Eggs Benedict Arnold (17 page)

Suzanne was finalizing the arrangement of the strawberries and almond bars when Toni came flying into the
kitchen.
“
Everything ready?
”
she chirped.
“
Our dear
ladies
are sipping away and making polite inquiries regarding
food.
”
She glanced at the trays laden with food.
“
Oh, wow,
don
’
t those look special.
”

Petra gave an elfish grin as she added a few edible flow
ers to the arrangements.
“
And pretty, too.
”

“
You
’
re so right,
”
exclaimed Toni.
“
Our guests are gonna jump out of their skins when they get a load of all this gorgeous food!
”

“
Shall we carry out the trays,
ladies
?
”
asked Suzanne.
“
And make our presentation?
”
With great care, each partner picked up two of the food-laden trays, then carefully eased through the doorway and into the cafe. And their guests did not jump out of their skins at all, but instead gave their hostesses an enthusiastic and well-deserved round of applause.

Halfway through the tea, Suzanne introduced herself
(though they all knew who she was) and did a lighthearted
presentation on tea etiquette.

First up was a quick lesson on scones.

“
The proper way to eat a scone,
”
Suzanne explained,
“
is
to split it in half horizontally with your knife. Then spread a little butter on the scone
’
s crumbly side, and top it with jam.
”

“
What about adding Devonshire cream?
”
asked a lady in a plum-colored suit.

“
Put a judicious dollop right on top of your jam,
”
said
Suzanne.
“
Enough for a bite, then use your small spoon to
keep adding more dollops if you want.
”

“
What about lemon in tea?
”
asked a woman in tweeds.

“
Personal preference,
”
said Suzanne.
“
But the accepted
method is to put a thin, almost translucent slice of lemon in your teacup, then add your tea.
”
There was a soft murmur, then Suzanne added,
“
but never add lemon
and
milk to your tea. The citric acid in the lemon will surely make your milk curdle.
”

A woman way in back raised a hand tentatively.

“
Yes?
”
said Suzanne.

“
How long do you boil your water for tea?
”

“
Ah,
”
said Suzanne.
“
You really don
’
t. The trick is to pull your kettle off the stove just as it
begins
to boil.
”

“
Interesting,
”
said another woman.
“
Then how long should you allow your tea to steep?
”

“
The rule of thumb,
”
said Suzanne,
“
is two to five minutes for green tea, four to seven minutes for black tea. But,
of course, timing is always dependant on personal taste. And the variety of tea.
”

The woman in the plum suit raised her hand again.
“
How did you learn all this?
”

Suzanne gave a slightly embarrassed shrug.
“
Trial and error. And some really good books.
”

While
Petra poured refills and chatted with friends on the cafe floor, Suzanne and Toni gobbled up the leftover tea sandwiches that had been sliced crookedly or, for some reason, weren
’
t up to Petra
’
s exacting standards.

“
They still taste good,
”
mumbled Toni.

“
And this cucumber and goat cheese is to
die
for,
”
said Suzanne.
“
Even if it
’
s not everyone
’
s taste.
”

“
Cheese,
”
said Toni.
“
I wanted to tell you, we
’
re down to our last wheel of cheddar. I hope you were able to get Mike Mullen on the horn.
”

“
I did and he says he
’
s busier than a one-armed paper-
hanger,
”
Suzanne told her.
“
So I
’
m gonna have to rattle on
out there myself.
”

“
I got an idea,
”
said Toni.
“
Are you still going to Ozzie
’
s
visitation tonight?
”

Suzanne nodded.
“
Sure. Though I can
’
t honestly say I
’
m looking forward to it.
”

“
What if I picked you up,
”
said Toni,
“
and then, after
ward, we drove out to Cloverdale Farm together?
”

“
Sounds like a plan,
”
said Suzanne.
“
Is Petra coming, too?
”

“
No,
”
said Toni, licking her fingers.
“
She
’
s going to visit
Donny. But she
’
ll be at Ozzie
’
s funeral tomorrow.
”

Petra came flying through the swinging door.
“
My ears
are burning. Someone
’
s been talking about me.
”

“
Are you psychic?
”
asked Toni.

“
No, just psychotic,
”
Petra said with a laugh.
“
Suzanne,
there are
ladies
drifting toward the Book Nook. You want to do the honors?
”

As a lucky strike extra for the Cackleberry Club, book
sales were suddenly as brisk as the tea. And Suzanne found herself riffling through cardboard boxes in her office, pull
ing out extra copies of books that prominently featured tea
and baking.

“
Remember me?
”
asked a short, pleasant-faced woman who hoisted a stack of books onto the counter.

Suzanne gazed at her, then snapped her fingers.
“
You live out Highway 22. The Miss Marple fan. Or, I should say, Agatha Christie fan.
”

“
Lolly Herron,
”
said the woman, offering her hand
to
Suzanne.
“
I
’
m so glad I finally got it together and came to
one of your marvelous teas. What great fun. And marvel
ous food!
”
She patted her tummy and rolled her eyes.

“
Please do come again,
”
Suzanne urged her, as she rang
up the books, then gave her a ten percent discount.

“
I will,
”
Lolly promised.

“
And don
’
t forget,
”
Suzanne told another group of
ladies
,
“
Tomorrow our own Carmen Copeland will be right
here signing her newest book,
Ramona
’
s Rhapsody.
”

“
We
’
ll be back,
”
promised Minerva Bishop, a tiny little
octogenarian whom everyone simply addressed as Mrs. Min.

Once the
ladies
of the Silver Leaf Tea Club had taken
their leave, once Joey Ewald, their slacker busboy, came in to clear tables and load up the dishwasher, Suzanne ducked into her office to make a few calls. She had a to-do list that
was a mile long and most of it had to do with their Take the
Cake Show.

Suzanne checked in with Sharon Roper at SugarBakers in Jessup to make sure she was still willing to serve as one
of the judges for the cake-decorating contest, then called
Claudia Dean over at Darlington College to make sure she
was still on for the fondant and frosting demos.

Jotting notes, double-checking, and going over her final
plans, Suzanne felt fairly confident they
’
d be able to pull off the event.

What she didn
’
t feel confident about was helping Missy.
She
’
d noodled the various suspects around in her mind
—
Earl Stensrud, Bo Becker, George Draper, and even Missy herself—and nothing seemed to add up. No one seemed to
have held that much of a grudge against Ozzie Driesden.

Of course, you never knew what anger or despair a per
son could hold and hide, deep within their heart.

But a sig
nificant piece of the puzzle still seemed to be missing. Even
Sheriff Doogie had pretty much said
the
same thing, in his
own inimitable shit-kicking way.

Wandering back into the kitchen, Suzanne was suddenly
struck by a weird sensation. A memory tiling
—synapse or
flashback—that felt very unsettling, though she couldn
’
t quite put her finger on it.

“
Honey, what
’
s wrong?
”
asked Petra.
“
You look like you just saw a ghost!
”

“
It
’
s . . . nothing,
”
said Suzanne, trying to figure out what had made her so jumpy. But the memory or sensation or whatever it was, wouldn
’
t dredge up.
“
You know
how you sometimes get a weird
déjà
vu thing going in your
head? You think you saw or heard or smelled something
familiar, something kind of unsettling, but you can
’
t quite
figure it out?
”

Petra continued frosting her almond cake, a special order for tonight
’
s PTA meeting.
“
Uh-huh. I guess.
”

“
That
’
s what I
...
oh, never mind,
”
said Suzanne.
“
It
’
s
probably just some crazy synapse thing.
”

“
Or hormones,
”
said Petra.

When
Suzanne jogged down her sidewalk that evening and
climbed into the passenger seat of Toni
’
s car, the first thing she said was,
“
You got a new car.
”
Toni generally drove an
old navy blue Honda, infamous for belching black clouds of oil until Junior hauled it into the garage and installed a
new exhaust system. This car was a Ford Custom 500. Not
so new, but not so dotted with rust, either.