Scorched Eggs (4 page)

“Your new book looks totally hot,” Toni bubbled. “At least the guy on the cover does!”

“Aren't you sweet,” said Carmen, “to offer such a learned literary critique.” She gave Toni a withering glance that also seemed to convey pity.

“See you later,” said Suzanne. She gave Toni's arm a good tug and pulled her away.

When they were out of earshot, Toni said, “Why is it I can start out feeling like a million bucks, and when I run into Carmen I get reduced to a lousy peso?”

“Don't pay the slightest bit of attention to her,” said Suzanne. “She does that to everyone. Tries to intimidate or one-up you.”

“With you, too?”

“Especially me,” said Suzanne. “For whatever reason, Carmen never misses an opportunity to dis me.”

“I think that's because Carmen used to have the hots for Sam,” said Toni. “Especially when he first came to town.” She grinned. “But
you
were the one who caught him.”

“It's not exactly like reeling in a walleye,” Suzanne chuckled.

“No, it's a lot better.”

Suzanne hesitated. “Toni, would you like to come home with me and have dinner?” Since separating from Junior, Toni had been living in a cramped apartment that was basically just a couple of rooms. Her galley kitchen, which consisted of a two-burner stove and small refrigerator, was more suited to a college dorm room. Or a deer camp out in the sticks.

Toni grinned happily at the impromptu invitation. “Would I ever!”

S
UZANNE
had two dogs, Baxter and Scruff. But when she and Toni walked through the front door, you'd have thought a pack of wild dogs from the Serengeti inhabited her house. The dogs whirled, twirled, howled, and barked, giving the impression of fierce guard dogs even as they wagged their tails furiously and pulled their mouths into happy little dog grins.

“Whoa, guys,” said Suzanne, grabbing at collars and trying her best to get them settled. “Try to keep it down to a dull roar, okay?”

But Toni had already dropped to her knees and was administering expansive hugs and pets. “Baxter, you handsome hunk of dog, gimme five.” Baxter, an Irish setter and Lab mix, lifted his paw and placed it in Toni's outstretched hand.

“That's funny,” said Suzanne, observing them. “I never taught him that particular trick.”

Toni was busy chucking Baxter under the chin. “That's because he doesn't do cheap tricks. Baxter is his own dawg.” She turned to Scruff, a black-and-white mongrel that Suzanne had found wounded and wandering down a dark country road. “And you, Mr. Scruff. Lookin' good as usual.”

“Are you sure you never studied to be a dog trainer?” Suzanne asked. Toni seemed to have them eating out of her hand. “Or a dog whisperer?”

Toni popped up and wiped her hands on her jeans. “Nope, I just have a natural affinity with animals.” She grinned. “Maybe that's why I still get along so well with Junior. He's kind of a mangy critter himself.”

Suzanne headed into her kitchen, Toni and the dogs following along behind. “I thought you were going to file for divorce.” She turned on the faucet and washed her hands. “It's high time, you know.”

Toni and Junior had gotten hitched in Las Vegas and their marriage had lasted about as long as it took for the return flight to touch down on the tarmac. Toni talked a good game about divorcing Junior Garrett, but so far there hadn't been any serious forward progress.

Toni scrunched her face into an expression of mock concern. “I know you and Petra think I should dump Junior for good. But the thing about him is . . . he kind of grows on you.”

“You could say the same thing about mildew or dry rot,” said Suzanne.

“Seriously,” said Toni, “Junior's been trying very hard to make things up to me. You remember a couple of months ago when he spray-painted my name on that overpass? In Day-Glo silver?”

“How could I forget? The state police came calling and wanted to issue you a citation. If we hadn't asked Doogie to step in . . .”

“Yeah, I know,” said Toni. “But don't you see, it was proof that Junior cares about me, that deep down he really loves me.”

“You think?”

“Oh yeah. I mean, dangling over a couple lanes of traffic like that, he could have fallen and broken his fool neck. But he risked it anyway. He did it for love.”

“Dear Lord,” muttered Suzanne. She wondered when coming just inches from being encased in a full-body cast constituted true love.

*   *   *

W
HILE
Suzanne chopped tomatoes and fresh herbs for her salad, Toni sat at the counter playing with a set of wooden spoons, drumming them against the counter.

“I love this kitchen,” Toni said with a quick
rat-a-tat-tat
. “If I ever won the Publishers Clearing House sweepstakes, I would take all the money and design a kitchen just like this. This has gotta be my dream kitchen.”

“If you win your million, maybe you should build a house first,” said Suzanne.

“I get that. But this kitchen, this is a real
cook's
kitchen.”

Suzanne smiled, because she knew it really was. Their old kitchen (hers and Walter's) had been your basic '60s-style kitchen installed in a 1930s vintage Cape Cod home. It had sported so-so linoleum, harvest green appliances, and crappy cupboards. But a few months of planning, dealing with contractors, and living amidst Sheetrock and throat-clogging dust had resulted in the kitchen she enjoyed today. It was a bright, modern space complete with granite countertops, an area to hang her collection of copper pots and pans, a Wolf gas range, and a Sub-Zero refrigerator.

“Whatcha planning to do with that chicken you've been whacking into submission?” Toni asked.

“Do a stir-fry with some onions, ginger, red peppers, bok choy, and water chestnuts,” said Suzanne. “And then add some sweet-and-sour sauce.”

“Yum. Do you want me to help? I feel like a useless blob just sitting here.”

“Why don't you grab a bottle of wine out of the fridge and pour us a little liquid refreshment?”

“Now there's a grand idea,” said Toni. She reached overhead and grabbed two wineglasses from a hanging rack. “Have ourselves a nice relaxing TGI Friday drink.”

“If not now, when?” said Suzanne.

While Suzanne chopped her veggies, Toni took care of the wine.

“Here you go, cookie,” she said, handing Suzanne a glass of Chablis.

Suzanne took a sip just as the phone shrilled.

“Hmm,” said Toni. “I hope it's not more trouble.”

It wasn't trouble at all, it was Sam. He was anxious to hear if Suzanne had picked up any more information about today's big fire.

“Not really,” she told him. “But the building is still smoldering and there's a bunch of looky-loos wandering around.”

“Including you.”

“Including me and Toni. Are you still at the hospital?”

“Yup, but I'm leaving in . . . oh, another hour or two. Three at the most.”

“Take care,” said Suzanne.

“I wish I could be there with you,” said Sam. “I hope you're not lonesome or anything.” He sounded kind of wistful.

“I'm good. Toni's here for dinner.”

“Have fun then.” Now he really did sound wistful.

When Suzanne hung up the phone, she said, “Sam says we should have fun.”

“That means we should probably refill our wineglasses, right?”

“Sounds right to me,” said Suzanne. She took off the ring she was wearing, set it on the counter next to the stove, and started her stir-fry in earnest.

“That ring you have,” said Toni. “The mother-of-pearl?”

“Hmm?”

“I've always wondered. If there's mother-of-pearl is there also father-of-pearl?”

“You pose an interesting question,” said Suzanne as she dumped her diced chicken into the sizzling wok.

“The thing is,” said Toni, really getting into it now, “I'm always confused when there isn't an opposite. Take, for example, the term ‘starter house.' Does that imply there's also an ‘ender house'? Or what about feeling overwhelmed. If you're not all that upset can you just be whelmed?”

“Toni,” said Suzanne, “your mind works in very strange ways.”

“Suspicious ways, too,” said Toni.

*   *   *

B
ECAUSE
she enjoyed homemaking and setting a nice table, Suzanne placed linen place mats on the table, added a couple of tall white tapers in silver candlesticks, then placed sets of chopsticks next to their plates.

“Yikes,” said Toni as Suzanne lit the candles and dimmed the lights. “It's not enough that we have to dine like we're in a fancy restaurant? Now I gotta use chopsticks, too?”

“I've seen you use chopsticks before.”

“Sure, when I pick up an order of sweet-and-sour chicken at Mr. Chang's Golden Foo Foo Palace. But not like this.” She picked them up. “What are these . . . ivory?”

“I don't think you're allowed to import ivory anymore, I'm pretty sure these are just acrylic.”

“Excellent,” said Toni. “No acrylics were harmed in the making of this meal.”

They sat down and ate, enjoying the stir-fry chicken, sipping their wine, talking again about today's big fire.

“I bet once Doogie brings in a state arson investigator,” said Toni, “all his questions will get answered fairly quickly.”

“You think so?”

“Oh yeah. I once watched a show on the Discovery Channel that was all about arson. Turns out those investigators are real cagey guys. They can run precise chemical tests that'll determine exactly what kind of gas or kerosene or lighter fluid was used. They can almost pinpoint it down to the exact gas station where it was purchased.”

“What good would that do?”

“Then the police can go through surveillance videos of all the area gas stations.” Toni shrugged. “Pretty much every gas station and convenience store has cameras these days. Because of, you know, all the stickups and stuff.”

“You know a lot about this forensics business, don't you?”

“It's all I watch on TV. Well, that and
Dancing with the Stars
and the medical mysteries shows. But not the really gross stuff, like poisonous snake bites and sixty-pound tumors.”

“You might be right about arson investigators figuring this out fairly quickly,” said Suzanne. “But when we talked to Doogie, he seemed a little . . . what would you call it? Stumped.”

“Still,” said Toni. “He can be smart when he wants to.”

They had just finished dinner when the doorbell sounded.
Bing bang bong.
Which of course set off a cacophony of barks and the dogs' mad rush to the door.

“Who do you suppose that is?” asked Toni. “Were you expecting somebody to drop by? Maybe Sam?”

“Nope,” Suzanne said over her shoulder as she hurried to the front door. “Not tonight anyway.”

“Maybe he changed his mind,” Toni called after her. “In which case I should probably skedaddle. Leave you two lovebirds to . . .”

“Petra!” came Suzanne's surprised voice.

Toni did a double take. “Petra? She's here?”

Not two seconds later, Suzanne and Petra came strolling into the dining room followed by the pair of dancing dogs.

“Hey,” said Toni, her voice sounding buoyant after two glasses of wine. “Long time no see.” Then she registered the look of grim determination on Petra's broad face and said, “Uh-oh, did something happen?”

“Petra wants to talk to us,” Suzanne said to Toni.

“I
need
to talk to you,” said Petra. She hesitated for a moment, and then said, “Actually, it's more like a group think. But it can wait until you've finished eating.”

Toni popped up from her chair like an excited gopher. “We're done. Really. What's on your mind?”

“Let's move into the living room,” said Suzanne. She picked up her wineglass and said, “Petra, would you like a glass of Chablis?”

“Um . . . sure,” said Petra.

“Make yourself comfortable and I'll get you one,” said Suzanne.

“No need,” said Toni. “I'll just run and grab the bottle.”

They all finally settled down, Suzanne and Petra on the cushy sofa, Toni sitting cross-legged on the floor. Petra shrugged out of her nubby sweater and set her purse down in the middle of the coffee table. Her bag was a big old black leather thing, square and clunky, like the ones that the queen of England carried. Only Petra's was about twenty years old, since she prided herself on frugality and was always loath to quit on a good thing.

“What's up?” Suzanne asked. For whatever reason, Petra was clearly on edge and reluctant to begin.

Petra cleared her throat and said, “I've been thinking.”

“About what?” said Toni.

“Petra, what's bothering you?” said Suzanne. Petra looked frightened and her pent-up emotion had subtly changed the atmosphere in the room, making it feel almost electrically charged.

“I think somebody set that fire on purpose,” said Petra.

Suzanne was watching her friend closely. “Well, I think we all pretty much agree on that. That's what Sheriff Doogie was alluding to with his talk about accelerants and bringing in an arson investigator.” So why exactly was Petra here? she wondered. Just to confirm their suspicions and talk it out—try to ease her mind about Hannah? Or was something else going on?

Toni suddenly jumped in. “Yeah, we get that, honey. Of course, the big question is,
why
would somebody set fire to that building? I mean, it was the County Services Building where Hannah and Bruce worked. So what would be the purpose, anyway? To burn all the little printed pamphlets and stuff? That doesn't make sense to me.”

“Okay,” said Petra, her posture suddenly stiffening. “How about this? What if Hannah Venable's husband was cheating on her?”

“What!” said Toni. She reacted so violently, jerking her arm back, that she splashed wine onto Suzanne's carpet. “You mean Jack?”

Petra's words had pretty much dropped a big fat bombshell right in the middle of their cozy little confab.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said Toni even as she grabbed a napkin to sop up the spill. “Do you know this for sure?”

“Trust me,” said Petra, her gaze hardening, “I pretty much know.”

“Hannah told you?” said Suzanne. She looked at Petra in alarm, deciding this piece of information might be crucial to Doogie's arson investigation.

“Well, Hannah didn't tell me in so many words,” said Petra.

Toni looked curious. “Then what'd she say?” Having been estranged from Junior for the past couple of years, Toni was well versed in the intricacies of dealing with cheating spouses. After all, when Junior had cheated on her, the
first
time Junior had cheated on her, it was with the floozy bartender at the VFW who wore hot pink extensions in her hair. Since then, he'd moved on to a few trailer park babes.

“Petra,” said Suzanne, “I think you need to explain yourself a little more clearly. Was Hannah's husband cheating on her or wasn't he? And I hate to ask this, but had Jack threatened her in some way? Was she . . . was Hannah afraid for her life?”

There was a sharp intake of breath from Toni.

“Not that I know of,” said Petra.