “This is some spiffed-up hacienda.”
And she was right. They’d landed in Drummond’s living room, a space dominated by tufted leather couches, a large chair covered in some kind of animal hide, and an enormous red lacquered coffee table. On the wall were oil paintings in Baroque frames and a Chinese coromandel screen.
“This guy lived like a plutocrat,” said Toni, impressed. “Or . . . was that the right word? Maybe some kind of Russian oligarch.”
“Whatever he was,” said Suzanne, “Drummond clearly had money.”
“You can afford this kind of stuff on a prison warden’s salary?” asked Toni.
“Apparently, yes,” said Suzanne. “Remember, Jasper Creek Prison is a for-profit prison. It’s privately operated, not a state-run institution.”
“Now we know where some of the profits landed,” said Toni.
And why Deanna Drummond is sniffing around, thought Suzanne.
Toni stuck a hand out and touched one of the paintings on the wall. “This is the real deal,” she said. “Not just some crap on a cracker paper poster.” Then, moving stealthily across the Oriental carpet, she disappeared into the darkened dining room.
“Where are you going?” Suzanne asked, her adrenaline pumping, her nerves jangling like crazy. But as her eyes became more and more accustomed to the low light, she saw that Toni was bent over a massive dining room table.
“Come take a gander at this,” called Toni.
“What?”
“There’s like bank statements and stuff.” Toni gave a low whistle. “I’d say Deanna Drummond’s been rummaging through Drummond’s personal papers.”
Suzanne dug in her purse and pulled out a Maglite. She aimed it at the table and switched it on.
“Ah,” said Toni. “Good girl. You’re in cat burglar mode.”
“What papers?” Suzanne asked, squinting.
Toni waved a hand over the dining room table. “Take a look at all this stuff.”
Suzanne did take a look. And saw that someone, probably Deanna Drummond, had been pawing through stacks of what must be Lester Drummond’s personal papers. Spread out on the table were his bank statements, 401(k) papers, life insurance policy, statements from Fidelity and Vanguard, and credit card bills of all kinds. Even property tax receipts had been tossed into the mix.
“What do you suppose she’s looking for?” asked Toni.
Suzanne thought for a few moments. “Maybe to see if she’s the beneficiary of some of his insurance policies? Or to see how much money he had stashed in his bank accounts and mutual funds?”
“Whoa!” said Toni. “You really think that’s it? That’s her motivation?”
“Well . . .” Suzanne was reluctant to look closely at the paperwork—it was, after all, Lester Drummond’s personal business. But, finally, driven by curiosity and suspicion, she sifted through the papers.
“You’re good at figuring this stuff out,” said Toni. “Because you’ve got business smarts.” She dug around on the table and grabbed one of the papers. “Maybe take a look at this life insurance policy?”
Just as Suzanne was about to shine her light on the paper, the front doorbell rang—a long, insistent buzz that made them practically jump out of their skin!
“Holy shitake!” Toni blurted in a harsh whisper. “Somebody’s here! Hit the deck!”
They dropped to the floor instantly, Suzanne snapping off her flashlight as she went down. Crouched on the hardwood floor, amidst a small nest of dust bunnies, Suzanne said, “This is crazy. We shouldn’t be here!”
So, of course, the doorbell rang again!
“Yee gads, that’s annoying,” Toni whispered.
“Never mind that,” said Suzanne. “We need to know who’s at the door! Or if they’ve got a key!”
“Well . . . heck,” said Toni. “I can go take a peek.”
“No!” Suzanne hissed. But she was too late.
Like a human inchworm, Toni slowly crawled her way through the dining room, across the living room rug, and over to one of the front windows. Then, hearing nothing further at the front door, she poked her head up for a split second. “Dang,” she said.
“Who is it?” Suzanne whispered from where she lay on the floor. “Is it Doogie? Or somebody else? Did you recognize them?”
“I kind of did,” said Toni. “I think it’s Mrs. Klingberg who works over at the Pick Quick . . . Doesn’t she live on this block?”
“Maybe,” whispered Suzanne. “The question is, what’s she doing here?”
“I’d say she’s carrying either a dirty bomb or a Tater Tot hotdish,” said Toni. She lifted her nose and sniffed the air. “Yup, probably Tater Tots.”
“For crying out loud . . .” Suzanne whispered. She’d known this crazy escapade would be a huge mistake. And now here she was, cowering in the dark, sweating bullets over a neighbor lady and her hotdish.
After what seemed like an eternity, the very charitable Mrs. Klingberg retreated with whatever she was carrying. Peeking out the front window together, Suzanne and Toni watched her go.
“Okay,” said Suzanne. “We’re outta here right now!”
“Wait!” pleaded Toni. “You gotta look at that insurance policy. It could be, you know, evidence!”
“Evidence of what?” said Suzanne. She was ready to strangle Toni.
“Of greed or murder or who knows what!” said Toni.
Every brain cell pinging in her head warned her not to do it, but Suzanne snapped on her flashlight and crept back to take a final look through the papers. After she’d perused
a half dozen or so documents, she said, “Yes, I think Deanna Drummond is definitely the beneficiary.”
“Told you so!” said Toni. “What else did you find?”
“There’s lots of personal stuff here, too,” said Suzanne. “Cards, notes, that kind of thing.” She picked up an envelope with Deanna’s name scrawled on it and pulled out a square card. It was a personal note that Drummond had written, but, for whatever reason, hadn’t mailed. As Suzanne scanned it, she saw that it was a birthday note, wishing Deanna a happy day. He closed with the words, Good night, Gracie, the same as the famous George Burns and Gracie Allen end-of-show gag.
“What’s it say?” asked Toni.
“Nothing much,” said Suzanne. But the word “Gracie” pulled at her, did a tippy-tap at her memory bank. Could that be Drummond’s pet name for his ex-wife? Okay, maybe. Then could that account for the G on the note that was left on Drummond’s grave in the cemetery? If it was, then . . . holy cow!
“Suzanne, you’re right,” Toni said suddenly. “We gotta get out of here! We’ve been in here forever and pretty soon our luck’s going to run out!
They tiptoed back to the window and Toni hopped out first. “Now you,” she said. “Just kind of slither down and I’ll catch you.”
But just as Suzanne landed on top of a juniper bush, her cell phone buzzed.
“Oh no!” said Toni, glancing around.
Suzanne fumbled for the phone to silence it. “What if it’s Doogie calling to check up?” she whispered excitedly to Toni. “What if he’s got some crazy sixth sense and knows we’re messing around where we shouldn’t be?”
“Doogie’s not that intuitive,” said Toni. “Just answer the phone.”
“Hello?” Suzanne warbled into her phone.
It was Sam.
“Oh my gosh,” said Suzanne, hugely relieved. “Hi there. We thought maybe . . .” She suddenly stopped and listened. He was talking low and urgently to her, saying words like “accident” and “injury.”
“Wait a minute,” said Suzanne. “Say that again. I didn’t quite catch . . . sideswiped?”
Eggs in a Casket (A Cackleberry Club Mystery) Page 21
