Eggs in a Casket (A Cackleberry Club Mystery) (14 page)

“Of course,” said Suzanne, feeling about six inches tall and not liking it one bit. “Come right this way,” she managed to say with slightly clenched teeth.

Once Carmen and Deanna had been seated, Suzanne hurried to the counter to grab a pot of tea.

“Hey,” said Toni, “what the heck just happened over there?”

“What do you mean?” said Suzanne, working hard to shake off the encounter, fighting to regain her normal calm and poise.

“You and Deanna Drummond looked like you were about to face off against each other like a pair of hissing wombats.”

“Was it really that obvious? I mean . . . that she didn’t like me?”

Toni’s mouth twisted into a crooked grin. “Well . . . yeah.”

* * *

AS
soon as all the guests were settled in their places, Havis stood up and smiled, spreading her arms in a friendly wave as she tried to get the attention of everyone in the room. Gradually the guests settled down and Havis began a short welcoming speech. She talked about how delighted she was to serve as director of the Historical Society, thanked all the volunteers for their tireless work on the Sesquicentennial, and welcomed them all to the tea. As she spoke, Suzanne moved around the tables, quietly refilling teacups.

“And now,” said Havis, wrapping up her remarks, “I’m going to ask Suzanne Dietz, our gracious hostess, to say a few words.”

Suzanne blinked and straightened up suddenly. “Me?” she mouthed to Havis, while Havis gave a hearty bob of her head. Suzanne had no idea she was going to be called upon to perform.
Nothing like short notice
, she thought as she steadied herself.

“Go get ’em, tiger,” Toni mumbled under her breath as she grabbed Suzanne’s teapot.

Suzanne scooted up to the front of the café, paused to catch her breath and calm her nerves, and smiled warmly at all the women who gazed at her expectantly. “Welcome to the Cackleberry Club,” she began. “We’re delighted to host this tea luncheon sponsored by the Logan County Historical Society. I know you’re all looking forward to enjoying some delicious food today, so why don’t I run through our menu very quickly. The tea Toni and I have just poured for you is a Nilgiri black tea from the Blue Mountains of southwestern India. It’s a smooth, mellow, non-astringent tea that’s absolutely delicious. If you’d like, you can add a little milk or even lemon to it. We’ll also be serving a jasmine tea and an orange blossom tea this afternoon as you make your way through each succeeding course.”

She paused slightly and smiled again at those who watched her. “If you’ve taken tea with us before, you know that we always begin with a scone. Well, today you have your choice of cream scones or blueberry scones, both served with Petra’s homemade Devonshire cream.” She took another breath. “Our second course will be a lovely array of savories served on three-tiered trays. Tea sandwiches will include cucumber and cream cheese, chicken salad spread, and goat cheese with pimento. We’ll also be serving miniature cheese quiches. And finally, for dessert, we have a delicious carrot cake with cream cheese icing.” At that, some of the women oohed and aahed. Suzanne glanced toward the kitchen door as—right on cue—Toni and Kit stepped out, each carrying large silver trays piled high with scones. “So please enjoy!” added Suzanne. People clapped politely as she ducked hastily into the kitchen.

“Nice speech!” said Petra. “How’s it going out there so far? Are we off to a rousing start?”

“It’s okay,” said Suzanne, breathing deeply. “Good.”

Petra turned to look at her. “Just good? Or . . .”

“Deanna Drummond showed up with Carmen,” Suzanne blurted out. “And meeting her like that kind of took me by surprise.”

“It was only a matter of time,” said Petra as she spread chicken salad onto slices of cinnamon bread.

“What do you mean? Just a matter of time before I met her?”

“Face it,” said Petra. “It’s a small town—and you’re a big personality.”

“No, I’m not,” countered Suzanne.
Am I?

Petra glanced up and lifted an eyebrow.

“Okay, okay,” said Suzanne, backing down a little, catching Petra’s drift. “So maybe I am a tad involved in this investigation. But that’s only because I was involved in finding Lester Drummond’s dead body!”

“Which is going to make his ex-wife feel extremely uncomfortable around you.”

“She didn’t seem one bit uncomfortable,” said Suzanne. “In fact, she acted cool and aloof, as if she had the upper hand.”

“Oh, that’s what you’re upset about,” said Petra. Now she deftly quartered the sandwich and placed the pieces on a tray. “But come on, Suzanne, did she really have the upper hand?”

“I suppose not, but it
felt
that way.”

“Now we know why Sheriff Doogie found her behavior a little strange. Because she
is
strange.”

“You make a good point,” said Suzanne.

“Which is why,” added Petra, “Deanna Drummond has probably earned a spot on Doogie’s short list.”

“You mean . . . ?” Suzanne hesitated. “As a murder suspect.”

Petra nodded. “Don’t the police always look at the spouse first? Isn’t that the most logical thing in an investigation?”

“Or ex-spouse in this case,” said Suzanne.

“Either way,” said Petra, brushing crumbs off her apron, “you should probably steer clear of her.”

“Right.” But Suzanne knew that steering clear of someone was no way—no way at all—to crack a murder case.

WITH
Petra’s advice ringing in her ears like a noontime chime, Suzanne steamed back into the crowded café to check on the progress of the luncheon. And was promptly rewarded with warm greetings and lots of compliments.

Dede Meyer, who was a world-class baker herself, couldn’t say enough about the cream scones. In fact, she wanted to buy a dozen to take home. And Laura Benchley, the
Bugle
’s editor, was raving about Petra’s Devonshire cream and asking if she could please, please, please get the recipe so she could put it in the newspaper as soon as possible.

As Suzanne wove her way among the tables, pausing here and there to say hello, Paula Patterson reached out a hand to greet her.

“Just who I wanted to buttonhole,” said Paula in her husky radio announcer’s voice. She was a languid, long-haired blond with big eyes, and she sounded as interesting as she looked. “I was wondering if you’d like to be a guest on my
Friends and
Neighbors
show this Tuesday morning.”

“I . . . I’m not sure,” stammered Suzanne.

Paula grinned at her. “You’re not nervous about going on the air again, are you?”

“Not really.”
Sure I am. Of course I am. It’s not every day I have to talk live on radio waves that seep into hundreds of homes.

“Because it seems to me,” Paula went on smoothly, “that you did a fine job when you filled in for me a few months ago.”

“Actually, no,” said Suzanne. “That was a disaster of epic proportion. All those buttons to push and headsets to wear.”
And airtime to fill, because, face it, I’m just not that glib. I’m not a motormouth DJ type of girl.

“Well, this wouldn’t be at all complicated,” said Paula. “You’d just be my studio guest, no strings attached, no buttons to push.”

“And we’d talk about . . . what exactly?”

“How about we hustle up some interest in your Hearts and Crafts Show,” said Paula. “It’s for a great cause and I’m guessing you could use more publicity. Right?”

“We really could,” acknowledged Suzanne. She very much understood the value of PR and marketing, especially for a small enterprise like the Cackleberry Club or an event such as the Hearts and Crafts Show.

“You could mention some of the art pieces that’ll be for sale and explain how a silent auction works,” said Paula. “So . . . it’s settled! Nine o’clock Tuesday morning in Studio B. I’ll be counting on you.”

“Gulp,” said Suzanne.

* * *

IT
wasn’t until Suzanne and Toni delivered the three-tiered trays laden with tea sandwiches and miniature quiches that Suzanne realized Carla Reiker was also among the guests at the tea.

“Hey there!” said Reiker, her spiky black hair barely moving as she turned in her chair to greet Suzanne. “We meet again.”

“Carla!” said Suzanne. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“You didn’t recognize me without my cross-trainers and Lycra workout clothes?” She laughed. “The truth is, I got roped in by some of these crazy teachers I work with.” She waved a hand at the group of smiling women that surrounded her.

“We’re glad you made it,” said Suzanne. “All of you.”

“I hope you’re still coming to my class on Monday,” said Reiker.

“What class is that?” asked Toni, who was working her way around the table, pouring out piping-hot cups of jasmine tea.

“Carla teaches a self-defense class for women,” Suzanne explained. “Over at the Hard Body Gym.”

Toni’s eyes lit up like a pinball machine. “For real?” she squealed. “That sounds absolutely rockin’!”

“I take it you’re interested, too?” said Reiker, looking pleased.

“I’m into anything that involves kicking, punching, or releasing my inner aggression,” said Toni.

“What ever happened to cultivating a more Zen attitude?” asked Suzanne in a teasing voice.

“I think self-defense is better suited to my personality,” said Toni.

“Fantastic,” said Reiker. “Then I’ll be expecting you both!”

* * *

EXCEPT
for the little blip of excitement when Carmen and Deanna Drummond first walked in, Suzanne decided the tea party was pretty much a runaway success. Havis seemed over-the-moon pleased as she hopped from table to table, chatting amiably with all the well-fed guests and volunteers. Toni and Kit were smoothly efficient in clearing away dishes and ferrying out fresh cups and saucers. And any troubleshooting Suzanne thought she might have to deal with never really materialized.

So when the carrot cake was finally sliced and served, and everyone was sipping orange blossom tea, kicking back in their chairs a bit, Suzanne ducked into the Book Nook. Because, you never know, a few guests might want to wander in and purchase a book or two. Or three or four.

After clearing the counter, Suzanne grabbed a half dozen of Carmen’s romance novels and stacked them carefully, their spines clearly showing. Carmen would be pleasantly surprised to see the display, and some of the guests might even want her to inscribe a book for them, Suzanne thought. She also added a few books on tea and some cookbooks to her arrangement.

Then, just as she was about to pop back into the kitchen to check on Petra, Carmen drifted in.

“Hello, Suzanne,” said Carmen. “I see you have some of my books front and center.” She sounded pleased.

“I thought some of the guests might want to purchase signed copies,” said Suzanne. “You don’t mind signing a few, do you?”

“Mind?” said Carmen. “Darling, it’s what I
live
for. In fact, I may as well sign your entire stock.”

“Perfect,” said Suzanne. She plucked the rest of Carmen’s books off the shelf and placed them on the counter. Carmen, meanwhile, had uncapped a black Montblanc pen and was busily signing books with a dramatic flourish.

“You have lovely handwriting,” said Suzanne, watching over Carmen’s shoulder. “A lot of authors start out signing their names and then lose interest and flatline like a bad EKG.”

“Not me,” said Carmen. “I work way too hard to just dash off my name any old way.” She peered through the open doorway into Suzanne’s office and said, “By the way, Suzanne, those two paintings you have stashed in there? Were they by any chance done by Jake Gantz?”

“Yes, they were,” said Suzanne. “Jake brought them in yesterday. I take it you’re familiar with his work?”

“Absolutely I am,” said Carmen. “I have two of Jake’s pieces hanging in my office. Did you know there was even a small sidebar about him last month in
Midwest Art Scene
magazine? They called him an up-and-coming outsider artist. One to be
noted
.”

“And that’s what you collect?” Suzanne asked. “Outsider art?” She found the term to be both interesting and quaint.

Carmen gave an almost imperceptible shrug. “Among other types of art and photography, yes.”

“Jake’s work doesn’t appeal to everyone, of course,” said Suzanne. “But I think his freewheeling style is pretty amazing. His use of bright colors and wild slashes conveys tremendous emotion.”

“Yes, it does,” said Carmen, suddenly adopting a slippery-smooth, nicey-nice voice. “You know,” she added quickly, “I could save you some time and effort by writing a check right now for those two paintings.”

“I’d like to say yes,” Suzanne said carefully, “but the paintings have already been entered into our silent auction. Which means they’ll be hung on our walls so everyone has a fair chance to bid on them.”

Carmen’s eyelids drooped. “You’re telling me I have to come
back
here to bid on them?”

“That would be the general idea, yes. Since the auction doesn’t start for a few days.”

“And I’m off to New York tomorrow for a week,” said Carmen with a sniff. “Really, couldn’t we work out a more favorable arrangement? I have my checkbook with me now. We could wrap this whole thing up in mere minutes.”

“Tell you what,” said Suzanne. “If you give me your topmost number, I’d be happy to bid in the silent auction for you.”

“Why do I feel like this is highway robbery?” protested Carmen.

“Really, Carmen,” said Suzanne. “We’re just trying to earn a little money for the food bank. I’m sure you can understand.”

“It just seems unfair to me,” said Carmen, unwilling to let the subject drop.

“You know what’s unfair?” said Suzanne. She swore she wasn’t going to bring this up, but now seemed like an opportune moment. “The fact that you fired Missy.”

“That’s a private business issue,” Carmen snapped. “One that’s not up for discussion. So kindly keep your nose out of it!”

“Missy’s my friend,” Suzanne continued, undaunted. “And I take umbrage that she’s been treated so badly.”

“Oh for goodness’ sake!” hissed Carmen. “I can’t have a woman who’s a murder suspect managing my boutique. That would be utterly ridiculous! It would drive customers away and damage my reputation!”

At that Suzanne practically lost it. “But you can sashay in here with Deanna Drummond on your arm!”

“She’s not a murder suspect!” cried Carmen.

“I wouldn’t bet on that,” said Suzanne.

Carmen stood stock-still now, practically quivering with anger. “Why is it you constantly pick at me, Suzanne? Why does every conversation we have always end in an argument?”

That stopped Suzanne in her tracks. Carmen was right. They did argue constantly. And she wasn’t proud of that fact. She wasn’t really a hectoring, lecturing person—not really. It was only when she was around Carmen that she seemed to fly off the handle. Carmen just . . . pushed her buttons.

“Truce,” said Suzanne. “Détente, okay?”

Carmen continued to glare at her. “On the artwork, yes. But when it comes to Missy, absolutely not.”

Still feeling the need to make her point, Suzanne dialed back her anger and forced herself to speak in a pleasant, almost conciliatory tone. “You know as well as I do, Carmen, that Missy’s not a killer. She’s a sweet and decent human being who’s somehow caught up in trouble she had nothing to do with.” Maybe she had to deal with Carmen the same way one would handle an aggressive dog. Show no fear, don’t back down, remain perfectly calm.

Carmen bristled. “I really
don’t
know that.”

“Sure, you do,” said Suzanne, trying to get Carmen to see her point. “If you look deep into your heart you’ll realize what a good person Missy is. How loyal she’s been to you and your boutique. How hard she’s worked for you. And you’ll see that you acted impetuously. Probably out of fear and worry—and I certainly understand that. But, Carmen, you did the wrong thing. Missy didn’t deserve to be fired from your shop.”

Instead of getting angry, Carmen fixed Suzanne with a nasty smile. “Typical Suzanne,” she almost spit out. “Always pleading the case of the underdog.”

“Well, somebody has to!” Suzanne snapped back.

* * *

CARMEN
slipped out of the Book Nook in a huff, just as a few women came spilling in. One of them was Carla Reiker.

“Whoa,” Reiker said bluntly to Suzanne as her eyes darted around the room. “Are you okay? I don’t know what just happened here, but it looked like you and that author lady were close to a knock-down, drag-out fight.”

Suzanne waved it off. “I shouldn’t let her get under my skin like that.”

Reiker grinned. “See, you really do need a self-defense class.”

“Carmen’s just . . .” Suzanne drew a shaky breath. “A basket full of crazy.”

“Tell me about it,” Reiker was saying. “Whenever Queen Carmen comes to the gym, she expects someone to go ahead of her and wipe down all the handles and seats on the machines before she climbs on. I think she’s deathly afraid of someone else’s sweat!”

“Aren’t we all?” said Suzanne, which somehow made them both giggle.

“So,” said Reiker, “I understand you’ve been asking about Lester Drummond.”

Suzanne looked at her. “Did Boots Wagner tell you that?”

“Not in so many words, but I heard via the local gossipmongers that you’re following the case pretty closely.”

“Just trying to clear my friend,” said Suzanne.

“Nothing wrong with that,” said Reiker. “I know Missy and I think she’s a great girl.”

“You spend a lot of time at the gym,” said Suzanne. “Did you ever have any nasty run-ins with Lester Drummond? I’m curious.”

“Not me, personally,” said Reiker. “But I know that a lot of our members did. In fact, truth be known and all cards on the table—I wouldn’t have blamed Wagner for wanting Drummond gone permanently. The man caused
so
many problems.”

“When I talked to him, Wagner was fairly closemouthed about Drummond,” said Suzanne.

“Aw, that’s just because Boots is a good guy,” put in Reiker. “He’s got kind of a Marine code of ethics. Loyalty and
Semper Fi
and all that. But, really, he pretty much despised Drummond.” She turned and smiled as Toni walked in, dangling a white bakery bag in one hand. “Please tell me that’s for me.”

“I snuck away with the last four blueberry scones for you,” said Toni. “But do not tell a soul!”

“Bless you,” said Reiker. “I rarely eat carbs, but for these little puffs of goodness I’ll make a huge exception. Even though I’ll have to do a gazillion crunches to make up for it.”

Toni nudged Suzanne’s arm. “Did you ask her about Lester Drummond?”

Reiker answered for Suzanne. “She did. And my personal take on Lester Drummond is that he was a major pain in the butt for everyone at the gym.”

“I think everyone in town felt the same way,” said Toni. “He wasn’t exactly Mr. Popularity.” She glanced at Suzanne. “Have you heard any word on the autopsy yet?”

“Not really,” said Suzanne, wishing Toni hadn’t brought it up out of the blue like that.

“We’re lucky,” said Toni, giving a slow wink. “Suzanne has a direct pipeline to all the hot news.”

As Suzanne’s stomach did a little somersault, Reiker said, “Oh, you mean from Dr. Hazelet? I suppose he would be involved in this.”

“In the autopsy,” Toni said in hushed tones, drawing out the word again, making it sound alien and threatening, “They’re running all sorts of special tests to help determine who killed Drummond!”

“Well . . . that’s good,” said Reiker, looking a little taken aback at Toni’s dramatics and hyperbole.