Stake & Eggs (17 page)

Suzanne knew she’d regret it, but had to ask. “Why is that, Junior?”

Junior flashed a cheesy grin. “I’m training for a marathon.”

Toni hooked her thumbs in her belt and cast a skeptical eye at him. “Seriously?”

Junior gave a self-satisfied chuckle, happy that he’d sufficiently mousetrapped them.
“I’m fixing to watch me a
Baywatch
marathon. Netflix just delivered!”

“T
HAT
man seriously rattles my molars,” said Toni, as Suzanne printed their abridged luncheon
menu on the blackboard with pink and orange chalk. She’d just written “crab chowder”
and was starting on the sandwich du jour.

“In a good way?” asked Suzanne. She wasn’t quite sure what Toni meant. Sam sometimes
rattled her world, but certainly not her teeth.

“Let me put it this way,” said Toni. “Junior keeps me on my toes.”

“You’re a ballerina in cowboy boots,” said Suzanne. She printed “ham salad on rye.”

“But Junior did promise to take me treasure hunting,” said Toni. “Not that I don’t
want to go with you guys, too,” she added hastily.

“Excuse me,” said Petra, leaning out the kitchen door. “Does this mean you’ve reconciled
with Kindred’s very own aging juvenile delinquent?”

Toni sighed. “Junior’s not without his charms.”

“Honey,” said Petra, an edge to her voice, “I’ve heard that tune before.”

“One day you want to divorce him, the next day you’re having second thoughts,” said
Suzanne. “Please don’t start up with him again until you give this relationship some
very serious consideration. Remember, it wasn’t so long ago that you were crying buckets
because Junior was mooning over that floozy waitress at the VFW.”

“Tiffany,” spat out Petra. “The one with the big…”

“Bouffant hair,” said Suzanne.

Toni dropped her head. “I know. I remember.”

“The point being,” Suzanne continued, “Junior, aka the Rat, walked out on you.”

“You know what you do when a man walks out on you?” said Petra.

“Shut the door?” said Suzanne. “Make sure you’re on one side and he’s on the other?”

“Yes!” said Petra. “And then you lock it!”

“Aw, you guys,” said Toni.

“I’m serious,” said Suzanne, as the wall phone shrilled. “You gotta be careful about
letting Junior worm his way back into your life again.” She picked up the phone. “Cackleberry
Club.” She listened for a few moments, then said,
“Are you sure? It’s our…yes, okay, I understand.” She shook her head and hung up the
phone.

“What?” said Petra.

“That was Joey,” said Suzanne. “He can’t come in today.”

Petra threw up her arms. “Terrific! Lunch starts in five minutes, then we’ve got the
Crystal Tea! Now what?”

“Now we work our butts off,” said Toni. She glanced at her watch, a battered Timex
that perpetually ran five minutes slow. “We’ve got, like, two hours before all the
models and boutique people and hair and makeup people come trooping in. And three
hours before our guests arrive.”

Suzanne went back to her chalkboard, finished printing out “chicken hot pot,” then
paused. Looking around, making sure she wouldn’t be overheard, she murmured, “And
I just pray that Busacker’s killer isn’t among our guests.”

T
HE
abbreviated menu saved them. With only four choices, customers ordered fast and seemed
to eat even faster. Which was just fine with Suzanne. She was even thinking they could
hustle everybody out by one o’clock. Which was exactly when Ed Rapson and Lester Drummond
showed up for lunch.

Gritting her teeth, Suzanne greeted them pleasantly, as if she didn’t have a care
in the world, and asked if they’d like coffee to start. But before she could fetch
their hot drinks or ask them what they’d like for lunch, Lester Drummond flashed a
big smile, showing off his mouthful of scary-big white teeth.

“You’ll be pleased to know,” said Drummond, “that I’m getting closer to a new job
every minute.”

Suzanne was startled by his bluntness. “Beg your pardon?” she said, trying to keep
her voice even-keeled.

“I was just telling Ed here that I’m eager to get to work,” said Drummond. “As the
new president of Kindred State Bank.”

“Is that right?” asked Suzanne. She scanned Ed Rapson’s face for some kind of sign—agreement,
surprise, bewilderment, something. Instead, she saw a face as impassive and immobile
as a sheet of steel.

“I’m the kind of guy who hits the ground running,” Drummond droned on. “No ramp-up
time for me. No sir.” His eyes drilled into Rapson. “You’d see results with me my
very first week on the job.”

Rapson continued to stare straight ahead. Now he looked more like an Easter Island
statue.

“That’s because I’m a fast learner,” Drummond went on. “Fastest on the planet. I don’t
waste time, and I don’t tolerate people who do.” He flashed a smile at Rapson. “My
hiring could be the best thing ever for your bank. Not to mention the people of Kindred.”

This wasn’t just a sales pitch, Suzanne thought, this was a full-fledged bells-and-whistles
PR campaign! Since when had Lester Drummond, former prison warden and thug, become
so outright and unabashedly promotional?

Since he’s been desperate for a job
, Suzanne realized. Drummond probably had a pile of bills sitting on his kitchen counter
and not enough scratch in his checking account to cover them!

Suzanne didn’t make a single comment. In fact, she was still trying to get over her
shock at seeing the two men sitting together at the same table. The muscle man Drummond
and Mr. Slick Banker Rapson. Definitely an odd couple!

After taking the men’s orders—crab chowder for Rapson, an egg sammy for Drummond—Suzanne
beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

“How many customers left?” asked Petra.

“Um…about six,” said Suzanne.

“So these are the last lunch orders?”

“I fervently hope so.”

In between delivering lunches, ringing up tabs at the cash register, and doing general
troubleshooting, Suzanne managed to glance over at Drummond and Rapson every so often.
The two men seemed to be involved in earnest conversation as they slurped, munched,
and drank coffee. Drummond kept poking his finger at Rapson, punctuating the air.
And now Rapson seemed to be nodding in agreement.

Toni caught their dynamic, too, and leaned over to Suzanne. “Please tell me Drummond’s
not going to get the bank job,” she whispered.

“Hope not,” said Suzanne. She continued to monitor them out of the corner of her eye.
And couldn’t help thinking: Were they talking about what had happened to Ben Busacker?
Maybe each a little suspicious of the other? Were they giving each other a good sniff?

Which made her mind immediately jump to Sheriff Doogie and his investigation. Had
he hauled Ducovny in for questioning? Had he talked to Charlie Steiner again? Or had
Doogie moved on to another unsuspecting suspect?

Before she could make another stop at their table, Suzanne saw Drummond stand up,
throw a few dollars down, then shake hands with Rapson. As Drummond quickly exited
the café, Rapson seemed to be lingering, savoring his last sips of coffee while he
checked messages on his BlackBerry.

Suzanne sidled over to his table. “Could I interest you in some apple pie for dessert?”

“No, thanks,” said Rapson, giving an offhand wave. “Sounds tempting, but…” He stared
intently at his BlackBerry screen as if it contained all the mysteries of the universe.

Suzanne took a deep breath. “Ed. Mr. Rapson. I have to ask you. You’re not
seriously
considering appointing Lester Drummond as bank president, are you?”

Rapson eyed her carefully. “I might be. Problem?”

“What about Ham Wick?” she asked. “Is he in the running, too?” Suzanne knew that Wick
would be weak and ineffectual, but he would still be better than Lester Drummond.
Anybody would be.

“Here’s the thing,” Rapson said sharply. “I want to see how badly both men want this
job.”

“You mean like a contest?” said Suzanne, trying to keep calm but realizing she wasn’t
succeeding. “You want them to duke it out like some kind of cage-fighting match on
cable TV?”

Rapson looked strangely pleased. “Something like that.” He nodded, liking her analogy.
“Both men have demonstrated an avid interest in the position, so now I want to see
how much fire they have in their bellies. Figure out who’s toughest and has the thickest
skin.”

“This isn’t the Wild West you know!” said Suzanne, exasperated. “Besides, you know
Drummond’s the tougher of the two.”

Rapson grinned. “You think so?”

“You don’t have any other candidates?” Suzanne asked. She thought back to all those
black-suited, bland-faced men from the funeral this morning. How about one of them?
Wouldn’t one of them be infinitely better? Even if he turned out to be a stuffed shirt?

Rapson shrugged. “I’m going to let this little rivalry play out a while longer.”

Great,
thought Suzanne.
Next thing you know our new bank president will be strapping on a pair of six guns
and firing away. And who knows who
the target will be?

T
ONI
had a dozen teapots lined up on the counter when the front door creaked open and
a chill wind blew in. Suzanne glanced over, ready to tell their latecomer that they
were closed. And, instead, saw someone who brightened her mood instantly.

Sam Hazelet stood in the doorway, sending his devastating smile her way.

Thrilled, Suzanne rushed over to greet him. “You got away from the clinic for lunch!”
she cried. “You never get away!”

“I felt something calling to me,” said Sam, planting a kiss on her cheek as he enfolded
her in a warm embrace. “Something in the air.”

As she leaned closer to him, Suzanne smelled his aftershave. Citrus with a hint of
amber. And maybe a hint of Betadine?

“You were no doubt drawn by our soup,” said Suzanne. “Our crab chowder has a way of
wafting its magical aroma clear across town.” She stepped back and looked up at him.
Brown hair hanging over his forehead, flashing blue eyes, hint of dimples, healthy
glow on his face.
How does this guy
always look so good?
she wondered.
Even straight from work. It sure is a mystery. But a good kind of mystery!

Sam slipped onto a seat at the counter as Suzanne bustled about, grabbing a steaming
bowl of soup for him and prodding Petra to construct one of her famous hot roast beef
sandwiches au jus.

“Too much, too much,” Sam protested, when she put it all in front of him.

“No,” said Suzanne, smiling, “it’s just right.”

So of course she had to tell him about her little tête-à-tête with Ed Rapson. And
how Rapson had been lunching with Lester Drummond.

“Do you think Rapson will give the bank job to Drummond?” Suzanne wondered.

Sam chewed thoughtfully. “Sounds like it would be a terrible mistake to do that.”

“I can’t imagine how this thing is going to play out,” said Suzanne. “Plus, we still
have a murderer on the loose!”

Sam gazed at her. “We?”

“Um…I meant Sheriff Doogie.”

W
HEN
Sam’s soup bowl was almost empty, Suzanne said, “How much time do you have?”

He glanced at his watch. “About two minutes. I gotta get over to the hospital. I think
there’s an appendectomy waiting for me.”

But Suzanne grabbed his hand and guided him into the Book Nook.

“I sure love this little shop,” said Sam. He cast an interested glance at the History
section, but Suzanne pulled him into the Romance section. And there, surrounded by
book covers that depicted pirates, Victorians, and couples of English nobility locked
in passionate, bodice-busting embraces, Sam leaned in and kissed Suzanne.

So wonderful,
she thought.
So unexpected in the middle of a crazy hectic day. I could get used to this. For good.

“See you tonight?” said Sam.

“For the parade.” Suzanne smiled. “Absolutely.”

“W
HAT
were you two lovebirds up to?” asked Toni once Sam had left.

“Nothing,” said Suzanne. “Just…hanging out with the books.”

“Didn’t sound like nothing,” said Toni. “Sounded more like…steamy romance.”

Suzanne chuckled. “You think?”

“Oh yeah,” said Toni, as she shook out a white linen tablecloth. “Which is always
a good thing.” She settled the tablecloth onto a battered wooden table, and said,
“Presto, change-o. Instant tea salon.”

“Now all we need are the candles and flowers and cream and sugar.”

“And the food,” said Toni. “I love it when Petra makes tea sandwiches. They’re just
so…petite!”

“Let’s see how she’s doing,” said Suzanne, putting a hand on the kitchen door. “See
if she needs me to slice off crusts or something.”

But when she walked into the kitchen, she was once again startled by the sight of
an unexpected visitor.

“Colby!” Suzanne cried.

Colby, the juvenile getaway artist, was sitting cross-legged on a chair. Contentedly
munching one of Petra’s double-decker roast beef sandwiches and swigging sips from
a can of Coke, he looked like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“You little rat!” said Suzanne, putting a hand to her heart. “I was so
worried
about you!”

Colby stopped chewing for a moment and raised one upturned palm in a nonchalant, I-got-no-problem
gesture.

“I had visions of you sleeping on the floor of some cold
garage,” Suzanne scolded. “And don’t you dare try to look innocent!” Then she whirled
on Petra. “And
you.
Why didn’t you tell me he was here? And why on earth are you feeding him like he’s
some prodigal son who’s just returned to the fold! Why are you treating him like…like…”

“Like some big-shot poobah!” filled in Toni. She’d come in to see what all the fuss
was about.

Petra looked suddenly sheepish. “I…well, he was hungry. And he just slipped in here,
quiet as a mouse, and quite politely, I might add, while you were hanging out with
Sam in book world over there. And, besides, I just had to feed him…”