Scorched Eggs (20 page)

“If I thought every fire we dealt with was connected to the one before it,” Chief Finley said in a slightly condescending tone, “we'd constantly be chasing our tails.”

“Still,” said Doogie, “Suzanne might have a point.”

“Are those arson investigators still in town?” she asked.

Doogie and Finley both shook their heads. “No,” they said in unison.

“Too bad,” said Suzanne. “So . . . you really do know how the fire started?”

“Like I just said,” said Finley, “as
you
were listening in . . . somebody doused a ball of rags with gasoline and jammed it in the back door. Set it on fire.”

“That sounds like more than just mischief,” said Suzanne. “It sounds like arson.”

Finley gave her a wide, mirthless smile. “Why don't you let me worry about that, okay?”

“Sure,” said Suzanne, stepping back and pulling Baxter with her. “No problem.” Out of the corner of her eye, she'd just seen a familiar car pull up. A blue BMW. It was Sam. How he'd heard about the fire, she had no clue.

Sam spotted her and pushed his way through a crowd that never really had dispersed. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine,” said Suzanne. “How did you find out about this fire so fast?”

“I was standing outside in the ambulance bay at the hospital,” said Sam. “Shooting the breeze with Dick Sparrow, one of the paramedics, when the call came over the radio. But I didn't know
you
were here.”

“In other words,” said Suzanne, “you came by to gawk.” It was getting more and more difficult to remain anonymous, she decided. To do her own brand of investigating. Of course, there was a flip side to that, too. It was sublimely comforting to have people you love worried and concerned about you.

“Yeah, something like that,” muttered Sam. “But you haven't answered my question. What were you doing here?”

“Baxter,” she said. “I think he might have an ear infection.”

“I can take care of that,” said Sam. He took her by the hand and led her away from the crowd. “Especially if it's a simple case of otitis media. I can stop by the clinic and grab a sample tube of antibiotics.”

“Great,” said Suzanne as Baxter gave Sam a dubious look.

“So what started the fire anyway?” Sam asked. “Was it wiring or something electrical?”

“Chief Finley found a ball of rags stuffed inside the back door,” said Suzanne.

Sam's expression turned even more serious. “That sounds worrisome.”

“My thoughts exactly,” said Suzanne. “In fact, it feels a little like arson.”

Sam gazed at her. He knew she'd been investigating, he knew she was right there in the middle of things.

“What I can't figure out,” said Suzanne, “is why someone would try to set a fire here. I mean, the Paws and Claws Veterinary Clinic? Come on.”

“Think about it, Suzanne,” said Sam. “What is it you've been doing lately?”

“Um . . . attending a funeral, training my horse, and having dinner with you?”

“Noooo,” said Sam. “You've been investigating. And everybody in town knows it.”

Suzanne blinked, and then gave a nervous hiccup. “You think somebody's trying to stop
me
?” The notion that she might suddenly be a target was so foreign to her that it made her stomach churn and her head throb.

“I wouldn't rule it out,” said Sam.

“You're saying somebody was following me? Tailing me? And then tried to, um, scare me?”

“Scare you?” said Sam. “That's not exactly the word that comes to mind.”

“But I don't
know
anything,” Suzanne cried. “Really, I don't.”

“Doesn't matter,” said Sam. “If some crazy person, some whacked-out arsonist
thinks
you do, then you're clearly in his sights.”

“Oh dear,” said Suzanne.

“Hey,” Sam said as he circled his arms around her and pulled her close. “Be careful, but don't let it prey on your mind, okay? Because I intend to take very good care of you.”

P
ETRA
stood in the middle of the kitchen, a pan of lemon bars in her hand. “What?” she said, gaping at Suzanne, her eyes growing bigger by the moment. “The
vet
clinic?”

It was seven o'clock in the evening at the Cackleberry Club, and the actors were due to show up any minute for their big rehearsal. Suzanne had just stammered her way through her story, telling Toni and Petra about the nasty fire at the Paws and Claws clinic. And, just as she had feared, they were clearly knocked for a loop.

“Jeez,” said Toni. “Another fire? That's kind of an odd coincidence, wouldn't you say?”

“More than a coincidence,” said Petra. “It's a warning.”

“That's what Sam thought, too,” said Suzanne. “That somebody was worried about me investigating. Sam didn't even want me to come here tonight, except for the fact that he's in the play so he'll be here to keep an eye on me.”

“Now why would poor Sam be worried at all?” said Petra. “Since you've only been dashing all over town, keeping company with Kindred's most unsavory characters.”

“Really?” said Toni. “Unsavory?” Now she was even more interested.

“First Suzanne paid a visit to that awful pawn shop,” Petra said accusingly. “And then the two of you went carousing off to that casino.” She dropped the word “casino” like she was referring to a pile of manure.

“But not the tattoo shop,” Suzanne said, trying to inject a spot of humor and diffuse the tension.

“I'm sure you'll get there eventually,” said Petra.

Toni nudged Suzanne with an elbow. “If you go, let me know, okay? I'm thinking of getting a yellow rose on my . . .”

“But we're
not
going to go there, are we?” said Petra. “In fact, we're not going to talk about this anymore.”

“Sure,” said Toni. She winked at Suzanne, then grabbed a stack of plates, ready to carry them out into the café. When she got halfway through the door, she called back, “Hang on to your hats, ladies, here comes our illustrious troupe of actors.”

*   *   *

I
T
was a group of ten actors that came tumbling through the door, ready to recite their lines, figure out their marks, and do a final rehearsal of
Blithe
Spirit.

Connie Halpern, the executive director of the Kindred Community Players, greeted Suzanne and Toni with over-the-top enthusiasm.

“You're not going to believe this,” said Connie, “but we're completely sold out! All fifty tickets for the dinner theater.”

“We thought that might happen,” said Suzanne. Actually she'd known about it for a week.

“Which is why we're gearing up for an onslaught,” laughed Toni.

“This is going to be a grand experiment,” Connie continued. “And we're just so delighted that you agreed to host us. We were going to present our play in a church basement, but that's really not a dinner theater atmosphere.”

“Too reminiscent of pancake breakfasts and booyah suppers,” said Toni.

Connie clapped her hands at her group. “Okay now, cast, we've got to decide the placement for our main set. And figure out entrances and exits.”

All the actors gathered around. Sam was there, of course, since he was playing the role of a doctor. And Carmen Copeland, their prickly local author, was playing the role of Madame Arcati, the medium.

Suzanne gestured toward the far end of the café. “We figured you should probably do all your staging down at that end. We can hang a curtain there and you can use the Book Nook and Knitting Nest for dressing rooms and makeup. You can pop in and out as your script demands, which means you won't have to contend with us running in and out of the kitchen while we serve a three-course dinner.”

“Perfect,” said Connie.

Sam sidled up to Suzanne and gave her a quick kiss. “You doing okay?” he asked.

“Never better,” she said.

“You're being awfully flippant,” said Sam. “In light of today's events.” He gave her a slightly stern, listen-to-your-doctor type of gaze. “I want you to be extra careful.”

She smiled back at him, feeling an intense flutter in her heart for her handsome boyfriend. And his willingness to look out for her. “I promise I will.”

The actors broke up into tight little groups then, discussing their roles, running their lines, gesturing to one another, and discussing how each actor or set of actors would negotiate their entrances and exits.

Carmen, never a wallflower, always pushing her fashion quota to the max, was poised near the Book Nook, reciting her lines loudly to anyone who would listen. Dressed in skintight leggings and a leopard-print tunic top, she also wore a matching turban that was held in place with an enormous, glittery rhinestone pin.

“Holy baloney,” Toni muttered to Suzanne. “Did Carmen come for the rehearsal or is she here to tell our fortune?”

Carmen overheard Toni's remark and took umbrage. “I heard that. And, for your information, my head wrap happens to be a very expensive Saint Laurent scarf. One you might
never
be able to afford.”

Toni snorted. “For your information,” she replied, pivoting fast and wiggling her shapely backside, “I happen to be wearing a very expensive pair of Levi jeans. Ones you'll probably never
fit
into!”

“Uh-oh,” said Suzanne, sensing a disaster in the making. She grabbed Toni by the arm and yanked her away. “You need to come in the kitchen and help Petra with the refreshments. I'm
positive
she needs you.”

Toni was still grumping and sputtering as Suzanne spun her through the swinging door.

“Carmen better watch out,” Toni threatened. “Somebody might just drop a
house
on top of her.”

“Funny,” said Petra, as she mixed diced apples into a bowl of chicken salad. “You mean like the Wicked . . .”

“Witch,” said Toni. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

As far as Suzanne could tell, the rehearsal went very well. The actors spoke their lines with a commanding presence, and the exits and entrances appeared flawless. So much so that she was starting to really look forward to Friday night's dinner theater. The Cackleberry Club had never undertaken anything this heroic, but if the dinner theater proved to be a success (and wasn't it already a hit with all the tickets sold?) this might pave the way for more dinner theaters to come.

At the end of an hour, Connie called a halt to the rehearsal. She praised her actors for their skill and commitment, and urged them to let her know if they needed any help with their costumes. Then she looked toward Suzanne, who was waiting expectantly, and said, “Suzanne? I understand you and your partners have been kind enough to prepare a delicious surprise for us?”

“Just a few goodies,” said Suzanne, stepping aside to reveal the treat table they'd set up while the actors were busy rehearsing. “Some tea sandwiches, cookies, and brownies, as well as coffee and tea.”

“Actors?” said Connie, holding up her hands to indicate applause.

There was a moment of enthusiastic applause for the food, and then everyone rushed for the table to help themselves.

“You were great,” Suzanne told Sam. They were sitting at a table with two other actors. Sam was nibbling a chicken salad sandwich, while Suzanne sipped a cup of oolong tea.

Sam held up a tiny bit of sandwich. “This is so great. Acting always makes me hungry.”

“How much acting have you really done?” Suzanne asked in a teasing voice.

“Enough.”

“Oh really.”

“Okay,” said Sam. “Confession time. This is the first acting I've done since I played a mushroom in fourth grade.”

“In a play about healthy food groups?” said Suzanne.

“Nah,” said Sam, reaching for another sandwich. “
Alice in Wonderland
.”

Sam hung around, joking, kibitzing, keeping a watchful eye on Suzanne, until all the actors had departed and the place was once again spiffed up, ready for breakfast tomorrow.

“I thought I'd follow you home in my car,” he told her. “Just to make sure you get there safely.”

“Not to worry,” said Toni, cutting in. “I'll take good care of our girl. I'll follow her home and all that.”

“You're sure?” said Sam. He didn't look all that confident in Toni's protective skills.

“Sure. It's called the BFF Club,” Toni explained. “We always look out for each other.”

“Okay,” Sam said, yawning. “But I want you guys to drive straight home. No stops for cherry drops or whatever they're called.”

“Will do,” said Suzanne.

But out in the parking lot, Suzanne had other ideas. “I'm dying to do a look-see on Jack Venable,” she confessed to Toni.

“You think he's the one who set the fire today at the vet's office, don't you?”

“I don't know. But something about his involvement feels right.”

Toni considered this. “Let's see . . . Jack Venable sets a fire at the County Services Bureau and kills Hannah so he can cavort around with a sleazy piece of fluff. Then he finds out you're hot on his trail, so he sets another fire to try to scare the poop out of you.” She squeezed her eyes shut, thinking. Then they popped open and she said, “I don't know, it's so perverted and offbeat that it sounds kind of right to me.”

“The thing is,” said Suzanne, “what exactly can we do? Just drive over to Jack Venable's house for a reconnaissance mission?”

“We pretty much did that last night,” said Toni.

Suzanne thought for a few moments. An idea was forming in her head and it was a doozy. “What if we actually went
inside
his house?”

Toni gazed at Suzanne as if she'd just suggested they smuggle their way into North Korea. “How on earth are we going to do that? Break a basement window and creepy-crawl our way in?”

“No,” said Suzanne. “We can't do that because I'm fairly sure Jack Venable's at home tonight. In fact, I think his relatives are probably still hanging around. So . . . what if we used the old casserole ploy?”

Toni snapped her fingers. “Ha! You mean take one to his house.”

“You got it,” said Suzanne. Delivering a casserole after a death, dismemberment, graduation, or football victory was standard operating procedure in the Midwest. As long as said casserole contained oodles of noodles, bits of meat and cheese, and was bound together by a can of cream-of-something soup.

“You've got a casserole handy?” Toni asked.

“I just happen to have one at home in my freezer.”

Toni grinned wickedly. “What are we waiting for?”

*   *   *

T
HEY
drove to Suzanne's house, grabbed the casserole, then climbed into Suzanne's car. As they drove across town to Jack Venable's house, they were nervous but giddy. This was going to be a classic frontal assault, after all. Kind of like a two-man team storming Mount Everest without the use of supplemental oxygen.

“If you could have seen Venable this morning at the cemetery,” said Suzanne, “you'd truly believe he'd just lost the love of his life.”

“But you think he's a phony?” asked Toni. “That he's crying crocodile tears and making a bigger deal out of his grief than it really is?”

“The thought has crossed my mind,” said Suzanne. “Several times.”

When they pulled up in front of Venable's house, half a dozen cars were parked in front and lights blazed brightly from every available window.

“Lit up like a Christmas tree,” breathed Toni. “Excellent. We're not the only ones here.”

“See, I told you,” said Suzanne. “The relatives are still hanging around.”

“Schmoozing and boozing,” said Toni. “Probably a few neighbors here, too.”

“Sure,” said Suzanne. “At least the ones who still think he's innocent.”

Solemnly carrying the casserole, as if it were a gift from the Magi, Suzanne and Toni waltzed up the front walk.

“Looks like Jack got his front window fixed,” Toni muttered.

“I'm just glad he didn't call the police and have them check for fingerprints,” said Suzanne. “Or footprints.”

“Ditto,” said Toni.

Getting inside Jack Venable's house was a snap. Suzanne and Toni didn't have to knock on the door or ring the bell or bluff their way past a bouncer and a velvet rope. Since the front door was standing wide open, they just sauntered in, cool as you please.

“Piece of cake,” Suzanne whispered. They walked into a living room that was furnished with mission-style furniture and a large blue and gold Oriental rug. They smiled pleasantly as they blended in with the two dozen or so people who milled about. Because they were acquainted with a few of the neighbors, they were able to ingratiate themselves even more by saying hello and exchanging pleasantries.

A woman in a plum-colored suit noticed them and came over to greet them. “Aren't you ladies kind. Is that a casserole I see?”

“Yes, it is,” said Suzanne, trying to look appropriately sad.

“Chicken with baby peas,” said Toni. “Are you, uh, by any chance related to Jack?”

“I'm his sister Bernice,” said the woman, with a slightly officious nod.

“We'll just take this into the kitchen and stash it in the refrigerator,” said Suzanne. “So it stays nice and fresh.”

“Be sure to help yourself in the dining room,” said Bernice. “There's quite a lovely buffet.”

“Will do,” said Toni.

They ducked around a potted plant and eased their way through the dining room and into the kitchen, managing to avoid Jack Venable at all costs. The dining room table had been laid out with the good china and a generous buffet, but the kitchen was a complete jumble. The table was heaped with plastic storage containers containing bits of cakes, cookies, and bars. When they opened the refrigerator, it was jammed with bowls filled with fruit salad, platters of cold cuts, and at least five casseroles.