Bedeviled Eggs (20 page)

“You like?” asked
Petra. She was just adding brown-and-gold-frosted petit fours to the top tier,
squidging them
next to the
hazelnut scones.

“Incredible,” said
Suzanne. Really, Petra had outdone herself once again. With the top tier
holding the sugar goodies, the middle tier displayed a heroic assortment of
tea sandwiches. There
were chicken salad with toasted almonds, roast beef and cheddar cheese, and chopped
pineapple with cream cheese. The bottom tier held more savories. Miniature
mushroom quiches, toasted ham roll-
ups, and tarragon and tuna on crostini.

“Plus we’ve
got pear butter for the scones,” said Toni,
“as well as Devonshire cream.”

“Good for a sugar
buzz.” Suzanne grinned. She hesi
tated. “So, should we take them out? I think our ladies
are
ready to begin.”

“Wait, wait!” said
Petra. She grabbed a small wooden tray filled with pink and purple edible
flowers. “Can’t forget these!” She pinched the buds between her fingers and
poked them in wherever there was room.

“As if
our guests won’t have enough to eat already,” said
Toni.

When the
trays were delivered to the tables they proved to be an enormous success. With
Suzanne, Toni, and Petra receiving applause, as well as whispered thank-yous,
and
more
than a few giggles, kisses, and solemn words of
thanks.

Just as
Suzanne was carrying a pot of Formosan oolong
to a table, a sensuous, husky
voice called out, “Suzanne.”

Suzanne
spun around and saw Paula Patterson from
Radio WLGN calling to her. “Paula,
great to see you.” Su
zanne moved quickly over to Paula’s table.

“Suzanne,” said
Paula, “would you do me a favor?”

Suzanne began to reach
for the teapot nearest Paula. “Of
course, what can I... ?”

“You,
darling,” said Paula. “Would you consider filling
in for me this Saturday morning?”

“Filling in for you,”
Suzanne repeated. Then her eyes
widened and she squawked, “You mean on air?”

“Just for an hour,”
said Paula. She was a languid, long
haired blond who sounded as interesting as she
looked.
“My
Friends and
Neighbors
show.”

“Wha... why would I
want to do that?” asked Suzanne.

Paula grabbed her
hand. “Because you’re so fun and
spunky. And after reading all those tea columns you
wrote
for
the
Bugle
I got supremely jealous. I thought to myself, I
just have to invite
Suzanne on to be a guest DJ.”

“I can’t be a DJ,”
Suzanne sputtered.

Paula
gave another throaty laugh. “Sure you can, dar
ling.”

“For one thing, I don’t
know the first thing about how to run a control board,” Suzanne protested. “There
are buttons
to push and
headsets to wear and ...”

“That’s why we have a
producer,” said Paula. “A lovely
and very helpful man by the name of Wiley VonBank. He
can teach you
everything you need to know in about five
minutes flat.”

Suzanne was far from
convinced. “But what would I
say?
What would I talk about?”

“Just be yourself,”
said Paula. ‘Talk about recipes, talk
about tea. Take call-ins from listeners. That’s
what the
show
is really about anyway.” Paula gave Suzanne a sideways look. “Of course, there’d
be plenty of opportunity to
shamelessly plug the Cackleberry Club, too.”

That caught Suzanne’s
attention. “Really? And the Quilt
Trail?”

Paula nodded.

“And my
big Halloween party this Sunday night?”
Or
am I pushing it?

Paula lifted her
shoulders in a shrug. “Sure, why not.”

“I suppose I could
give it a shot.” Just like imported dark
chocolate, it was too tempting
for Suzanne to turn down.

“Perfect,” said
Paula. “It’s settled then.”

Suzanne edged away,
wondering how she’d ever be able
to fill an entire hour with idle chitchat. On the other
hand,
she
and Toni spent hours in idle chitchat. So maybe...

“Everyone!” said
Petra, stepping to the center of the
room and immediately commanding their guests’
atten
tion.
“I’d like to introduce Arthur Bunch, the director of
the Logan County Historical
Society.” There was polite ap
plause, and then Petra continued. “Arthur has graciously
agreed to
tell us a little about the historical society, our exciting Quilt Trail event,
and the society’s collection of
over
one hundred antique quilts.”

Then Arthur stepped
to the center of the room, ducked
his head, and began his talk.

“How long is he going
to drone on, anyway?” Toni
asked. She and Suzanne were sitting in the kitchen,
picking
away
at a plate of leftover scones, slathering on altogether too many calories’
worth of Devonshire cream.

“Probably
twenty minutes or so,” said Suzanne. “You’re
not interested in quilts?”

Toni shrugged. “Only
when they’re on my bed, keeping
me
all warm and snuggy.”

“Such an
old-fashioned gal,” Suzanne chided. “Dedi
cated to the home arts.”

“Hey,” said Toni, “I’m
into home arts. Don’t I got a pic
ture above my bed? In my home?”

“A photo of George
Clooney cut from the pages of
In-
Style
magazine doesn’t count.”

Toni gave a slow
wink. “It counts for me, cookie.”

When
the applause sounded that marked the end of Ar
thur Bunch’s talk, Suzanne
propelled herself back out to
the
cafe

“I just want to
remind everyone,” she said, “we have
Quilt Trail brochures in case you want to take the
tour. Plus
there
are some gorgeous quilt squares for sale in the Knit
ting Nest and a nice selection of
quilting books in the Book
Nook.”

Suzanne quickly made
the rounds of each table, handing
out Quilt Trail brochures, then retired to the
Book Nook
where
she met up with Bunch, who was beaming.

“I think my talk went
exceedingly well,” said Bunch.

“Couldn’t
have gone better,” Suzanne agreed. “Do you
know ... how is the Quilt Trail going?”

“So far
so good,” said Bunch, then grimaced. “As long
as nobody dwells on last night’s
tragic incident.”

“Have the sites
reported a lot of visitors?” Suzanne
asked, trying to skip over Bunch’s mention of
last night.
The less said the
better.

“The
sites that have reported in are quite pleased,” said Bunch. “Of course, the
real test will be this weekend.”

“For sure,” said
Suzanne, deciding this might be the per
fect time to pass out a few of
her specially designed recipe
bookmarks. Except when she reached for them, the too-tall
pile she had stacked on the counter suddenly collapsed and
slid all over the place.

“Let me help,” said
Bunch, scrambling to pick up the
fluttering cards, his knees popping from the effort of
bend
ing down.

“Got too much going
on,” Suzanne muttered.

“A busy
time,” agreed Bunch. “The Quilt Trail, your tea
today...”

“Halloween on Sunday,”
said Suzanne.

“The upcoming
election,” Bunch added.

Now it was Suzanne’s
turn to make a face.

“I hate the idea that
Mayor Mobley’s running unop
posed,” she told Bunch. “And poor Sheriff Doogie has
to contend with Bob
Senander.” She paused, tamping her
cards into a neat stack. “I worry that if Doogie
doesn’t
solve
these two crimes, he might not get reelected.”

Arthur Bunch looked
suddenly serious. “Come No
vember second, we’re going to have a couple of hotly con
tested races on our
hands. You realize, one group in town is
scrambling to find another
mayoral candidate.”

“Seriously?” said
Suzanne. “Who have they got in
mind?”

Bunch narrowed his
eyes, thinking. “I’ve heard Gene
Gandle’s
name mentioned.”

“Say what?” said
Suzanne, shaking her head. “The re
porter at the
Bugle!
Whoa. Couldn’t he
simply slant the
media in his
favor?”

“Maybe,” said Bunch. “You
know, I’ve been asked to be
one of the election judges this year, so I’m watching
this
whole
thing fairly closely. Judges are tasked with making sure everything’s fair and
square, that nobody gets into the

voting booths to
upset things, that everyone gets a chance to vote on election day, and that
ballots are handled properly.”

“Thank goodness for that,” said Suzanne,
thinking that
Bunch would probably be
diligent to a fault. Then she said,
“So,
are voting booths and ballots and things usually han
dled properly?”

Bunch gave a wry grin. “That’s
what I’m about to find out.”

But Suzanne was only half listening to his
answer. Because she was suddenly picturing the blue key card that Doogie had
found in her backyard. The one he’d told her probably belonged to the
courthouse.

Could
the key card somehow be related to the election?
After all, the voting booths are stored in
city hall.

It was an intriguing
thought. And so Suzanne asked her
self the next logical question.

Could
someone have snuck in to tamper with the voting machines? And then something
went wrong?

Maybe it wasn’t possible to rig the machine
so Mobley would come up as winner. So then ... this person, the killer,
presumably, had resorted to murder?

And could this
someone be Allan Sharp
—
or even Mob
ley himself?

“How are you guys
doing tonight?” Suzanne asked.

Mocha Gent lifted his
head and peered over the gate of his box stall. Next door to him, his neighbor
Grommet the mule did the same thing. An even bigger guy, but awfully
sweet natured.

“Who wants to go for a
ride?” she asked.

Grommet swished his
tail and gave a rough stomp. Then he turned his broad gray back on Suzanne and
went back to
sifting through tasty tendrils of alfalfa in his hayrack. Rid
ing? A saddle on his back? Excuse me?

“Looks like it’s just
you and me,” said Suzanne. She
stood on her tiptoes to put Mocha’s bridle on, then led
him
out
of his stall. She adjusted the leather strap behind his
ears, then slid her
hand down the full length of the horse’s
neck. Slipping a
red-and-black-striped saddle blanket on
his wide back, Suzanne followed
up with a well-worn
mahogany brown saddle that seemed to gleam against his
chestnut coat. The
aged leather squeaked appealingly as
Suzanne and Mocha played their little game of
cinch-up. She pulling the cinch tight, while he rapidly sucked in air, trying
to expand his stomach. Finally, when a happy state of detente had been
achieved, Suzanne fastened the cinch
and led him outside.

She stood for a few
moments in the farmyard, gazing at the white clapboard farmhouse where the
Ducovnys lived.
Light spilled from its windows making it look cozy and in
viting, a perfect
little rural Kodak moment. Then Suzanne
lifted her gaze to the blue
black night sky where a lopsided
white moon glowed on the horizon, looking like a ripe
hon
eydew
melon that was missing a slice. By Halloween that moon would be full. The
hunter’s moon. A portent of win
ter
and freezing temps.

Placing her left foot
in the stirrup, Suzanne sprang onto
the horse’s back and settled in comfortably. Mocha
was a
big
sweetheart of a beast who loved chugging along a trail or cantering through an
open field. Tonight there was just
enough time for a quick ride around the perimeter
of Su
zanne’s
fields. After all, she still had places to go, people
to see.