Stake & Eggs (7 page)

“Oh yeah? Tell that to the other fellow who was with
Doogie. The guy who kept egging him on and wanted me arrested right on the spot! Before
I even had a chance to defend myself!”

Suzanne frowned. “You’re talking about Doogie’s deputy? Um…Driscoll?”

“No, I am not,” said Ducovny. “This was some pretty-boy bank manager. Some out-of-towner
who seemed proud of the fact that he didn’t hail from Kindred, by the way.”

“Oh crap,” said Suzanne. “Was it a guy by the name of Rapson?”

Ducovny bobbed his head. “That’s it. You know him?”

“I ran into him briefly,” said Suzanne. “Rapson stopped here this morning to buttonhole
Doogie and spread a little cheer. He’s apparently the regional manager for Mills City
Banks. Sent here to bat cleanup.”

Ducovny grabbed a copy of John Grisham’s newest thriller from the shelf and squeezed
it between his work-worn hands. “I don’t like him.”

“Join the club,” responded Suzanne. “Neither do I.”

There. She’d said it out loud. She’d admitted it in the light of day, and to someone
other than Toni or Petra. And guess what? She wasn’t a terrible person for it, either.

“Then you’ll help me?” asked Ducovny. “You’ll set Doogie straight?”

“I’ll try,” said Suzanne, wondering exactly what she was promising.

A
MAZING
aromas wafted throughout the kitchen and swirled out into the café as Suzanne, Toni,
and Petra turned their full attention to prepping for afternoon coffee and tea. This
was their most elegant time of day, their civilized respite from the rest of the Cackleberry
Club craziness. And even in the middle of winter, the day after a major snowstorm,
they knew they’d get pretty near a full house.

Suzanne was proud that she’d managed to subtly introduce afternoon tea to their customers.
Of course, they’d
pretty much had to point a loaded gun at the heads of the men to get them to order
tea. But, much to her delight, the women of Kindred and the surrounding environs had
embraced tea service like shoppers at a 70 percent-off clearance sale. The café often
filled with women eager to ditch their winter sweatshirts and jeans for vintage wool
skirts, fancy sweaters topped with lace, and warm, frilly scarves. These newly converted
tea lovers mingled with friends, sipped Darjeeling and oolong tea from bone china
teacups, nibbled on dainty finger sandwiches and other goodies, and caught up on the
latest news in the romance-book world.

With tea service, life was good.

A
FTER
whisking together flour, sugar, salt, eggs, melted butter, and more, Petra popped
her famous oat-and-almond scones into the oven. Meanwhile, Suzanne and Toni buzzed
about the café clearing away the detritus from lunch and trading ketchup bottles for
silver creamers and crystal bowls filled with sugar cubes.

Suzanne glanced around and realized how grateful she was to have daily rituals like
this to keep her grounded and remind her of what really mattered in life. It also
helped her keep thoughts of Ben Busacker’s grisly death at bay.

I like thinking about tasty finger sandwiches and pretty lace tablecloths,
she thought.
I enjoy brewing healthy green tea and malty Assam tea, and serving it in dainty cups
and saucers. And these two crazy BFFs in my life, Toni and Petra…Okay, I know it sounds
squishy and a little bit lovefesty, but I don’t know what I’d do without them!

Suzanne smiled to herself as she sidled into the kitchen. “I can’t stand it much longer,”
she said to Petra. “How soon are those scones going to be ready? The smell is making
me ravenous!”

“Didn’t you eat?” asked Toni, who’d cribbed a triangle sandwich and was munching on
it.

“Be careful,” Petra warned Suzanne. “You’re starting to sound like Sheriff Doogie.”

“Just as long as I don’t end up looking like Doogie,” said Suzanne. She watched over
Petra’s shoulder as she opened the oven door to reveal giant scones that were turning
a gorgeous golden brown.

“Two more minutes,” Petra declared. She turned and stared at Suzanne. “Are you going
to let us in on the conversation you just had with Reed Ducovny or keep us in the
dark and guessing?”

“Let you in?” said Suzanne. “I figured you must have heard it. I figured
everybody
heard it.”

Toni narrowed her eyes. “So Doogie sees Ducovny as a suspect?”

“Apparently so,” said Suzanne, “since he paid Ducovny a visit.”

“That’s just plain silly,” said Petra. “Everybody knows Ducovny wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Tell me about it,” said Suzanne. “He won’t even use weed killer on his crops. He’s
organic all the way.”

“Little green caterpillars and all,” agreed Petra. “We need more conscientious people
like him.”

“You have to talk to Doogie,” Toni urged, popping a final bite of sandwich into her
mouth. “Set him straight.”

“I’ll try,” said Suzanne.

“So much going on in Kindred right now,” mused Petra. “Although, some of it’s actually
positive.” She had a little twinkle in her eye. “Like Lester Drummond getting fired.”
Lester Drummond had been the warden at a nearby for-profit prison. Hardly anyone in
Kindred had wanted the place built, but Mayor Mobley had found a way to ram it through,
arguing that the prison would lead to new jobs and bring increased revenue to local
businesses.

Some of that was certainly true, but a cement bunker surrounded by razor wire didn’t
exactly enhance the beauty of an historic town filled with cute cottages, Victorian
homes, and a picturesque downtown of yellow-brick buildings.
And all of it surrounded by towering bluffs on one side and the meandering Catawba
Creek on the other.

“I’m glad Drummond was finally fired,” said Toni. “Especially after that dog-fighting
scandal.” She shook her head. “Just awful.”

“Janell down at Kuyper’s Hardware told me Drummond’s furious about losing his job,”
said Petra.

Drummond was a big man, almost pro-wrestler size, who, with his tattoos and shaved
head, looked like one of the prisoners he’d reigned over. And now that he’d been drop-kicked
through the prison gates, Drummond was probably in an awful frame of mind.

Which made for a fairly lethal package, Suzanne decided.

“And now there’s a new warden,” Petra continued as she stirred chocolate sauce at
the stove. “Some guy name Fiedler.”

“Is he cute?” asked Toni. “Is he single?”

“Even if he is,” Petra said, in an arch tone, “you’re not.”

“Don’t sweat the details,” said Toni, with a flick of her head. “Because I will be
soon.”

She’d barely spoken the words when the front door of the café swung open with a loud
bang.

“Customers?” said Toni.

Suzanne poked her head out the door just as Claudia Busacker, Ben Busacker’s widow,
stepped briskly into the café. Claudia paused, looking unsure of her surroundings.

“Oh!” said Suzanne, startled. She glanced at Toni and Petra and said in a stage whisper,
“Claudia Busacker.”

“Here?” whispered Toni. “Why?”

Petra rolled her eyes. “You know why. Suzanne,” she hissed, “you go out and greet
her!”

Suzanne touched a hand to her chest. “Me? Why me?”

“Because you’re our fearless leader,” said Toni.

Suzanne steeled herself, drew a deep breath, and went out to greet Claudia. In her
heart, she knew it was the right thing—the kind thing—to do.

“Claudia? Mrs. Busacker?” she said as she crossed the café. “Hello.” She stretched
out a hand. “I’m Suzanne Dietz. We’ve…I…well, I’m just so very sorry…” She didn’t
know Claudia all that well, but she’d certainly seen the woman around town.

“Suzanne…yes,” said Claudia, giving a faint smile. As always, Claudia was beautifully
groomed and well put together. She was trim and elegant in her black mink coat with
every hair on her honey blond head perfectly highlighted and blow-combed. But even
with high color in her cheeks from the winter cold, Claudia looked drained. And upon
closer inspection, Suzanne noted dark circles under her eyes and tension lines intersecting
her forehead.

Claudia didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “I want to see where it happened,” she
said to Suzanne in a clipped, no-nonsense tone.

Suzanne’s heart went out to Claudia. She clasped her hands in front of herself and
said, “Oh, honey, you really don’t.”

“Yes, I do,” said Claudia. She set her jaw so hard that Suzanne was afraid she’d crack
a filling.

“There’s really nothing to see,” Suzanne said, trying to sound practical. In fact,
that was pretty much the honest truth. Ben Busacker’s body was no longer lying out
back, nor was his smashed snowmobile there. Sheriff Doogie, Sam Hazelet, and Deputy
Driscoll had seen to that almost immediately. Everything had been hauled away for
preservation as well as investigation.

Toni suddenly crept in beside them. “There’s crime-scene tape,” she piped up helpfully,
looking directly at Claudia. “And the stakes are still there. So, you could see that.”

Claudia made a pathetic little mewling sound. She put a gloved hand to her mouth and
looked like she was about to collapse.

“Too much information,” Suzanne whispered to Toni.

Claudia waved a hand. “No, I want to see it…I really do.”

“You really don’t have to,” said Suzanne.

But Claudia was adamant. “I want to see where my husband drew his final breath,” she
said firmly. “I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t do this.” She gazed at Suzanne
and then at Toni. “I need closure.”

“Got it,” said Toni.

Suzanne gave a helpless shrug. A here-goes-nothing shrug. Then she motioned with her
hand. “Come this way.”

Claudia followed Suzanne into the kitchen, waited a few minutes while Suzanne slipped
into her boots and parka, then followed her out the back door.

The winter sun was lasering down, forcing the two women to shield their eyes from
the strong glare that danced off icy snowdrifts and crystallized trees.

“So bright,” murmured Claudia.

You should have seen it yesterday
, thought Suzanne.
Big difference. Night and day. Ha-ha
, she thought as that notion capered madly in her brain.

Together, they slogged across the drifted parking lot and disappeared into the woods.
The snow was knee-high, so it was tough going, and branches slapped at their faces.
Every once in a while, Claudia would utter a surprised little “Ooh.”

Finally, they arrived at a small clearing where the snow was tromped down and yellow
crime-scene tape fluttered desolately in the wind.

Claudia stared in stoic silence while Suzanne looked on in sympathy. The new widow
took in the yellow tape and then the wooden posts, probably imaging the wire that
had been stretched between them. Then, just as Suzanne figured would happen, Claudia’s
lower lip began to quiver and her eyes welled with tears.

Suzanne leaned over and touched Claudia’s arm, rubbing it gently, offering whatever
solace she could as they
both breathed in the brittle, cold air. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated.

“I wasn’t thrilled about moving to Kindred,” Claudia said, in a kind of hoarse croak.
“But it was a huge opportunity for Ben.” She dug in her purse for a Kleenex and dabbed
at her eyes. “A wife’s role is to support her husband, isn’t it?”

Suzanne wanted to say,
Not necessarily
, but didn’t. Claudia didn’t need a women’s-lib pep talk right now.

“Anyway,” Claudia continued, “I left my old home and my friends and moved here.” She
heaved a sigh that was almost a shudder. “Now what am I going to do?”

Suzanne put her arms around Claudia and pulled her close. “For one thing, you’re going
to stay here for now,” said Suzanne. “And I promise that your new friends will rally
around you. In fact, I’ll make sure of it.”

“Thank you,” Claudia said in a whisper. “You’re very kind.” A few more tears spilled
down her cheeks, and then Claudia’s body began to shake with sobs.

Suzanne’s gaze traveled from Claudia to the crime scene, then back to the stricken
widow. All she could think was:
What a brave woman
.

A
T
three-thirty, just as they were clearing away the last vestiges of their tea service,
Sheriff Doogie dropped by. He swung his bulk onto a creaky stool and slumped over
the counter. “Coffee. Black,” he said.

“We’re going to try something new today,” Suzanne told him.

“Huh?” Doogie was already eyeing her with suspicion.

“I’m going to pour you a lovely cup of tea.”

Doogie blinked in disbelief. “My pinky finger won’t fit through those dinky little
teacup handles,” he complained.

Suzanne grabbed a sturdy ceramic mug and splashed in a helping of Assam tea. “No problem.”

Doogie sniffed his mug of tea as if she were a wicked witch offering him a lethal
dose of strychnine. “What kind is this? Like Lipton’s?”

“It’s Assam, and it’s fresh brewed from tea leaves grown in India. Go ahead, try it.
It’s good for you,” Suzanne told him, as Toni cut a slice of apple pie for Doogie.

“Smells funny,” said Doogie.

“Malty,” said Suzanne. “That’s a good thing. Tea should broaden your horizon as well
as your taste buds.”

“Doogie’s horizon is already plenty broad,” Toni chortled as she set his pie in front
of him.

“Hey, smart mouth,” said Doogie. “Watch it!” He took a sip of tea, considered it for
a few moments, then said, “Not bad.”

“I’ll make a convert out of you yet,” said Suzanne.

“The Methodist preacher’s been saying that to me for years,” said Doogie.

“Well, this might be a somewhat easier task,” said Suzanne. She hesitated, then said,
“I want to talk to you about Reed Ducovny.”

Doogie nodded. “I suspected you did.”

Suzanne spread her hands wide and said, “Why. On. Earth?”

“Evidence,” said Doogie.

“A little piece of wire?” Suzanne snorted. “That’s not evidence, that’s a coincidence.”

“No,” said Doogie, “the wire was cut directly from his fence. We even found the place
where it had been cut. It’s a
fresh
cut.”