Bedeviled Eggs (32 page)

Suzanne was surprised
at the dignity and gentleness of
Doogie’s tribute. But when he began to relate a story
about
Wilbur
going on patrol, Doogie’s voice turned hoarse and
papery, and he began to choke.

Reverend Falk
improvised expertly. He thanked Doo
gie for sharing his fine words and memories, then
gazed
out
over the crowd of mourners, requested that everyone kindly stand, and launched
into the Lord’s Prayer.

That was pretty much
the signal that the service had
concluded. The organist played “Dust in the Wind,” which
had
apparently been one of Wilbur’s favorite songs. The pallbearers snapped to
attention and wheeled the coffin
down the aisle and out into the thin October sunlight.

“So sad,” said Petra,
blotting at her eyes. “I just can’t
imagine the agony Winnie is going through.”
Winnie was
Wilbur’s mama.

Suzanne reached out
and grabbed Petra’s hand, then
Toni put one of her hands on top of theirs. Huddled
together
like
that, they listened to the music and watched the family shuffle past, followed
by at least fifty men in uniform.

Doogie
was standing by his cruiser when Suzanne walked
up to him. His gray eyes looked
tired and sad, but his
shoulders were back and there was some pride in his car
riage. He knew he’d be
leading the funeral procession up to Resurrection Cemetery where Wilbur would
be laid to rest.

“It was a wonderful
service,” Suzanne said, quietly.

“He deserved it,”
Doogie responded.

“You’re leading the
procession?”

Doogie
nodded. “We’re even doing a twenty-one-gun
salute.”

“I think Wilbur would
be pleased,” said Suzanne.

“The day after he was
murdered,” said Doogie, “I issued
a Sheriff’s Commendation.”

“That was nice of
you.”

Doogie shook his
head. “What would really be nice is if
I could find his doggone killer.”

“Sheriff,” said
Suzanne, “we need to talk.”

Doogie
nodded. “I hear you. I got your message about the fighting dogs. I plan to
follow up on that right away.
According to my calculations, that dog kennel is
something
like
two miles as the crow flies from where Wilbur was
killed.”

“I thought it might be
close,” said Suzanne. “But we
also need to talk about my little foray into Chuck
Peebler’s
house.”

Doogie’s eyes swept
the crowd, then he dropped his
voice. “I figured if you found anything, you’d let me
know.”

“I’m letting you
know.’’

Surprise registered
on Doogie’s face. “Hah?” Clearly he
hadn’t expected her to find anything at all.

“On the mirror in
Peebler’s bedroom,” said Suzanne. “I
found a yellow Post-it note.”

Doogie stared at her
more intently. “Okay.”

“The word
Tortuga
was
scrawled on it”

Now the sheriff just
looked confused.

“Tortuga,” Suzanne
repeated. ‘It means turtle in Span
ish. You didn’t see the note when you were
sifting through
his house.”

Doogie canted his
head. “Apparently not.”

Suzanne stared at
him. She wasn’t sure how she’d ex
pected him to react. Praise her for her eagle eye
observa
tion
and catlike skills? Pat her on the back for a job well
done? Or just stare with
quizzical stoicism.

“Tortuga,” Doogie
said, finally, shifting his weight from
one leg to the other. “I gotta
tell you, in the scheme of
things, it doesn’t exactly unlock any big mysteries for
me.”

“Maybe not,” said
Suzanne, as she felt heat rush to her
face. “But it’s what I’ve got, okay?”

Today
was also the morning Suzanne filled in at radio sta
tion WLGN.

“Amazing,” said
Suzanne, gazing at her reflection in the
glass partition that separated
her radio booth from the con
trol room. “I look like a real DJ.” Then she glanced down
at a sound board with hundreds of dials and gauges. “Uh-oh.”

“Now all you have to
do is act like one,” Wiley Von-
Bank, the engineer, told her. He stood next to her,
adjusting
levels,
pointing out the various call buttons and dials.

“Crap “ said Suzanne, “I
knew there was a catch.”

“And when we go live
in a few minutes,” said Wiley,
“crap
may not be the best word to use
with our callers.”

“Gotcha. So what
exactly do I do?”

Wiley got
down to business and gave Suzanne a quick
lesson about the board, the
various dials, and what buttons
to
push.

“And
remember,” said Wiley, “broadcast tends to de
press the emotions, so you need
to be extra bright with your
speech. Try to project over-the-top enthusiasm.”

“Enthusiasm,” Suzanne
repeated, a look of sublime
panic
on her face.

“Don’t worry so much,”
Wiley told her. “I’ll do the lead-in and control most of the broadcast from the
stu
dio
next door. If there’s anything else you need to push or
switch, I’ll let you
know. But basically, job number one is

to sit in that chair,
be chatty and friendly, talk to callers, and
not touch your cans.”

“Watch it!” said
Suzanne.

“No,” Wiley said with
a laugh, “your headphones. You
gotta wear ‘em so I can talk to you. Get inside your
head.”

“Like I said, watch
it.”

“One minute,” said
Wiley. Returning to his studio, he
smiled at her through the glass, then pulled his
microphone close to his mouth. “This is WLGN, your good neighbor in
Logan County. It’s
partly cloudy right now, but we’re hop
ing the sun will peep through.
Sixty-one degrees in beau
tiful downtown Kindred, sixty-three over in Jessup. And
time, once again, for
Friends and Neighbors.”

Wiley hit a button
and produced a ten-second spurt of upbeat music that was a cross between salsa
and country, then he pointed directly at Suzanne, giving her the cue to
jump in.

Suzanne took a deep
breath, then went with the opening she’d practiced all morning... “Good
mornnnnnning,
Logan County!”

With any luck, she figured
she sounded like a passable
morning
DJ.

“This is Suzanne Dietz,”
she said, trying to sound
bright, chirpy, and pitch-perfect, “filling in for the
fantastic and vacationing Paula Patterson on your favorite Saturday
morning talk show,
Friends
and Neighbors.
As always,
we’ll chat about whatever’s on your mind or whatever’s
happening around our
lovely county. Plus, I’d like to share
a recipe or two from the
Cackleberry Club. And in case you
don’t know...”

One of the call lights
lit up immediately.

A little shocked,
Suzanne said, “Maybe you
do
know
about the Cackleberry Club.” She
quickly pushed the call
button, exactly as Wiley had instructed her.

“You’ve
reached
Friends and Neighbors?
Suzanne said.
“And you’re on the air!”

“Paula?” an elderly
female voice quavered.

“No, this is Suzanne.
Paula’s on vaca—”

Click!
The caller had hung up
and none of the other
lines
were lit.

Suzanne glanced over
to see Wiley holding his sides,
laughing
hysterically.

“While I’m waiting for
your calls to pour in and light up
this switchboard,” said Suzanne, “let’s talk about
soup. As you know, there’s nothing better on a chilly autumn night than squash
bisque with toasted croutons.”

Suzanne gave a few
quick details about the recipe and
was pleased to see a call line light up. And then
a second
line.

“Lots of calls coming
in now... let’s see who this is.”
She punched button number one.

“Suzanne,” said a
male caller, “I had that soup at your
restaurant once and it was fantastic.”

“Thanks so much,” said
Suzanne, “love to hear that.”
She pressed the second call line. “Hello? You a soup
lover,
too?”

“I need some advice,”
came a woman’s voice.

“We do our fair share
of advice here,” said Suzanne,
hoping for an easy question. “What can I help you with?”

“My husband’s
retired,” said the caller, “but I still can’t
get him to do any chores around
the house. Do you know
any
tricks?’

Hah,
Suzanne thought.
Do
I dare? Why not?

“The
best way I know to get a guy to do something,” said Suzanne, “is tell him he’s
too old to do it.”

Canned laughter
suddenly echoed in Suzanne’s ear and she noticed that Wiley was nodding and
smiling encour
agement at her
now.

“Next
caller,” Suzanne said, breezily, her confidence
growing by leaps and bounds.

“Halloween’s coming,”
said another woman caller, “and
my ten-year-old son wants to come to your Cackleberry
Club party as a character from that vampire show,
New
Moon.
What do you think?”

“Not sure,” said
Suzanne. “But if you cross a vampire
with a snowman you get frostbite.” More canned
laughter
echoed
in her ear as Suzanne gave the thumbs-up sign to
Wiley.

Next caller was a man.
“I need your advice,” he said in
a
slightly muffled voice.

“Okay,” said Suzanne. “We’ve
been doling out lots of
free
advice this morning.”

“I know this woman and
she’s really quite nosy.”

“I know a few folks
like that myself,” said Suzanne. “Is
she a neighbor?”

“Not exactly,” said
the man, “but, man, is she getting on
my nerves.”

“How so?”
asked Suzanne, suddenly wondering if this
call was really legit

“She’s poking around
where she doesn’t belong,” said
the man. “Even sneaking into empty houses.”

Suzanne straightened
in her chair and a tingle ran down
her spine. “The owner’s deceased?” she asked, her
throat
suddenly tightening up.

“That’s
right,” continued the man. “And the thing is, I
need to warn this woman. She’s
got to learn how to mind
her
own business.”

“Sounds like a plan,”
said Suzanne, her nervousness
turning
to anger as the call continued.

“Because,”
said the man, “the next step I take might be
an actual, physical threat.”

“Better be careful,”
Suzanne said into the microphone, “because she might just threaten you back!”

Wiley suddenly broke
in. “And that’s our first crank
caller of the day!” he enthused. “So tell me, Suzanne,
how
do you like hosting so
far?”   ‘

Grabbing
a butcher knife, Suzanne lifted it high above
her head, then brought it
crashing down with brute force.

“Whoa there,” Toni
cautioned, “ease off. That’s just a
poor defenseless carrot!”

Suzanne continued to
whack the heads off the rest of
the carrots lined up on the cutting table. “Don’t mind
me,
I’m just
taking my frustration out on a lower form of life.”

“Go for it,” said
Petra, who was waiting to toss the
sliced veggies into the soup pot.

“I guess you’re still
whipped up over that crazy caller
this morning,” said Toni.

“You think?” asked
Suzanne. She’d tried to get Wiley to
trace the call, but no dice.

“Sure you are,” said
Toni.

“As if
encountering a pack of wild beasts wasn’t
enough,” Petra said with a sigh,
“you had to tiptoe through
Chuck Peebler’s house, too. And from the gist of that
strange call this
morning, somebody
saw
you going in!” Petra was unnerved by Suzanne’s
confession of creepy-
crawling Peebler’s house and finding the Post-it note.