Eggs Benedict Arnold (27 page)

Mobley, dressed in khaki pants and a red polo shirt, just grinned his imperious politician
’
s grin and slapped one of his oversized campaign buttons into Toni
’
s free hand.

“
Well, look at this,
”
Toni announced loudly, so everyone
could hear.
“
A fancy-schmancy button with a picture on it.
Too bad it
’
s not your butt.
”
She made a big show of turn
ing the button around.

“
Oh wait, I had it upside down. It
is
your butt!
”

The crowd roared as Mobley glared at her.

“
You got a smart mouth for such a little gal,
”
he told her.

Toni glowered back, assuming the attack pose of a rabid Doberman pinscher. Which was when Suzanne stepped in.

“
Can I get you a table, Mayor?
”
Suzanne was polite but
decidedly firm. When you came to the Cackleberry Club, you were here to eat, buy books, or learn how to knit. No way was this turning into a political rally.

“
Just passing through,
”
said Mobley.
“
Doing a little last-
minute election work.
”
He gave a self-important, throat-
clearing harrumph, then added,
“
Not that I need to. Unlike
some law officers I know.
”

Suzanne knew Mayor Mobley was making a heavy-handed dig at Doogie not being reelected.

“
Got somebody you should meet,
”
said the mayor, sud
denly beaming at her.
“
This here
’
s Ray Lynch. Ray represents the acquisitions department of the Rom Funeral Home Consortium.
”

Ray extended his hand to Suzanne.

“
Suzanne is one of Kindred
’
s new breed of female entrepreneurs,
”
said the mayor, managing to sound slightly condescending.

“
How do?
”
said Suzanne as she slowly shook Ray Lynch
’
s hand. She stared at him as he fixed her with un
blinking, steel gray eyes. A tough guy, she decided. With a
bottom-line, bean-counter mentality.

Mobley slapped Ray Lynch on the back and said,
“
Ray is a real blue-chip business guy.
”

“
And you think blue chip means buying up local busi
nesses and replacing them with faceless, out-of-town cor
porate owners?
”
asked Suzanne.

Mobley
’
s face turned red as a cooked lobster, his eyes became piggy little slits.
“
You sound like a doggone socialist, Suzanne. Next thing you know you
’
ll be parading
around town spouting the
Communist Manifesto.
”

“
It
’
s a free country, Mayor,
”
said Suzanne.
“
Get used to it.
”

As Suzanne delivered pumpkin bars and slices of apple
crumb pie, she couldn
’
t help but wonder about Ray Lynch.
If Ozzie had turned down an offer from the consortium, could Ray Lynch have taken
matters
into his own hands? What if he wasn
’
t just the acquisitions guy, but also the company muscle? Suzanne knew it was a stretch, a huge
supposition on her part, but if Ray Lynch had killed Ozzie,
could he have gone after Bo Becker, too?

Suzanne stepped behind the counter, rang up two checks,
hit the keys on the old brass cash register, and returned a few dollars in change to a couple of customers.

Maybe, she thought, Ray Lynch had also gone after Bo
Becker because he thought Bo viewed him as a suspect. As
Ozzie
’
s killer. Then Lynch would have just been tying up loose ends.

Suzanne stared across the cafe, her eyes landing on the
high shelf that held their collection of ceramic chickens. A little white hen squatted next to a reddish brown rooster. A
flock of yellow chicks was scattered nearby. She shook her
head. No answers there.

So where am I going to find the answers?

Even though Missy was now a long shot as a suspect,
Suzanne had to admit she was clearly fascinated with this
case. Or cases, really. And Doogie didn
’
t seem to be making much forward progress, even as the mayor seemed to relish Doogie
’
s tenuous situation.

Could Mayor Mobley be in bed with the Roth Funeral Home Consortium?

It was possible, she supposed. Anything was possible.

Suzanne wove her way through the tables, letting ran
dom ideas rumble through her brain. Pushing open the door
to the kitchen, she turned in the direction of their big industrial stove and yelled,
“
Petra, how much do you know about Mayor Mobley?
”

But Petra wasn
’
t in her usual position. Suzanne
’
s gaze
switched to the back door. Petra was just closing it, turning
toward her with a smile, dusting her hands together, and asking,
“
What?
”

“
You should let Joey haul out the garbage,
”
Suzanne suggested.
“
Since your back is bugging you.
”

“
Oh,
”
said Petra, looking slightly embarrassed.
“
I wasn
’
t
carrying out garbage. I was...
”
She colored slightly.
‘
This fellow came to the back door and I...
”

“
One of our suppliers?
”
asked Suzanne.
“
Because you know I
’
m happy to handle that stuff.
”

“
No,
”
said Petra.
“
Actually, there was this raggedy-
looking man asking for a handout.
”
Her cheeks flared pink.
“
And I felt sorry for him
—he looked so tattered and tired—
that I gave him a couple of sandwiches.
”

“
A homeless guy?
”
asked Suzanne. Could it be the same
homeless man Sheriff Doogie had mentioned?

“
You know,
”
said Petra, thinking,
“
I think it might have
even been the same guy we saw in the park Sunday. Kind of a strange coincidence, huh?
”

Suzanne was out the back door in a flash, searching
right, then left, wondering why Baxter, who was tied out
here, hadn
’
t sounded any kind of alarm.

But Baxter was reclining on the grass, looking like the canine grand duke of the universe, giving her a look of su
preme curiosity.

And there wasn
’
t a soul in sight.

Chapter sixteen

Things
went from barely normal to strangely bizarre when Carmen Copeland came sweeping in for her book signing.

“
Good Lord,
”
muttered Toni, as Carmen posed in the
front hallway, then strode forcefully toward them.
“
Batman
just dropped in from Gotham City.
”

Carmen was, indeed, wearing some kind of black cape
—
Suzanne figured it had to be cash
m
ere
from the genteel way it fluttered—over a black form-fitting dress that fea
tured a very plunging V-neckline. At least a dozen chains of
twisted, intermeshed gold nestled in that deep
V.

“
Oh good,
”
said Carmen, dropping a bright blue bag on
the signing table and whipping off her cape in one carefully
calculated motion.
“
You
’
ve stocked plenty of books.
”
She waggled a finger at Suzanne and Toni who gazed placidly
at her.
“
I have a tingly feeling about today. I think we
’
re going to sell beaucoup books.
”

I
sure hope so,
thought Suzanne.
I
hope having Carmen
here is worth all the drama.

“
Dear,
”
said Carmen, plopping down in the author
’
s chair and addressing Toni,
“
I
’
d like a bottle of water. Still, not carbonated.
”

Toni rolled her eyes and sauntered off. Suzanne figured
Toni would probably just bring her a glass of tap water.
Warm tap water at that. Filched from Baxter
’
s dog dish.

Digging in her blue bag, Carmen pulled out a stack of
bookmarks and arranged them on the table.
“
Always like to
hand these out, too,
”
she told Suzanne.
“
Since they feature
my backlist.
”

Staring at Carmen
’
s blue bag, Suzanne experienced a slight ping. She
’
d seen that bag before, only in a different color.
“
Your bag is ...
”
began Suzanne.

Carmen reached a hand out and caressed her bag gen
tly.
“
A Birkin bag,
”
she said, with just a hint of a satisfied
smile.
“
From Hermes.
”

“
Like Samantha
’
s bag on
Sex and the City,
”
said Suzanne. She really was a hard-core viewer.

“
Yes, I believe they did feature a similar bag.
”

A bag that cost seven thousand dollars,
thought Suzanne.
Holy cow, how many books does this lady sell in a year?

Suzanne forced herself to stop thinking about Carmen,
her money, and the intimidation factor that went along with
it. Instead she said,
“
You might be interested to know that
the Cacklebe
rr
y Club is offering a special purchase with a purchase today.
”

“
Oh?
”
said Carmen. Her dark eyes, lined top and bottom with black kohl, burned into Suzanne.

“
Customers who buy your new hardcover book can also get a special tea plate for six ninety-five,
”
Suzanne explained.

Carmen wasn
’
t impressed.
“
And what exactly does a tea
plate consist of?
”

“
A bottomless cup of jasmine tea and a plate with two tea sandwiches, small slice of quiche, brownie bite, and miniature scone.
”

“
All that for six ninety-five?
”
asked Carmen. Suddenly,
she did seem impressed.