Eggs Benedict Arnold (14 page)

Suzanne
gazed into her refrigerator, then grabbed a plastic container of leftover chicken chili and a carton of sour cream. While she heated her chili on the stove, she measured out a cup of kibbles into Baxter
’
s bowl. Then she opened a can of Newman
’
s Own Chicken and Brown
Rice Formula, scooped a third of the can into a small bowl,
added a small amount of water, and warmed it in the mi
crowave. When it was a nice, smooshy gravy consistency,
Suzanne poured it over Baxter
’
s food, added a Rimadyl tablet, and set the dish on a raised metal feeding stand, a new addition in her kitchen.

“
There you go, pal. Kibbles
avec poulet.
”
While her chili steamed and bubbled, Suzanne pulled a piece of cornbread from the freezer and popped it into the
microwave. Then she gazed around her kitchen.

It was a cook
’
s toy store, really. Renovated three years ago so she and Walter could indulge their secret little foo
die
passions. They
’
d installed a Wolf gas range with char broiler, Sub-Zero refrigerator, and granite counter-
tops. It was all quite gorgeous and very Food Network, but
not terribly practical now that she was alone. Now it felt a little like a restaurant kitchen, superbly equipped, but a trifle impersonal, too. Maybe, once she started entertaining again, her kitchen would magically transform into a
warm, welcoming space where everyone would want to congregate. On the other hand, that might depend on who
she entertained.

Her chili heated, Suzanne poured it into a handmade ceramic bowl that was one of a set she
’
d purchased at the Darlington College Art Fair and added a dollop of sour
cream. She set it on a wicker tray along with the cornbread,
paper napkin, and spoon and carried the whole shebang into the living room.

As she ate and halfheartedly watched the nightly news,
Suzanne
’
s thoughts wandered back to the murder. She won
dered who could carry so much anger and malice in their
heart that they would kill Ozzie Driesden? Someone right
here in Kindred? Someone close to Ozzie? Someone so close
that Ozzie never suspected until the final moments when he was held hostage, drugged, and then had his blood drained?

Suzanne shook her head, grabbed the remote control, and switched over to
Wheel of Fortune.

Gotta watch something a little lighter,
she told herself.
Stop these dark thoughts from rattling around inside my head.

Vanna was rah-rahing and busily turning over letters. The clue was
“
thing.
”

Suzanne stared at the letters that had been revealed on the board. Two G
’
s, a B, a T, and an R.

“
Eggbeater,
”
she said aloud, just as contestant number three piped up with,
“
I
’
d like to solve the puzzle.
”

Naturally it was eggbeater.

Okay,
Suzanne told herself.
If I can look at those puny
clues and pull eggbeater out of the sky, why can
’
t I dredge
up a suspect or two?

Of course, Sheriff Doogie had already taken care of that.

* * *

Twenty
minutes later, Suzanne was in her suede jacket, blue jeans, and boots, standing in a sweet-smelling hay
barn, saddling her horse. With the cinch snugged tight, she
led Mocha outside, grabbed a handful of slightly oily mane
to help pull herself into the saddle, and then was off in a
slow canter around the perimeter of
the
field.

The sky had faded to a smoky purple, the final glory of the day manifesting itself in a wash of thin clouds and a handful of glittering stars, like a child
’
s game of jacks tossed out onto a dark blue blanket. From onesies all the way up to tensies.

Across the field, Suzanne could see the lights of the
Cackleberry Club. The little place glowed like a beacon and
Suzanne figured that book night,
romance
book night, was
probably a rousing success. At least it would be once Toni
trotted out the cheddar cheese biscuits and Pinot Grigio.

Suzanne worked her horse for a good forty-five minutes,
practicing from going from a fast walk right into a canter. Doing a little remedial work on neck reining while they were at it. Mocha had spent his summer grazing with a herd of cows, so he was lazy, obstinate, and a little out of practice. Then again, so was she.

Suzanne walked him slowly back to the barn, letting the
big horse cool down gradually. Standing in his box stall, she pulled off the saddle and blanket, wiped him down with a chamois cloth, then grabbed a curry comb. The horse
’
s wide back quivered and his front feet stomped as she ran the metal teeth over him. He liked the sensation, but was uncertain about all her fussing. Oh well, he
’
d get used to it.

Dust motes twirled in the low light as Suzanne groomed
her horse.

And her thoughts drifted back to Sam Hazelet.
Their earlier exchange bothered her a little. She liked him, could probably
seriously
like him, but she was a little ner
vous now that she
’
d maybe sent the wrong signals. Had she
been too cool? Too indifferent? Or too pushy?

What should she do? she wondered. Hang a sign over her heart that said, Open for Business? Or just bag those
worries and let things take a natural course? Yeah, probably
that would be best.

Suzanne hung Mocha
’
s bridle on a peg, then poured out
a couple cups of oats into his feed box. As she turned to leave, Mocha lifted his large head and stared at her with luminous brown eyes as if to say,
Leaving so soon?

“
You need a buddy, don
’
t you?
”
she said.
“
It
’
s probably
lonely out here when nobody
’
s around. Tell you what, I
’
ll try to find you some kind of buddy.
”

At
nine o
’
clock when Suzanne came barreling through the front door of her home, feeling relaxed, at peace, and a lit
tle wobbly in her knees and thighs, the phone was jangling.
She snatched up the receiver on what was probably the final
ring before it switched over to the answering machine.

“
Hello?
”

“
Hello ... again. This is Sam.
”

“
Oh ... hi.
”
Balancing on one foot, she tried to slide off
her left cowboy boot by scraping it against the right one. Her technique wasn
’
t working very well.

“
You sound out of breath,
”
said Sam.

“
I was just . . . outside,
”
she told him.
“
Goofing around.
”

“
Listen, when we spoke earlier, I forgot to ask you something.
”

“
Shoot,
”
said Suzanne, staring down at the inlaid tur
quoise leather on her half-off boot, fully expecting Sam
’
s question to be either murder or drug-related.

“
Would you have dinner with me Friday night?
”
Suzanne
’
s grin, as she accepted, was a mile wide.

Chapter ten

Tuesday
was Eggs in a Basket day at the Cackleberry
Club. Suzanne and Toni crowded around the butcher-block
table with Petra, arranging thin slices of ham in muffin tins,
then watching as she poured a thick, foamy egg mixture on top. Once each
“
basket
”
was filled and topped with a
generous spoonful of shredded cheddar cheese, they were
slid into a hot oven.

“
Look who
’
s queen of the rodeo this morning,
”
exclaimed Petra as she cracked more eggs, single-handed,
into an antique speckled ceramic bowl. Toni was all duded
up in a new hot pink western shirt with silver embroidery
and matching silver buttons. On her feet were
a
brand-new pair of buckskin-colored Tony Llama boots.

“
Gifts from Junior,
”
she told them, trying to sound off
handed.
“
He says he
’
s been inspired to share the wealth.
”

“
You saw Junior last night?
”
asked Petra, slightly aghast.
She paused, eggs in hand.

“
I thought you declared a moratorium on seeing Junior,
”
said Suzanne, jumping in.
“
I thought you
’
d pretty much decided you were going for the big D.
”

“
Divorce,
”
said Petra, enunciating the word in an exag
gerated manner.

Toni looked pained.
“
But Junior brought gifts. What was I supposed to do? Act like an ingrate?
”

“
You could try saying no,
”
said Petra. She turned toward
her grill, grabbed a spatula, and flipped a half dozen blue
berry pancakes.

“
You could have told him not to darken your doorway,
”
said Suzanne.

“
Junior
’
s TV was on the blink and he wanted to watch
reruns of
American Gladiators,
”
Toni explained, a little
defensively.

“
I think there
’
s more to Junior
’
s visit than meets the
eye,
”
said Petra.
“
Trust me, he
’
s after something. The new duds were just to butter you up.
”
She glanced at her pan
cakes.
“
These are ready.
”

“
You think?
”
Toni
’
s face fell.
“
I guess I hadn
’
t consid
ered that particular angle.
”

Suzanne held out two plates for Petra
’
s pancakes.
“
I
think you better sniff out some details on Junior
’
s so-called
delivery job,
”
she told Toni. Then she bumped the swinging door with her hip and sailed out into the cafe. The place was
only half full, but it was still early. Pretty soon they
’
d have a packed house, folks coming from all over the county to
enjoy their food and, Suzanne liked to believe, the ho
m
ey
ambiance of the Cackleberry Club.

Suzanne delivered her plates of cakes, brought pitchers of maple, blueberry, and boysenberry syrup, poured refills of coffee and English breakfast tea, then finally looked up
and drew a deep breath. And noticed Earl Stensrud, Missy
’
s
ex and now, she supposed, Missy
’
s boyfriend for a second
term, occupying the far table near the window. Earl was
digging into a fluffy omelet that Toni must have delivered.
Funny she hadn
’
t mentioned Earl being here.