Read Eggs Benedict Arnold Online
Authors: Laura Childs
Eggs Benedict Arnold (13 page)
“
Sure,
”
smiled Esther.
“
Let me buzz his office. See if we
can catch him.
”
Two minutes later Dr. Sam Hazelet was grinning at Su
zanne as they stood outside the clinic
’
s front door. He was tall, early forties, good-looking, with tousled brown hair and blue eyes. Of course he looked adorable in his white
coat over a pale blue shirt and slightly loosened Ralph Lau
ren tie with its scatter of polo ponies.
“
It
’
s good to see you again,
”
he told her. His words
sounded more than genuine and Suzanne blushed slightly. This was a man she wouldn
’
t mind getting to know better.
“
Great to see you,
”
she replied.
Okay, a good and a
great,
she told herself.
Now how do I phrase my particular
question?
Sam Hazelet seemed be studying her.
“
You feeling okay?
”
he asked.
“
Because . . . ah . . . well, I heard about what happened yesterday. With Ozzie and with you.
”
He looked extremely concerned.
“
In fact, why don
’
t we go in and do a quick blood draw? Make sure you
’
re all right.
”
“
I
’
m fine, really,
”
Suzanne told him.
“
I just stopped by to ask you a quick question.
”
He moved a step closer and Suzanne could smell what
was either aftershave or a much better grade of hand soap
than the clinic used to use. Something faintly peppery.
“
Yes?
”
he said.
Suzanne didn
’
t hesitate.
“
It concerns Ozzie Driesden
’
s murder.
”
“
Lot of theories going around about that,
”
said Sam. He rolled his eyes.
“
Thank goodness I
’
m not the duly ap
pointed county coroner.
Although I think I might have to take a turn at it next year.
”
“
All those theories?
”
said Suzanne.
“
I have one, too.
”
“
You want to go somewhere for coffee?
”
Sam asked.
“
Talk this over?
”
“
No,
”
said Suzanne.
“
I mean, no, thanks. This isn
’
t a
good night for me.
”
She didn
’
t have anything going, but she
needed a little think time. Besides, if she and the good doc
tor were going to start something, she wanted it to be done at a careful, relaxed pace, not over a hurried cup of coffee.
“
Okay,
”
said Sam.
“
So give me the elevator test.
”
“
Pardon?
”
said Suzanne.
“
We
’
re riding from the tenth floor down to the first floor.
You
’
ve got approximately twelve seconds to make your pitch.
”
“
Oh,
”
said Suzanne.
“
Okay. It occurred to me that Ozzie
’
s murder might have been peripheral. That some meth lab guys broke in to steal drugs and Ozzie just happened to be in their way.
”
“
Interesting,
”
said Sam.
“
So what I wanted to know from you,
”
said Suzanne,
“
was if drugs that are commonly used in funeral homes for . . . you know . . . embalming purposes . . . might also be used to cook up a batch of crystal meth?
”
Sam stared at her, his eyes crinkling slightly at the cor
ners.
“
And you came up with this on your own?
”
“
I think so,
”
said Suzanne.
“
Although I could have seen
a similar plot on TV. Maybe
CSI: Miami
?
She thought
for a few moments and then asked,
“
Or did Sheriff Doogie
already talk to you about this?
”
“
Haven
’
t seen the good sheriff lately,
”
said Sam. He crossed his arms and seemed to regard her with curiosity. Then he launched into a quick lesson on illegal drugs.
“
Meth and ecstasy are the most common drugs produced in what
’
s commonly referred to as mom-and-pop labs,
”
he
told her.
“
On the street, meth is often referred to as crank,
zip, or cristy. The pure smokeable form, methamphetamine
hydrochloride, which is the really bad stuff, also goes by
a batch of names. Ice, quartz, blizzard, glass, sparkle, and
white lady.
”
“
Wow,
”
said Suzanne.
“
You really know this stuff.
”
“
I served on a community action board once,
”
said Sam.
“
During my residency. Anyway, to answer your question,
yes. Embalming fluid generally contains formaldehyde,
methanol, ethanol, ether, and other solvents. The basic for
mula depends, of course, on which manufacturer you buy your embalming fluid from. They
’
re all slightly different.
”
“
But not by much,
”
said Suzanne.
“
That
’
s right,
”
said Sam.
“
So a crew of crank-head, meth-lab freaks would probably jump at the chance to get
their hands on any kind of embalming fluid.
”
“
Hmm,
”
said Suzanne.
Sam Hazelet glanced over at her car. It was the only one
left in the lot.
“
You
’
ve got a dog.
”
“
Baxter,
”
said Suzanne.
“
Looks like a nice enough guy.
”
Suzanne smiled.
“
I could introduce you sometime.
”
Sam smiled back.
“
Soon, I think.
”
Chapter nine
On
the way to her house on Laurel Lane, on the north side, the oldest part of Kindred, Suzanne took a slightly
circuitous route and cruised past the Driesden and Draper
Funeral Home. It was a big old rambling place, American
Gothic with a few touches of Victorian thrown in for good
measure. Set back from the street, the wooden clapboard building had been painted a somber gray with white trim. Like a modestly dressed Quaker.
On a whim, Suzanne pulled over to the curb and gazed
up at the roofline with its fanciful array of turrets, finials,
and balustrades. And wondered why so many funeral homes
had a certain creep factor about them, always looked like a place where the Addams Family could settle in nicely.
Then, for no reason at all, except pure curiosity, Suzanne
crept around the corner and crunched down the back alley that ran directly behind the funeral home. A thick, tangled
line of cedars formed a sort of natural barrier on the right
side of the alley. Probably helping to screen the loading and
unloading of caskets. On Suzanne
’
s left was the rear wing
of the funeral home, a stone block addition that had prob
ably been added some twenty years ago.
Just ahead, the alley widened out slightly. And as Suzanne approached the rear, covered portico, she noticed a
red car, an older model Mustang coupe, parked beneath it.
As she rolled to a stop, the assistant, Bo Becker, came
bounding out the back door, his arms stretched wide around
a half dozen containers of white lilies and one huge bouquet of purple and gold chrysanthemums.
Hastily unrolling her window, Suzanne called,
“
Bo? Hello there. I
’
m Suzanne
The
tz, the lady who found Ozzie yesterday? Could I talk to you for a second?
”
Bo never bothered to look up. He dumped the flowers
onto the pavement, jerked open his car door, spread out
a black plastic tarp on his backseat, then began piling in
containers.
“
Excuse me?
”
Suzanne called again. How rude was this?
Bo slammed the door shut, grabbed the big pot of mums,
and flipped open his trunk. Dressed in jeans and a khaki
green T-shirt, he looked just as casual as he had yesterday. Except that his hair was combed back flatter and probably
held in place with a gob of gel.
“
Please don
’
t be rude,
”
said Suzanne.
Bo loaded the final pot, then glanced over at her.
“
You
here to jump on the bandwagon, too?
”
he asked.
“
Accuse
me of murdering Ozzie?
”
His handsome face twisted with
anger, his voice dripped poison.
“
Because that fat old sher
iff sure got it in his head that I
’
m involved.
”
“
I wasn
’
t going to accuse you of anything,
”
said Suzanne.
“
I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions.
”
“
I
’
m busy,
”
snarled Bo. He stared at a smudge on his car
’
s rear fender, then used the bottom edge of his T-shirt to wipe it away.
“
That
’
s a pretty neat car you
’
ve got,
”
said Suzanne.
“
I love that candy-apple red color.
”
Maybe she could flatter him a little. Pretend to be a motor head. Although if he said anything about rims or carburetors, she
’
d be outed immediately.
“
This here
’
s a ninety-four Mustang with a custom Borla
exhaust,
”
Bo announced, a smidgen of pride in his voice.
“
Can
’
t nobody touch her.
”
“
I believe it,
”
said Suzanne. She let a few moments slide
by.
“
I was a friend of Ozzie
’
s, too. I
’
m just as upset about his death.
”
Bo slammed the trunk.
“
Tough shit.
”