Bedeviled Eggs (23 page)

Toni stared at Suzanne
for a long moment, then a wry smile lit her face. “That
would
be
something. Us working
the
stage at Hoobly’s!”

“Kit’s a good kid,”
said Suzanne. “I just hope she starts
to see the upside of working a regular day job
and changes
her mind about dancing.” They’d reached her car and Suzanne walked
around to the street side, ready to climb in.

“It’s nice you call
it dancing,” observed Toni, “instead
of stripping. You’re always so ladylike and ...”
Her words were chopped off as a rattling pickup truck suddenly ca
reened out of nowhere!

“Suzanne! Watch out!”
Toni screamed, as the beater
bore down upon her, almost clipping the back end of Su
zanne’s Taurus.

Then Mike O’Dell
jumped from his truck, eyes blaz
ing and his face twitchy with anger. “You crazy witch!”
he screamed at Suzanne. “You sicced the sheriff on me!”

Shocked beyond belief,
Suzanne took a step backward
just as a brave Toni barreled around the front of the car
and flung herself at O’Dell. “What are you
talking
about?” Toni
demanded.

O’Dell ignored Toni
completely. She was nothing more
than a buzzing gnat to him as he continued his tirade at
Su
zanne.
“You think just because a man has a crossbow that
makes him a killer!”

Suzanne stepped out
from behind Toni. “This is neither
the time nor the...”

But Mike
O’Dell was just getting started. “And then you
think I’d go and kill a
deputy!
Are you crazy!” Tiny bits of
spittle flew from his mouth like a rabid dog. “You take
me
for some kind of fool?”

Suzanne
threw back her shoulders and held up a hand. “Now just back off, mister!” she
told him, in a stern voice.

“I oughta sue you for
slander!” O’Dell shrilled. “For
conjuring up a crazy pack of lies!” He turned on Toni
now.
“And
you! Spreading rumors and lies about Sasha. You’re
just jealous! Jealous your own
husband would rather watch
an exotic dancer than spend an evening with you!”

“Enough!” Suzanne
yelled. A small crowd of people had
begun to gather on the sidewalk, transfixed by the
shouting
match that was taking
place.

Suddenly
Sheriff Doogie’s voice echoed from across
the street. “Hey!” he shouted,
his voice sounding like
a bullhorn. “O’Dell! What the Sam Hill are you up to?”
Then Doogie came
steamrolling across the street, his face flushed pink and his anger palpable as
he planted himself
directly in front of Mike O’Dell. He was so close, Suzanne
noted, that the wide
brim of Doogie’s Smokey Bear hat
nearly
poked O’Dell in the eye.

“What’s
your beef?” Doogie asked, putting hands on
both hips.

Mike O’Dell didn’t
back down and he didn’t bat an
eye. “And
you,
Sheriff! I sure don’t appreciate
you poking
around
my farm or asking snide questions all over town,
neither. Because I didn’t
do
anything!”

“You’re
disturbing the peace right now,” said Doogie, sounding amazingly calm. “Harassing
two citizens.”

“I got a right to say
my piece,” snarled O’Dell.

“Not right now you
don’t,” Doogie warned. “Not in
front of a church when a man’s being buried.”

“You gonna arrest me?”
O’Dell huffed.

That did it for
Doogie. He pulled himself to his full
height, hitched up his utility belt, and
thundered, “This is
your final warning, O’Dell! One more uncivil word, grunt,
or snort and I’ll run you in!”

Hate
blazed in O’Dell’s eyes, but he kept his lips pressed
firmly together. He shot one
final, withering, dagger-filled glance at Suzanne, then careened away and
climbed back
into his clunker. There was a high-pitched scream as his
engine revved, then O’Dell
sped away in a cloud of oil.

“That went well,” said
Suzanne, half gagging from the
exhaust fumes O’Dell’s car had spit out. “We all kept
calm
and resolved our issues.”

“Suzanne.” Doogie
waved a warning forefinger in front
of her face. “Don’t start with the sarcasm.” Then
he turned
and clumped away.

“Zowie,” said Toni, “I
wish I could get two men to fight
over me like that.”

“Yeah,” said Suzanne,
feeling worn out from all the ten
sion, “it’s a rare treat.”

“Seriously,” said
Toni, “are you okay?”

“No harm done, but it
looks like we attracted quite an
audience.”

“Aw,” said Toni,
glancing back at the hastily dispersing
crowd, “they’re pretty much
wandering off now.”

But
Suzanne did notice Allan Sharp watching them
from a distance, a slight smile
pasted on his oily face.

Which made her
wonder. Was Sharp somehow involved
in these two murders? Had he been delighted by
her con
frontation
with Mike O’Dell? Had he viewed it as a possible
misdirection that would shift
the investigation away from
him? And how could she go about prying information—
any information—from Allan Sharp?

“Toni,” said Suzanne. “I
have to make a quick stop. Can
you
get a ride to the Cackleberry Club?”

“Sure,” said Toni. “No
problem.”

Suzanne
sped down Main Street, practically running a
red light in the
process. She sat at the light, tapping her fin
gers against the wheel, impatient
to reach city hall. Before
she headed for the Cackleberry Club to help with the
lunch
crowd
and this afternoon’s Mystery Tea, she wanted to put
her plan into action.

Easing her way into a
parking spot outside the large
sandstone building, Suzanne bolted up the steps to city
hall. Her patent
leather heels clicked and clacked at they hit
the marble steps, then she was
striding purposefully down
a cavernous hallway. She passed the DMV office and License
Bureau. Then she skidded past Parks and Recreation
and the City Planner’s office,
ending up at the reception
area, which for some odd reason, was located at the far
end
of the building.

An old-fashioned,
sixteen-foot-wide wooden counter
separated inquisitive visitors, also known as
potentially
angry citizens, from city workers. An original artifact to the
old building, the
counter would probably one day end up
in Arthur Bunch’s collection. For now, it merely
served as
a
barrier that helped contain the mounting stacks of paperwork that sat on every
employee’s desk. The never-ending
pieces of paper crept out of dozens of wooden
filing cabinets and tall stacks of paper rested between cramped desks
and copier machines.
Suzanne wondered where all the
computers were, then spotted one, buried beneath mounds
of paper.

She cleared her
throat. “Excuse me?”

Though there were six
desks, only one clerk was work
ing behind the counter. The woman turned, gave a perfunc
tory smile, and came
up to greet her. “Help you?” she said,
grabbing for a bottle of Purell
on the counter and depress
ing the pump to give herself a good squirt. She looked
wary, as if Suzanne
might be there to protest one of the
inevitable property tax hikes.

Suzanne
reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a key card, the one she’d
painstakingly painted blue last
night. She flashed it quickly, then closed her hand
around it.

“I understand someone
might have lost a key card?” she said, trying to sound casual, though her heart
was pumping
a few beats
faster.

“I’m not sure,” the
woman said, caution shading her
voice, as she continued to rub her hands together.

Like a
magician once again revealing an important card,
Suzanne tapped the key card
against the battered wooden counter. “Has one been reported missing? Because I
found
this, and I’m pretty
sure it’s from here.”

The woman
shrugged. “Maybe. I
might
have heard
something about it.”

“Do you know who could
have lost it?” Suzanne asked.

The woman glanced
about furtively. “I hate to get any
one in trouble.”

“Listen,” said
Suzanne, trying to look sincere, “I’m not
trying to get anyone in trouble,
I’m just trying to be a good
citizen.”

The clerk
reached for the key card. “Give it to me and
I’ll for sure ask around.”

Suzanne whisked the
key card back into her pocket.
“That’s okay, I don’t mind hanging on to it. Just call
me,
okay? If one’s reported
missing?”

The clerk looked
slightly suspicious as she grabbed a
pen and paper. “And your name is ... ?”

“I’m Suzanne. Suzanne
at the Cackleberry Club.”

The
chalkboard said it all, “Basic breakfast today—daily
specials cancelled
because of funeral. God bless.”

No further
explanation was needed. Pretty much everyone in town knew that Chuck Peebler
had been buried this
morning. They were also hip to the fact that he’d been
mur
dered
in the Cackleberry Club’s backyard. And if all those juicy details had somehow
eluded them, the
Bugle’s
front
page headline and inside sidebar stories
explained it all in
exaggerated
detail.

“Doggone that Gene,”
said Suzanne. Toni had shoved
the newspaper into her hands the minute she’d walked in
the back door and now
she was munching a piece of whole
wheat toast while fuming and muttering over the
story.

“It’s not
that
bad,
is it?” Petra asked hopefully. She was standing at her prep table, flouring a
big ball of dough and
kneading it with her capable hands. Toni was running in
and out of the cafe,
delivering the last of the breakfasts and
picking up dirty dishes.

“Excuse me,” said Suzanne,
“but did you see this head
line?” She grappled with the pages and held them up.” ‘The
Butchery
Behind the Bake Shop: An Expose of Murder in
a Small Town.’”

“Oh dear,” said Petra,
“that does sound awful.”

“Smacks
of a pulp fiction title,” Suzanne snorted. “Gene
must be going for the Pulitzer.”

“Or a movie deal,”
said Toni, popping into the kitchen again. “I can’t believe Laura Benchley
would let him sen
sationalize
the two murders like that.”

“Oh,” said Petra. “Laura’s
out of town this week.”

“Which means Gene’s in
charge,” said Suzanne. “Lucky
us this was the one week he got to play both muckraker
and
editor.”

“I don’t
know,” said Toni, “I thought Gene made it all
sound pretty dang exciting.”

Suzanne
shook her head. “Gene made it sound like
we’re the murder capital of the world.”

“On the bright side,
if there
is
a bright side,” said Petra,
“people are still flocking here
like crazy. We were pretty
much
full for breakfast.”

Suzanne glanced up. “How
did that go? I mean, with Kit
helping
out?”

“Good,” said Petra,
giving her dough a gentle punch.
“A few folks were disappointed we didn’t offer our usual
Foggy
Morning Soufflé, but in the end they settled for
scrambled eggs and toast.”

“And Kit?”
Suzanne asked. Rolling the paper up, she
set it down with a smack, then
grabbed a blue-and-white-
pinstripe apron and tied it around her waist.

“She did
great,” said Petra, as she maneuvered her rolling pin across her dough, rolling
it out to about a one-inch thick
ness. “That girl has a real talent for dealing with
people.”

“You can say that
again.” Toni smirked.

“Be
nice,” cautioned Suzanne. “And how was she
dressed?” Suzanne sincerely hoped
Kit hadn’t come bounc
ing in wearing Daisy Dukes and a halter top.