Eggs in a Casket (A Cackleberry Club Mystery) (23 page)

“We’re all concerned,” said Sharp. “Especially since your little friend Missy skipped town.”

“I really don’t know anything about that,” said Suzanne. She cringed inwardly at the direction this conversation was going.

“Oh yeah? My guess is she’s in hiding for a reason.”

Suzanne tried to stare him down, but Sharp just gave a nasty smile and continued.

“The reason being,” said Sharp, “is because she’s guilty as sin!”

* * *

SLIPPING
in behind the wheel, Suzanne pulled away from the church, wishing she’d never stopped to talk to Allan Sharp.

What a miserable jerk. Heaping blame on Missy like that. On the other hand, he might have been trying to lay a smoke screen, trying to deflect blame from himself since there’s a chance he might be involved in Drummond’s murder!

Clutching the wheel, her knuckles almost white, Suzanne made the impromptu decision to stop and check on Doogie.

I’ve got to know how that big lug is doing
, she told herself as she drove the few short blocks to the hospital
.
But when she tiptoed into Doogie’s room, she saw that he was sleeping fitfully. He was lying on his back, snoring loudly. A blanket was pulled up to his chin, revealing his slack face, and his tousle of gray hair had turned into a veritable bird’s nest.

Suzanne turned and found a nurse coming down the hallway.

“Are you one of Doogie’s nurses?” she asked.

“I am,” said the woman. She was fifty-something with a lined but caring face. As she stared at Suzanne, her professional courtesy suddenly morphed into curiosity. “Are you Suzanne, by any chance?”

“Yes?”

The nurse nodded toward Doogie’s room. “He’s been asking about you.” Then she shook her head and said, “No, that’s not quite right. It’s more like he’s been calling out for you.”

“Really?” said Suzanne. “So he was awake earlier?”

“He was maybe a little more cognizant a couple of hours ago. But he’s pretty much been in and out of consciousness all day.”

Suzanne tiptoed back into Doogie’s room. She sat down quietly near his bed, watching him intently as he slept. He was still snoring, sawing wood like crazy. He almost surely didn’t know she was there. And yet . . . she felt a connection to him.

What would Doogie do?
she wondered.
What would he do next?

Suzanne’s thoughts roamed to the murder of Lester Drummond, to Missy and where she might be hiding. Where indeed would she hide, in this small town where everybody seemed to know everybody else’s business?

Slowly an idea began to form in her brain.

* * *

SHE
drove as fast as she dared back to the Cackleberry Club. By now it was late afternoon and their customers had long since departed. Petra was in the Knitting Nest teaching a couple of women how to combine a knit stitch and a purl stitch into a ribbing stitch, while Toni swept up in the café. She was dancing with her broom, twisting and turning and belting out the lyrics to Taylor Swift’s “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together.”

Suzanne walked into the café and called out Toni’s name.

Startled, Toni said, “Oh, hey!” Then stopped abruptly, looking a little sheepish at being caught mid-shimmy.

Suzanne didn’t beat around the bush. “Are you up for an adventure?”

“Sure!” said Toni. And then, more cautiously, “What kind of adventure?”

“An exploratory adventure. Call it a short road trip.”

“Suzanne, what’ve you got up your sleeve?”

In a low whisper, Suzanne said, “I think I know where Missy is!”

“IT’S
sweet of you to drive,” said Suzanne. She wasn’t thrilled about riding in the Frankencar again, but Toni had volunteered to drive and it only seemed polite to accept.

“Sorry I don’t have a CD player,” said Toni, as they jounced around a corner. “But Junior hot-wired in an old cassette player. It works pretty good.”

“Yes, it does.”
As long as you don’t mind listening to old cassette tapes of John Denver, the Carpenters, and Sly and the Family Stone
,
thought Suzanne.

“So where are we headed?” asked Toni, as she wheeled her way through downtown Kindred, kicking the stuffing out of the speed limit. “You’re being awfully mysterious about this little trip.”

“We’re headed for Jessup,” said Suzanne. “So take County Road 5 out of town.” Jessup was some twelve miles away.

“What’s over there?” asked Toni, grinding gears as she gunned her engine.

“That’s what we’re going to find out.”

“Hah! I bet you think Missy is holed up at the Motel 6 or something! Or maybe the Bide-a-way Inn, which I hear is kind of a hot-sheet joint.”

“No,” said Suzanne, allowing herself a smile. “But I have another idea.”

Toni popped in an old Madonna cassette and they hummed and sang their way through the countryside and into the next town. Just a couple of Material Girls.

“Now what?” asked Toni. She eased back judiciously on her speed as they hit the Jessup city limits.

“We’re looking for Grand Avenue,” said Suzanne.

“Hmm,” said Toni. “Seems to me that’s the fancy part of town. Pray tell who lives . . .” She stopped abruptly. “Oh man, I get it! You think Missy’s hiding out at Carmen’s place, don’t you?”

“Hey,” said Suzanne, “you’re the one who’s always hot to creepy crawl old houses.”

“You’re darn tootin’,” said Toni, grinning now.

They drove past a gray stone Gothic church, down a curving drive with spiffy-looking Cape Cod homes, and then up a hill where a few larger homes were comfortably situated. This was obviously the nicer, upscale part of town with wide, landscaped boulevards and old-fashioned wrought-iron streetlamps.

“Nice,” said Toni. “Fancy.”

Suzanne peered out the rain-streaked car windows, gazing at large homes and streetlamps that glowed like a string of rosary beads. She’d been to Carmen’s home once before. Now if she could just remember which one it was . . .

They cruised past a large Tudor-style home, then a red stone manse covered with ivy. Suddenly, Suzanne blinked with recognition and cried out, “That’s the one! Pull over!”

Toni cranked her steering wheel hard and bumped to a stop. “You mean the spooky-looking one with the tower room and widow’s walk on top?” She looked a little askance as she gazed through her windshield.

Suzanne nodded. “That’s the one. That’s Carmen’s place.”

Toni narrowed her eyes. “What would you call that type of architecture? Mausoleum style?”

“Victorian,” Suzanne said, practically laughing out loud. Toni really cracked her up sometimes.

“That place looks like it would be more conducive to a mystery writer than a romance writer.”

“Maybe so, but this is what Carmen calls home.” Suzanne stared at the large turreted house that was shrouded in darkness. Not a shred of light shone through the heavy draperies. Not even a yard light burned. Had she made a mistake? Had she misjudged her own hunch?

As if reading her mind, Toni said, “You really think Missy’s in there? That Carmen is hiding her? Protecting her?”

“Carmen would never do such a charitable thing,” said Suzanne. “Especially after firing her. But I happen to know that Carmen left for New York yesterday. So that would mean her house is empty.”

“And maybe Missy had access to a spare key?” said Toni.

“That’d be my guess.”

“Then we’d better go take a look.”

They jumped out of the car and tiptoed carefully up the front walk to the house.

“Wow,” whispered Toni, as they stood before Carmen’s massive front door. “Why do I feel like one of the peons come to storm the castle?”

“Because we are,” said Suzanne. She grabbed the bronze ram’s head door knocker and slammed it hard against a brass plate. A deep boom seemed to echo from within. They stood there waiting, but no curtains parted, no sound of scuttling footsteps answered them. Suzanne banged the knocker again. Still no answer.

“Now what?” asked Toni.

“Maybe we should skulk around back and try your little trick,” said Suzanne.

Toni’s face lit up. “Now you’re talking.”

A brick walk led them around the side of the house, past overgrown gardens and a wrought-iron gazebo.

“This place would be gorgeous if it was, you know, fixed up a little,” said Toni. “The gardens are a disaster.”

“I guess flora and fauna aren’t Carmen’s forte.”

“Or maybe her gardener quit,” said Toni. She snorted. “Or was fired.”

“C’mon,” Suzanne whispered. “Let’s try the back door.”

They rapped on the glass and jiggled the brass doorknob, but to no avail.

“Rats,” said Toni.

“We have to get a look inside,” said Suzanne. “This is a huge place. Missy could be hiding in any little nook or cranny.”

“The tough thing is, the windows are way up over our heads. We’re gonna need something to stand on.”

“What about that gazebo back there?” said Suzanne. “I think I might have seen a bench inside.”

“Let’s do it.”

They ran back to the gazebo, hoisted up a wooden bench, and muscled it around to the back of the house.

“Here,” said Toni, dropping her end. “Let’s wedge it under this window.”

They pushed the bench against the foundation and clambered on top of it.

“See anything?” said Toni. They both had their noses pressed against a window that was slightly rounded.

“Maybe a faint glimmer of light,” said Suzanne.

“Could be a security light. Or a night-light.”

“Maybe,” said Suzanne.

“Wait a minute—I think I see a shadow moving!” said Toni. “Unless Carmen’s got a cat or something.”

“More likely an ‘or something,’” said Suzanne.

Toni rapped her knuckles hard against the window. “Missy, it’s us! Let us in!”

Suzanne gave a little tap for good measure and said, “It’s Suzanne and Toni. Open up if you’re in there.” They waited for a good forty seconds, then banged on the window a little harder.

“We know you’re there, Missy,” said Toni. “So you may as well let us in.”

They hesitated, peering into the darkened interior. Waiting, hoping. For all they knew their hunch could be totally wrong. But Suzanne didn’t think so.

Finally, a light flashed on.

“That’s it!” exclaimed Toni. “She’s here!”

They dashed around to the back door and waited. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the door swung open a crack and a sliver of Missy’s face appeared. “How’d you find me?” she said in a whisper.

“Open the door,” said Suzanne. “We’re not here to turn you in or anything. We just want to help.”

Missy opened the door, but didn’t look happy. She was definitely nervous and on edge. “How’d you find me?” she asked again.

“We took a wild guess,” said Toni.

“Carmen blabbed to me that she was going to New York,” Suzanne explained. “So I just put one and one together.”

“Oh dear,” said Missy. She closed the door and the three of them stood in a back hallway that had a black-and-white tiled floor and a brass coatrack. “If you can do that, so can Sheriff Doogie.”

Toni glanced sharply at Suzanne, her penciled brows forming twin arcs of surprise. “She doesn’t know.”

“Know what?” said Missy. She frowned at them and shook her head. “What’s going on?”

“Doogie was hit by a car last night,” said Toni. “He’s in the hospital.”

Missy clasped a hand to her mouth. “No!”

“You don’t know anything about that, do you?” Suzanne asked her.

“No, of course not!” Missy cried. “I wouldn’t. I would never . . .” She pushed a hank of blond hair off her face. “You have to believe me!”

Suzanne decided that Missy’s look of shocked surprise was genuine. This was obviously the first she’d heard about Sheriff Doogie. Of course, that still didn’t explain why she was at Carmen’s house.

“What are you doing here?” Toni blurted out.

“Oh.” Missy waved a hand as though Toni’s question was a particularly abstract thought. “It all just got to be too much. So I thought I’d hide out over here. But now it looks as if I didn’t think it through all that carefully.”

“Well,” said Suzanne, “you really
do
need to think it through. Because Deputy Driscoll has the whole department out looking for you.”

“That’s right,” said Toni. “So you better start figuring out the tough stuff. Like what are you going to do now?”

“You’re not going to turn me in, are you?” Panic filled Missy’s face.

“No,” said Suzanne. “But I think this calls for some kind of plan.”

“Maybe you’d better come in,” Missy said slowly. She turned and headed down a wide, central hallway. “It seems we do have a lot to talk about.”

They followed Missy down the hallway, past a living room that boasted damask sofas, an elegant gaming table that might have been Chippendale, and a spectacular white marble fireplace.

“This is like something out of
Lifestyles of the Rich and Crazy
,” said Toni.

Missy led them into a smaller room, a parlor that had been converted into a cozy writing studio.

“So this is where Carmen writes her bodice busters,” said Toni, looking around.

“Her office is actually an interior room,” said Missy. “So I figured it was the safest place to hide.”

“It’s lovely,” said Suzanne. There was another smaller fireplace with an ornate, carved mantel, a tall mahogany secretary stuffed with books, three tufted leather chairs, and an enormous desk that held two Mac computers, a color printer, and a scanner. The wood-paneled walls were hung with dozens of original oil paintings.

They sat down and pulled their chairs together to form a circle.

“Now what?” said Missy.

Suzanne looked at her. “Are you asking for my advice? Because if I give it, I sincerely hope you’ll have the good sense to follow it.”

Missy blinked. “Yes,” she said. “I really do need help.”

“Then you should probably get in touch with Deputy Driscoll first thing tomorrow,” said Suzanne.

“That’s not going to happen,” Missy told her.

“Honey, it’s the smart thing to do,” said Suzanne.

Missy folded her arms across her chest and shook her head.

Toni glanced at Suzanne. “Plan B?”

“What’s plan B?” said Missy.

“We don’t actually have one,” said Suzanne.

“But my gut tells me we better come up with one,” said Toni.

They all sat in silence for a few moments until Suzanne said, “What’s really at the crux of all this is, who killed Lester Drummond?”

“It wasn’t me,” said Missy bluntly.

“We know that,” said Suzanne. “But the question still remains.”

“We’ve got to figure out some answers,” said Toni. “With Doogie laid up in the hospital, it’s up to us now.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” said Suzanne.

“Ho!” snorted Toni. “Do you really think Deputy Dawg—I mean Driscoll—is any kind of crack investigator?”

“Probably not,” Suzanne allowed. “But that’s only because he’s young and inexperienced.”

“But we’re not,” said Toni. “We’re older and have some miles on us. So like I said, it’s up to us.” She rubbed her hands together. “Who’s blipped on our radar?”

“For the murder?” said Suzanne. “You know I’m still suspicious of Allan Sharp. Especially since he was being sued by Lester Drummond.”

“And there’s Deanna Drummond,” put in Toni. “The nutcase ex-wife who’s lusting after an inheritance.”

“And we did get accosted by Karl Studer,” said Suzanne.

“Studer’s son was incarcerated in prison when Drummond served as warden,” Toni said as an aside to Missy.

“There really
are
a lot of suspects,” said Missy. She sounded worried but hopeful.

“And there could be more,” said Suzanne. “Trouble is, we don’t know who exactly was under investigation. Doogie played his cards pretty close to the vest.”

“Agreed,” said Toni. “It could be some ordinary guy who’s been rubbing shoulders with all of us.”

“What do you mean?” said Missy.

“Like . . . any old goofball,” replied Toni. She glanced at Suzanne. “Right? Could be somebody we see practically every day at the Cackleberry Club.”

Suzanne gave a polite nod, but she was deep in thought, thinking about the various possibilities, turning the suspects over and over in her mind. Still, no hard evidence had piled up against any one of them. Just idle speculation that could slip off as easy as Teflon. She lifted her eyes and focused on one of the paintings on the wall. It was a combination of illustration, graphics, and wild paint strokes. She recalled how Carmen had bragged to her about collecting outsider art. Art that was naïve, self-taught, and eccentric—completely outside the mainstream.

Her eyes traveled to another canvas where a bizarre, cartoonish red dog clutched a blue building between its jagged teeth. She glanced at the crudely lettered signature in the lower right corner.

“Gantz,” Suzanne said suddenly. She studied the signature again and murmured, “Jake Gantz.”

“What about him?” said Toni.

Suzanne’s mind was starting to hum. “What if he’s the wild card in all of this?”

“What do you mean?” asked Toni.

“Gantz was incarcerated at the Jasper Creek Prison,” said Suzanne. “Under Lester Drummond’s watch.”

“He was?” said Toni.

“Dale Huffington mentioned it to me,” said Suzanne. “I kind of pooh-poohed the notion of Gantz being involved in this thing. But Doogie did seem interested in him . . .”

“Holy garbanzo beans!” said Toni. “You think Gantz could be the killer?”

Missy’s eyes went round. “Could he be?”

Suzanne didn’t much like the idea that was formulating in her head. Still, it was irritating her like a grain of sand inside an oyster. So it was a notion she had to pursue. “Jake’s kind of a loner,” she said in a halting voice. “He’s a guy who pretty much lives off the grid. And he’s ex-military.”