Stake & Eggs (10 page)

Of course, there was no way to know at this point. She’d have to wait and see what
developed.

Minutes later, customers began trickling in for breakfast. They pulled off caps, hats,
and mittens, stomped snow from their boots, all the while murmuring how warm and cheery
it was inside the Cackleberry Club. Suzanne guided them to tables and got them settled
in as the smell of Petra’s tantalizing bacon and sausages drifted out from the kitchen.

Soon, every table was filled and breakfast service was in full swing. Toni joined
Suzanne in the café, taking orders, delivering fresh-squeezed orange juice, coffee,
and tea, then dashing back into the kitchen to grab platters of food hot off the grill.

Petra’s Nest Eggs were an instant hit. And a low, comfortable murmur filled the café
as customers enjoyed their breakfast entrees, as well as seconds and thirds of morning
coffee.

Suzanne was pouring out a mug of hot cocoa made with Belgian dark chocolate when Petra
called to her through the pass-through.

“Suzanne,” said Petra, making a little whirring motion
with her hands, “turn on the radio. It’s time for the first treasure-hunt clue to
be broadcast!”

“Holy
ka-ching
!” cried Toni, hustling over to the counter. She wiped her hands on her apron and
dug out a pen and order pad. “I’ve got to catch this baby. I’m ready to go on the
hunt!”

Suzanne reached up and snapped on the radio. A quick announcement on winter wheat
and hog prices crackled out over the air, then Paula Patterson’s cheery voice came
on: “Good morning, Kindred, and thanks for joining us!”

A hush swept through the café, as customers perked up their ears and listened in.
Obviously, Toni wasn’t the only one chomping at the bit to hear the first clue.

“As all of you probably know,” continued Paula, “our much-awaited Fire and Ice Festival
kicks off today, and we’re ready and raring to share the first of five clues with
you.” She paused. “Does everybody have paper and pencil handy? Because you don’t want
to miss any part of this!”

“I’m ready, I’m ready,” said Toni, staring intently at the radio and nervously tapping
her foot.

“This year,” Paula went on, “a grand prize of three
thousand
dollars goes to the person who discovers the treasure medallion. And every morning,
starting today and continuing for the next four days, we’ll announce a new clue. That’s
right, folks, five clues in all, until Fire and Ice culminates on Sunday night with
a grand bonfire and cookout at Kindred’s own Cackleberry Club.”

Suzanne, Petra, and Toni looked at each other and smiled. Always good to get a nice
on-air plug! Especially when you didn’t have to pay for it!

“Without further ado,” said Paula, “here’s our first clue.”

Everyone seemed to hold their breaths as Paula read the clue:

Toni dutifully wrote it all down, then stared blankly at the radio. “Wait, that’s
it? That’s the clue?”

“Start your detective work…now!” urged Paula, then the radio station segued to a piece
of lively music.

“It’s awfully vague,” said Petra as she stood at the stove, gently dropping eggs into
hot water.

“It’s beyond vague,” said Toni. “It’s useless.” She glanced down at her notes. “The
clue says look where it’s frozen? The whole town is frozen! There’s five feet of snow
everywhere, and where there isn’t snow, there’s ice! Everything’s practically
freeze
-dried.”

“With a grand prize of three grand,” said Suzanne, “you can’t expect this treasure
hunt to be easy. There’s not going to be any sort of ‘X marks the spot.’ They’re going
to make you scramble for it.”

“I guess,” said Toni, scratching her head. “Jeez, maybe we should call a psychic hotline.
1-800-READ-MY-MIND.”

“The clue does say high and low,” said Suzanne, “so that’s something to consider.
Maybe the medallion is tangled up in the branches of a tree?”

“Sure, but there’s about a billion trees in town,” said Toni. “And most of them are
covered with snow.”

Petra leaned forward and called through the pass-through, “Don’t you worry, Toni,
you’ll noodle it around in that clever little head of yours and come up with something.
Besides, there are four more clues to come.”

“Maybe,” said Toni. Her enthusiasm had waned enormously.

“I can’t believe Carmen put up the prize money,” said Suzanne. She turned to the coffeemaker,
dumped in a scoop of fresh coffee, and flipped the switch.

“I bet she did it for the publicity,” grumped Toni.

“Carmen does love a mention in the
Bugle
or a chat on
the radio,” said Suzanne. “She’s no fool. It helps drive book sales. Every mention
or appearance just ups her notoriety.”

“I’m sure Carmen will probably be yakking up the prize money at the Crystal Tea tomorrow,”
said Toni.

“Toni?” called Petra. “Focus please, your orders are up.”

Suzanne did her café ballet then, whirling and twirling and pouring refills, clearing
tables, setting out fresh cups and silverware and napkins for the steady stream of
customers that continued to ease their way in. And just as she hustled back to the
counter to whip together a ham and Swiss cheese sandwich for a take-out order, Lester
Drummond, the ex-prison warden wandered in and took a seat at the counter.

“Hello, Suzanne,” Drummond said, with a gruff voice and a quick nod. He was a big
man with a shaved head, craggy face, and a forehead full of worry lines. Suzanne always
thought Drummond had the kind of hard face and hard muscles that came from serving
hard time. Except, of course, Drummond had
run
the prison. But now that he was out of a job, Drummond spent most of his days pumping
iron at the Hard Body Gym on the edge of town.

“Mr. Drummond,” said Suzanne. She whipped a paper napkin down in front of him and
laid down a clean fork, knife, and spoon. “Coffee to start?” Even though she disliked
him, Suzanne resolved to treat him with the same courtesy she’d give any other customer.

“Lester,” said Drummond, “call me Lester. And, yeah, coffee sounds good.”

“Lester,” said Suzanne, pouring out a steady stream of coffee into his cup.

He smiled at her, all piercing eyes and Chiclet-sized teeth. “Looking good, Suzanne.”

“Thank you.” Her smile was brittle at best. “Lester.”

“No, I mean it,” said Drummond, dumping at least a quarter cup of sugar into his coffee.
“You’re a fine-looking woman. You remind me of some of the women back east, the ones
who graduated from those fancy colleges.”

But Suzanne was all business. “We’ve got Nest Eggs
today, which is a poached egg tucked inside a fresh-baked popover, scrambled eggs
with pancetta, red velvet pancakes, and…let’s see…I’m pretty sure there are a couple
orders of pork sausage left.”

“Scrambled eggs,” said Drummond. “Whole wheat toast.”

Suzanne made a note. “Got it.”

“You going to the play Friday night?” he asked. The Community Players, a local troupe,
were putting on a stage presentation of
Titanic.

“Maybe,” said Suzanne.
Unless Sam and I get together again.

“I’ve got one of the lead roles,” Drummond boasted. “I play the captain.”

“Who goes down with his ship,” said Suzanne. “Perfect casting, I’d say.”

He peered at her. “You think?”

Suzanne regarded him with a steely gaze. Should she bring up the little bit of unfinished
business that hung between them? Why not? “Might I remind you, Lester, I still have
a poor, innocent little dog in my care. One that barely managed to escape that stable
of fighting dogs you had squirreled away out in the countryside.”

A muscle in Drummond’s jaw twitched. “There was never any proof those dogs were mine.”

“Not yet,” said Suzanne.

Now Drummond shook a finger at her and grinned. “You better be nice to me, Suzanne.
I just might be the next bank president around here.”

“What?” Suzanne was shocked. In fact, this was the most ridiculous thing she’d heard
since Bob Connors claimed to have found a two-headed snake wriggling through his pasture!

But Drummond was suddenly full of swill and swagger. “That’s right. I’ve already met
with Ed Rapson and put in my application for the job.” His chest puffed slightly.
“And I think I have a darned good shot at it.”

Suzanne said carefully, “Is that really the right type of job for you? I mean, don’t
you have to understand how the Federal Reserve operates…How bonds and interest rates
work? Things of that nature?” She was about to add
And know how to get along with people
, but decided not to push it.

“Look, Suzanne,” said Drummond, forcefully, “I ran a prison for three years. It’s
exactly the same as being CEO of a major corporation. You govern from the top down,
hire the right people, and focus on the big picture. Plus, I have organizational skills
and an excellent head for finance. As for the minor details, I can learn those as
I need to.”

“I suppose,” said Suzanne slowly. “After all, there’s nothing like on-the-job training.
Particularly when it’s for a bank position where people’s lives are at stake—and maybe
their entire futures, too.”

“Y
OU
want to have a good laugh?” asked Suzanne as she pushed her way into the kitchen.

“Lay it on me,” said Petra, who was standing at the counter, whipping a big bowl of
frosting by hand.

“What’s up?” asked Toni. She balanced a gray plastic tub full of dirty dishes she
was about to stack in the dishwasher.

Suzanne grinned. “Lester Drummond applied for the job of bank president.”

“What!” said Petra.

“Shut the front door!” whooped Toni. “Are you serious?”

“Drummond certainly is,” said Suzanne.

“That’s plum crazy,” said Petra. Then she stopped to consider Suzanne’s words. “Do
you think he’s got a chance?”

“Maybe,” said Suzanne. She thought about Ed Rapson, the regional manager, and decided
Drummond might be just the kind of man Rapson would like. Tough-minded and hard-driving.
The kind of guy who wouldn’t buckle under
to a farmer’s pleas for credit or a small mom-and-pop business asking for a loan.

“Oh man,” said Petra. “If he gets the job, I’m going to have to move my checking account.”

“Ditto,” said Toni. “In a heartbeat.”

“How,” wondered Petra, “could a guy with a bad reputation and an even worse temper
get considered for a job as bank president?”

“What would you do after being a prison warden?” Toni asked.

“Interesting question,” said Suzanne. “Maybe…go work for Martha Stewart?”

“Good one,” said Toni, aiming a finger at her.

“This is just another indication of the instability in our country these days,” reflected
Petra. “Things that were rock solid and reliable aren’t necessarily so anymore. The
banks. Our car companies. Even the stock market.”

“Don’t forget the government!” said Toni.

“Federal, state, or local?” asked Suzanne.

“The whole shootin’ match!” cried Toni.

“But Drummond as bank president,” said Petra, sounding mournful. “That’s just way
too much to wrap my mind around. I mean, he was
fired
from the prison because of those fighting dogs!”

“Unfortunately, the charges never stuck,” said Suzanne.

“How did he slither his way out of that anyway?” asked Toni.

“The dog kennel wasn’t on his land, so there was some technicality,” said Suzanne.
“The county prosecutor didn’t have an ironclad case. I guess that pricey, big-city
lawyer Drummond hired did exactly what he was paid to do.”

“I know one thing,” said Petra. “Anybody who mistreats poor defenseless animals is
not someone I want near my money.” The others nodded as she added, “If he hurt those
poor dogs, who knows what he’d do to all of us?”

*  *  *

F
EELING
the need for a small bit of calm, Suzanne wandered into the Knitting Nest. She instantly
felt at ease in this room, with its overstuffed chairs, finished sweaters and shawls
adorning the walls, and crazy-quilt collection of gorgeous yarns and fibers tucked
into every nook and cranny of the room. Petra had stocked the Knitting Nest with skeins
of mohair yarn, alpaca, and even a few skeins of cashmere.

Some new shipments of knitting needles had arrived, too, including fresh sets of bamboo
single- and double-point knitting needles. They were sure to knock the socks off knitting
aficionados, Suzanne decided, as she ran her fingers across a smooth wooden set. The
bamboo needles were much lighter than the aluminum kind, and were even said to improve
with age.

Soft footfalls behind her caused Suzanne to spin about. “Oh!” she said, putting a
hand to her chest. “Hello.”

Elise Steiner, the wife of Charlie Steiner, stared at her, a cautious look on her
face.

“Sorry to startle you,” said Elise, “but I saw you walk in here and I…well, I wanted
to talk. Um…privately.”

Elise Steiner was a sweet, if slightly wan-looking woman with an almost ivory complexion
and the kind of white blond hair you only see with true Scandinavians. Elise was a
devout Lutheran who volunteered at the library and was also a member of Petra’s Stitch
and Bitch group. Although Elise always pointedly referred to it as her stitching group.

Suzanne couldn’t help it: Charlie Steiner’s angry outburst in the café yesterday came
instantly to mind. And she wondered if Elise would dare mention it. Or did Elise even
know
about it?

She knew.

After a few false starts, Elise asked, “Did my husband say anything to you that was,
er, slightly out of the ordinary?”

Suzanne decided to play dumb. “Why do you ask?”

Elise’s pale skin turned bright pink. “I received a phone
call from Gene Gandle at the
Bugle
. He told me Charlie was talking up a storm about Ben Busacker’s death during breakfast
yesterday. I’m embarrassed to ask, Suzanne, but do you know exactly what Charlie said?”