Stake & Eggs (19 page)

Their sound system cranked out the pleasant strains of a piano concerto as Suzanne,
Toni, and Colby ferried out three-tiered stands of tea sandwiches and presented them
to each table with a flourish. There was even a flurry of applause when Suzanne pointed
out the chicken almond sandwiches gracing the top tier, ham and apricot pinwheels
on the middle tier, and wedges of roast beef, mortadella, and flatbread on the bottom
tier.

Pleased that their guests were so appreciative, Suzanne and Toni popped into the Knitting
Nest to see if Carmen was ready to kick off her fashion show.

“The scones are mere crumbs, and the women have started on their quiche and tea sandwiches,”
said Suzanne, in a jovial mood. “So anytime you want to begin your show would be just
perfect.”

Carmen glanced at two of her models who were busily gabbing away. “Juliet, Coco!”
she said. “If you could control your blathering for just a moment. And do lose the
chewing gum!” She looked around the room, coolly appraising each of her carefully
coiffed and outfitted models, then said, “We’re ready now.” She pressed a CD into
Suzanne’s hands. “Will you kindly cue up my track?”

“Of course,” said Suzanne.

“Which outfit are you gonna start with?” asked Toni. She’d trailed Suzanne in, fascinated
by the transformation of the models. The girls, who’d looked tall, gangly, and
about eighteen years old just an hour ago, now looked like sophisticated Parisian
women. Their eyes were smoky and rimmed with kohl, their lips were dramatically red,
their hair was angled into modern do’s, and they wore tiny size-two suits, skirts,
and designer jackets.

Carmen never bothered to glance at Toni. “We’ll kick off the show with the Cavalli
tunic. The dolphin blue.”

Toni scrunched up her face. “You mean like Flipper?”

Suzanne gave Toni’s arm a sharp tug. Better to get her out while the gettin’ was good.
“Let’s go out and do a quick introduction,” she suggested.

Toni jangled a tiny bell, and its high-pitched ring caused conversation to cease and
curious faces to turn toward them. Then Suzanne stepped to the center of the room
to kick things off. “Welcome, ladies, to our Crystal Tea,” she said, smiling. “I hope
you’re all enjoying the luncheon. We’ll continue to circulate with fresh pots of tea—jasmine
and peach paradise for this go-round—but if you’d prefer something else, please just
ask.” She paused. “As you know, our own reigning mistress of romance novels, Carmen
Copeland, is with us today. And she’s brought with her some of the finest pieces from
her Alchemy Boutique.” There was light applause, and then Suzanne said, “Carmen, why
don’t you come out here and show us exactly what you found on the runways of Paris!”

More applause sounded, and Carmen strolled out, looking cool and relaxed, like some
kind of languid jungle cat.

“Ladies,” Carmen began theatrically, “I know that most of you aren’t used to this
kind of high fashion. But I beg of you, please keep an open mind.” She spread her
arms apart in a dramatic gesture. “Fashion is what separates the soulless from the
sophisticates. What feeds the senses and soothes the eye. And today, I am going to
rock your world!” She turned to Suzanne and nodded, and Suzanne pushed a button on
the CD player.

Katy Perry’s hit song “Firework” rang out as Carmen snapped her fingers and the first
model strutted out, swinging her hips to the beat.

“Coco is turned out in a Cavalli cashmere tunic with matching leggings,” said Carmen
in a slightly breathless voice. “Soft, supple, and ever so elegant.”

“Baby, you’re a firework”
went the music as Coco coolly circled the room.

“Our second model is wearing a purple Yoji Katoshi power suit,” said Carmen. “As you
can see, dramatic shoulders are back. Which gives a lovely structured look, and is
oh so slimming for the hips.”

“Come on show ’em what you’re worth…”

“Now this jacket and skirt,” said Carmen, with all sincerity, “is truly investment
dressing.”

Standing against the wall, watching the show, Toni whispered to Suzanne, “When a store
charges too much for an outfit, they always tell you it’s investment dressing.”

“Sophia, our next model,” said Carmen, “is wearing a gorgeous silk jersey leopard-print
dress. As you can see, it boasts a plunging neckline and body-hugging fabric that
shows off every feminine curve and leaves nothing to the imagination!”

This time Toni whispered, “Leopard print? Is she serious?”

“Sshh,” said Suzanne, trying to keep a straight face.

“It’s just so…so…” Toni began.

“Don’t say it,” whispered Suzanne. “If you can’t say anything nice…”

“Tacky!” spat out Toni, in spite of herself.

A
S
the fashion show continued, Suzanne circled the tables discreetly, making sure her
guests had plenty of tea, lemon slices, and bowls of Devonshire cream. Colby, much
to his credit, carefully cleared dishes after each course. He had a light touch and
a swift hand at the tables and seemed to be doing a fairly credible job.

“You’ve done this before,” said Suzanne as he brushed past her, carrying a tub of
dirty dishes. “You’ve had some experience in the restaurant business, am I right?”

“I worked as a waiter at a place in Minneapolis,” answered Colby.

“Is that where you’re from?”

“Nah.” He shook his head. “That place is too square.”

“Then where?” she asked

His eyes shifted a bit and a light seemed to go off. “Nowhere special,” he said. “Just…around.”

While Carmen continued to narrate and the models managed their amazingly quick costume
changes, Suzanne slipped into the kitchen and phoned Doogie.

“Guess what?” she said energetically, once she had him on the line.

“You solved the murder,” put in Doogie. “My work here is done.”

“No!” said Suzanne.

“Then what?”

“The kid showed up,” said Suzanne. “Colby.”

“What?”

“He returned to the scene of the crime, so to speak.”

“That little demon,” fumed Doogie. “Did he say
why
he gave us the slip last night? When all we were trying to do was give him a warm
bed and a square meal?”

“He didn’t offer an explanation,” said Suzanne. “Just showed up here hungry. I still
have no earthly idea where he spent the night.”

“And you say he’s still there at your place?” asked Doogie.

“Working for me,” said Suzanne. “And busing dishes like a pro. Why do you ask? Are
you gonna come here and get him?”

There was a long silence. Then Doogie said, “No, I wasn’t planning to. I was hoping
maybe
you
could bring him over to the Law Enforcement Center.”

“We tried that once,” said Suzanne. “Didn’t work out too well, as I recall.”

“He’s dealing drugs,” said Doogie in an ominous tone.

“He swears he’s not,” said Suzanne, “but if it makes you feel any better, I’ll ask
him again.”

“He’ll just deny it.”

“Then I
won’t
ask him,” said Suzanne. “What do you want, Doogie? You can’t have it both ways! And
you can’t always think the worst of people. You can’t go through life being a total
pessimist!”

“Ah…jeez,” said Doogie, breathing hard into the phone, “the last thing I need is a
lecture.” Then: “Is that music I hear?”

“We’ve got a fashion show going on,” said Suzanne.

“Fashion show!” snorted Doogie. “Who’s got time for that?”

“Obviously not you,” said Suzanne. “You sound funny. Gruffer than usual. Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay. I feel like I’ve been kicked and trampled by a pack of mules.”

“Tell me,” said Suzanne, “did you question Reed Ducovny again?”

“That I did.”

“And?”

“None of your business, Suzanne.”

“You’ve got nothing, right? Because he’s innocent.”

“I ain’t no judge and jury,” said Doogie. “As the duly elected sheriff, all I do is
catch ’em.”

“Did you talk to Charlie Steiner again?”

There was more heavy breathing on the line, and then Doogie said, “I gotta go.” And
just like that, the line went dead.

Holy halibut
, thought Suzanne.
What’s this guy’s problem now?

“Is Doogie being ornery again?” asked Petra. She was standing at the butcher block
table, slicing pieces of cake and carefully transferring them to the bone china dessert
plates that Suzanne had found at a tag sale a couple of years ago. They were decorated
with pink-and-white floral designs and marked with a fancy blue
M
on the back, which made Suzanne suspect they were Mavaleix Limoges from France.

“He’s just Doogie being Doogie,” said Suzanne.

“Which means his sparkling personality is shining through,” said Petra.

“I wish,” said Suzanne.

Petra licked frosting from her finger and cocked her head, listening. “Sounds like
Carmen’s show out there is starting to wind down.”

“Which means it’s time for you and Toni to serve your cake and for me to hustle into
the Book Nook,” said Suzanne. In her marketing zeal, she’d set up several nice displays
of fashion books, along with a few fashion magazines and tins of tea. Maybe their
guests would find their way into the Book Nook and be enticed into making a small
purchase.

It would seem Carmen had the exact same idea.

“I think I should sign a few of my books,” she said, buttonholing Suzanne the minute
she emerged from the kitchen.

“Sounds like a fabulous idea,” said Suzanne. She hadn’t put any of Carmen’s books
on display but knew she could snatch a row off the shelf and make a nice arrangement
on the counter. Then Carmen could sit behind the counter on a stool and sign books
to her heart’s content. Until doomsday if she wanted.

“The fashion show went extremely well, don’t you think?” asked Carmen, as they threaded
their way to the Book Nook.

“A huge hit,” said Suzanne. “As was the tea service.”

Carmen stopped suddenly and gazed meaningfully into Suzanne’s eyes. “We’re a lot alike,
you and I.”

“You think so?”
No, we’re not.

“We’re both smart women,” said Carmen. “And we’re both hard-charging entrepreneurs.”

“I suppose we do what we can to get by,” said Suzanne, trying to sidestep whatever
point Carmen was trying to drive home.

“No,” said Carmen, “you’re a tiger, just like I am.” She lowered her voice and added,
“Not like most of these other women.”

“You mean the ones here today?” said Suzanne. “Our friends and neighbors?” She watched
as Toni and Petra served cake to all the dear women who had believed in the Cackleberry
Club and supported them from the get-go. The same women who also volunteered time
and energy at the hospital, knitted socks for soldiers, and taught kids with disabilities
how to read. Suzanne was suddenly steamed. “You’re talking about the women who
ooh
ed and
coo
ed over your clothes?”

“But most of them won’t set foot inside Alchemy,” said Carmen. “It takes a special
woman with contemporary taste and more than a few discretionary dollars to do that.”

“But you said Alchemy was doing well,” said Suzanne. It always surprised her that
Carmen managed to sell designer duds in such a small town.

“Yes, thanks in part to Claudia,” said Carmen as she slipped behind the counter and
pulled out her black
Montblanc pen. “Lately, she’s almost single-handedly kept me in business.”

“How lucky for you,” said Suzanne, wondering just how long Claudia Busacker was going
to stick around Kindred now that her poor husband was dead.

A
N
hour later, with dozens of books and tins of tea sold and wrapped in peach-colored
tissue paper, with models scrubbing off their exotic makeup and turning back into
pumpkins, Suzanne walked their last guest to the door. She waved brightly, closed
the door firmly, and sagged against it. Then, on impulse, she cranked the latch and
locked it tight.

There. Done and done. If somebody wants back in, it’s not going to happen. Because
I’m pooped and my feet are literally killing me.

“Petra! Toni!” Suzanne limped into the kitchen. “How are you guys doing?”

One look and Suzanne knew they hadn’t fared that well, either. Petra was sprawled
on a folding chair massaging her neck, while Toni was scrunched on a wooden bench
with her back propped against the wall.

“How does it
look
like we’re doing?” said Toni. “We’re wiped.”

“We are,” said Petra, “but it’s nothing that can’t be remedied by a serious hit of
sugar.” She hauled herself up, cut a generous serving of cake, and proceeded to attack
it with a fork.

Suzanne kicked off her loafers just as Colby pushed by her carrying a load of dirty
dishes. “I think I wore the wrong shoes,” she said. “Or I need gel insoles or something.”

“You need an Oriental foot massage,” said Petra. “I saw a diagram in a magazine once.
If you hit the right pressure points, the pain just goes away. Poof!”

“No, no, no,” said Toni. “She should be wearing cowboy boots. Cowboy boots all have
some kind of lethal metal
arch inside. You can be on your feet all day long, even get tromped on by a horse,
and nothing will faze you.”

“I’ve been tromped on by a horse,” said Suzanne. “My own horse. And it fazed the heck
out of me.”

Toni shrugged. “Go figure.”

Petra scraped up a bit of frosting as she glanced around the kitchen. “The thing to
do now,” she said, “is sell the place.” Petra was a bit of a neat freak, so a messy
kitchen, especially one that had just cranked out breakfast, lunch, and then a large
and complicated tea party, catapulted her into a nervous frenzy. She tended to wring
her hands and walk in circles.

“Who’d want to buy it?” said Toni.

“Maybe we could sell it to Carmen,” Suzanne joked. “She certainly fancies herself
a big-time entrepreneur.”

Toni looked glum. “You think I’d work for
her
? No way, José!”