Bedeviled Eggs (34 page)

“What are you talking
about?” Suzanne asked.

“He means the guy from
the prison,” said Gregg. “The
big,
bald guy.”

That answer pretty
much rocked Suzanne’s world.
“Lester Drummond?” she said, her voice rising in
surprise.
“The warden?”

Gregg smiled back at
her in the mirror. “That’s it!”

Suzanne
glanced into the rearview mirror and checked
herself for about the twentieth
time. Makeup? Fine. Lips?
Thinly veneered with L’Oreal’s Berry Burst lip gloss.
Hair?
Deliciously
honeyed thanks to Gregg’s fine hand.

She’d parked her Ford
Taurus on the street directly
across from Schmitt’s Bar and knew that Sam was al
ready waiting inside.
His BMW was both sandwiched and
dwarfed between a Ford F-150 and a Chevy Silverado right
in front of the place.

Grabbing her bag,
Suzanne climbed out of her car and
jogged across the street, feeling upbeat and a little
jazzed,
hoping
she looked casually chic in her suede jacket, de
signer jeans, and low suede boots.

As she pushed open
the door to Schmitt’s and stepped inside, the aroma of beer and sizzling
burgers enveloped
her immediately, and she was treated to the sound of
Trace Adkins playing
on the jukebox accompanied by the
plinkety-plink backbeat of pinball machines.

Sam was already
seated in a wooden booth, a frosty mug of beer in front of him. “Hey there,” he
said, when he caught
sight of her. He stood up to greet her, put a hand on
her
shoulder,
then leaned forward and gave her a quick peck.
“You look great” He beamed like
a guy on a first date.

Suzanne’s
hand instinctively crept up to her hair.
“Thanks,” she said.

“I...” She was about
to tell him she’d just had her hair
done, then caught herself. Changed her words to, “I
was
afraid
I’d be late.” She slid into the booth across from him
and shrugged out of her jacket.
Gave him what she hoped
was a
dazzling smile.

“You want a beer?” he
asked.

“Sure.”

“Food,
too?” he asked. “The ubiquitous greasy burger
basket?”

“Of course. With
plenty of crunchy onion strings.”

“We’ll
throw caution to the wind and forget about HDL
tonight.” Sam laughed. He lifted
a hand and waved at
Freddy, the bartender. Freddy caught his wave and nodded
back, loping around
the bar, digging a pen and order pad
from his bartender’s apron.

“What’s your pleasure,
Ms. Dietz?” Freddy asked.

Suzanne grinned in
spite of herself. Freddy was a la
conic sort, who wore old-fashioned round John
Lennon
glasses
and sported a braided goatee. He was also a student
of poetry and philosophy and had
once won first prize in an
amateur poetry contest the VFW had sponsored as a tribute
to World War
II
veterans.

“Burger basket with
everything,” Suzanne told him.

“Same here,” said
Sam.

“And to drink?’
Freddy asked.

“Beer for Suzanne,
another one for me,” said Sam.
When Freddy was gone, he hunched forward and said,
“Man, you look terrific.”

Suzanne
grinned until she felt her face would crack. She
was scared, hopeful, and excited,
all rolled into one. She

was also aware that
this was their first public appearance together. Their debut. In a small town
like Kindred, a Saturday night date, humble though it may be, pretty much
announced to the universe that you were a couple.

“People are going to
start connecting the dots,” Sam told
her, glancing around.

“People tend to do
that,” Suzanne agreed.

“You’re not worried?”
asked Sam.

Suzanne reached
across the table and put a hand on top
of his. “I’m a little worried
about you,” she said.

Sam furrowed his
brows. “How so?”

“I mean, you’re new
in town and it’s ... um... awfully
early to start a relationship.”

Sam lifted a thumb and
rubbed it gently against her
hand. Suzanne thought it felt warm and smooth and really
quite wonderful.

“If you ask me,” said
Sam, “we’re already
in
a relation
ship. In fact, I think it pretty
much commenced Tuesday
night.”

Suzanne blushed and
ducked her head. “I suppose
you’re
right.”

“I know I’m right,”
said Sam. “And I’d pretty much love
to shout it from the rooftops.” When he saw her
stricken look, he added, “But I won’t. We’ll take it slow and easy.
Let decorum be our watchword.”

“Whew,” she said,
doing a pretend cartoon swipe of her
forehead.

“So nothing to be
nervous about.”

“Glad we cleared that
up,” said Suzanne.

“Except for one
thing...”

Suzanne
took a deep bream. She pretty much knew what
was coming.

“Last night,” said
Sam. “The dogs. A very bad situation.”

‘Terrible,” Suzanne
agreed. “What kind of inhumane
person
would...”

‘I’m talking about
you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t go all
wide-eyed and innocent on me,” Sam cau
tioned. “You know exactly what I’m
talking about In fact,
we touched on it this morning. It chills me to know you
were the one who
discovered Wilbur Halpern shot to death
and that you got yourself into
another problematic situa
tion last night with those dogs.” When Suzanne started to
launch a
pro forma protest, Sam grabbed her hand again and said, “Listen, sweetheart, I
don’t want to be called to
the emergency room and find out the patient I’m treating
is you.”

“I don’t relish the
idea of ending up there, either,” said
Suzanne, wondering if she should
spill the beans about her
little foray into Chuck Peebler’s house. Maybe some
things
were better left
unsaid?

But when the burger
baskets arrived, the need to tell him
burned strong. Suzanne wanted to be completely
straight
with
Sam. Deception was never a smart way to begin a re
lationship. Just look at Toni and Junior.

“There’s something
else I need to tell you ...”

Sam
glanced at her, mid-bite in his burger. “Is it seri
ous?’ His words came out, “Is it
sherioush?”

“I think so.”

“Oh boy.” He chewed
quickly and swallowed.

“Here’s
the thing,” said Suzanne. “You know I’ve been
worried about Sheriff Doogie.”

“Okay.”

“Doogie’s been taking
a lot of flack about not coming up with a suspect in Peebler’s death, plus he’s
extremely
ripped up over
Deputy Halpern.”

“Sure,” said Sam, “it’s
what you’d expect. Logical
human
emotions.”

Suzanne continued. “So
I offered to help him.”

“In what way?” Sam
asked, suddenly on the alert.

Suzanne shrank back in
the booth. “I offered to go into
Chuck Peebler’s house and look around? See if I couldn’t
find some sort of clue?”

“Offered?” asked Sam. “Or
did.”

“Did,” said Suzanne. “Yesterday
afternoon, right before
Torn and I went looking for pumpkins and ended up find
ing dogs.”

Sam gazed
at her in horror. “You’re telling me you went
into the deserted house of a
murder victim?”

“Well, Doogie did give
me the key.”

“He what!” Sam ducked
his head and said, “Doogie’s
off
his rocker! He’s completely lost it!”

“I kind of nudged
him,” Suzanne admitted.

“You’re really
something,” said Sam. He grabbed a
paper napkin, blotted at his lips.

Suzanne
thought she might be off the hook, but Sam
suddenly turned deadly serious.

“How did you know
someone wasn’t waiting for you in
side that house?” Sam asked. “How do you know
someone
didn’t see you go in?’

Suzanne shook her own
head in disbelief. “I guess I
didn’t.  I don’t. My mind didn’t go in that direction at
all.” She
paused.
“But I did find something that perked my interest”

“What?” Sam asked! He
was still sitting back from the
table, as if he was slowly digesting everything Suzanne
was telling him.

Suzanne dug in her
purse and pulled out the Post-it note.
“This,” she said, extending her
hand and sticking the note
on
the back of Sam’s hand.

He peered at it
speculatively, like an entomologist might
peer at a bark beetle. “Tortuga?”

“It was tucked in the
frame of Peebler’s bedroom
mirror.”

Sam’s eyes darted
toward her again. “You went in his
bedroom?”

“It was an
investigation?
she said.

“Still...”

Picking up her
burger, Suzanne said, “There, now you
know everything. No secrets, no hidden agenda,
everything
on
the up-and-up.” She took a nibble. “A clean slate.”

“So what’s the meaning
of Tortuga?” Sam asked.

“No idea, but I found
out that Lester Drummond sports
a
turtle tattoo.”

“The
prison warden?” Sam looked thoughtful. “And
you think there’s a connection?”

Suzanne
smiled to herself. “That’s what I’d like to find
out.”

“You’re incorrigible,”
said Sam.

“Sorry,” said Suzanne.
“That’s me. It’s a package deal.”

He gave her a wink. “Some
package.”

They relaxed and ate
their burgers then, relegating the
two murders and Suzanne’s investigation to the
back burner
for the time
being.

And they
talked. About Suzanne’s plans for the Cack
leberry Club and her dream of
someday opening Crepes
Suzanne, a small fine-dining restaurant. Sam told her
about
his
residency at Massachusetts General and then they
traded small talk and onion strings.

“This is a great
place,” said Sam, leaning back, look
ing relaxed. His red plastic burger basket was
heaped with
paper napkins. “Greasy, but nice.” He glanced up at a bat
tered metal sign that
said, Your Burger Is Ready When the
Smoke Alarm Goes Off, and grinned.

“Nobody does a burger
basket like Schmitt’s,” agreed
Suzanne.

“Not even the
Cackleberry Club?’

“We do burgers, but
they’re of the chicken and turkey
variety.”

“Ah,” said Sam, “the
healthy stuff.”

‘Petra says she doesn’t
want to be responsible for causing
coronary thrombosis or myocardial infarctions all
over town.”

“Nice of her, though
it does impact my business.”

“She also says .. “A
loud whump suddenly rattled the front windows of the bar, then bright orange
flared in the
street. “What
was that?’ Suzanne cried.

“Fire?” said Sam. “Explosion?’

Everyone in the bar
seemed to jump up at once and
scramble for the front door, causing a good deal of
panic
and
an alcohol-fueled traffic jam. By the time Suzanne and
Sam elbowed their way out,
flames were shooting thirty
feet
into the air!

“That’s my car!”
Suzanne screamed, gazing at the angry
fireball that, forty minutes earlier, had been her
beloved Ford Taurus. The one she’d sometimes called Cynthia.
“My car!” she cried
again, as she tried to rush toward it.

Sam caught Suzanne by
the shoulders and pulled her
back with a firm grip. “Don’t,” he said. “It’s gone.”

“But...” Her arms
fluttered futilely.

Within a matter of
minutes they heard sirens. Then an
enormous fire engine roared down Main Street, its
horn