Scorched Eggs (16 page)

“
W
HAT
is this cheese again?” asked Sam. They were sitting in the hospital cafeteria, nibbling leftover tea sandwiches that Suzanne had brought along. The room was sterile white and clattery, lit with too many fluorescents. Not very conducive to romance. Or even pleasant conversation.

“Cream cheese and sunflower seeds,” said Suzanne. “You like it?”

“Man cannot live by bread alone, he needs a little cheese, too,” Sam said as he gulped another sandwich. “Besides, fat combined with salt, what's not to like?”

“You can't eat healthy all the time,” Suzanne said with a rueful smile.

“I generally try.”

“What about those pancakes you scarfed last Sunday? Drenched in syrup? And the steak last night?”

“Those are very specific instances of being a guest in your home,” said Sam. “I can hardly climb up on my high horse and lodge a protest. When you're a guest in someone's home you eat what they serve. It's the polite Emily Post thing to do.”

“And if I serve bacon, hash browns, gravy, and buttermilk biscuits?”

“Be still my heart,” said Sam, rolling his eyes. “Or maybe I'll need a stent. Either way, I'd hate to pass that up.”

“You're incorrigible,” said Suzanne.

Sam held up a finger. “And easily corruptible. Your cooking could so lead me down another path. And it's obviously not the straight and narrow.”

“I thought all doctors ate crap,” laughed Suzanne. “Cheese bits from vending machines, French fries from the hospital cafeteria . . .”

“That was only in med school,” said Sam. “And under the most dire circumstances. I've since reformed.”

“Yeah, right,” Suzanne said. She snapped the lid off a plastic container and offered him a cookie.

His eyes shone. “Ooh, there are
cookies
?”

While Sam munched away, Suzanne told him about her meeting with Annie Wolfson. Sam listened carefully, asked a couple of questions, and then said, “The whole thing sounds problematic. Their relationship, the fact that she doesn't seem to trust him . . .”

“That's my read, too,” said Suzanne. “I mean, what if Marty Wolfson is playing the role of a lifetime? What if he's just pretending to turn over a new leaf and reconnect with Annie?”

“And he'd do that for what reason?”

“To throw Doogie off his trail,” said Suzanne. “Eliminate suspicion.”

“I suppose that's plausible,” said Sam. “If he's roughed up his wife in the past, like you think he has, that's an indication of an almost sociopathic personality. A person who tends to be quite adept at smoke screens and deception.”

“There you go,” said Suzanne. She decided she wasn't one bit fooled by Marty Wolfson's attempt to reconcile with his wife. And she was determined to make sure that Doogie wasn't taken in, either. The investigation was still alive and well and she wasn't going to rest until Hannah's killer—whoever he might be—was brought to justice.

“So you've already talked to Doogie about Wolfson?” Sam asked.

“No, but I'm going to,” said Suzanne. “And earlier today I did hand over what I think might be a kind of clue to him.”

“You found a clue? Where?”

“Okay, I didn't tell you about it because it slipped my mind. But when I was walking Baxter and Scruff last Sunday morning, before you came back for breakfast, I found something.”

“Found what?”

“What Toni and I think is some kind of casino chip from Prairie Star Casino. I was walking the dogs down the alley behind the burned-out County Services Building and there it was.”

Sam looked suddenly concerned. “You had no business going back there, Suzanne. It's still a dangerous area and you could have been injured.”

“I was careful.”

“Then one of the dogs could have been hurt.”

“Now you're trying to guilt me.”

“Well, sure. If that's what it takes to keep you safe.”

Suzanne snuggled closer to him. “I'm safe. When I'm with you I feel safe.”

“It's the times you're
not
with me that make me worry. You do tend to roam a bit.”

Suzanne shoved the cookie container toward him and smiled brightly. “Have another cookie.”

“You scare the crap out of me, you know?”

“You're such a sweet talker.”

Sam sighed. He knew when he was defeated. “So . . . you still have your owl?”

“Oh yes. In fact, he's out in my car waiting patiently. With a cozy down quilt tucked around him.”

“I can't remember,” said Sam. “Did you ever do that to me?”

“I think so,” said Suzanne. She pretended to look puzzled. “Hmm, maybe not. Perhaps you'll have to come by again and let me take care of that. The cuddly thing with the quilt, I mean.”

“You're on.”

“Just not tonight,” said Suzanne. “I promised Toni I'd meet her for cherry bomb night.”

“What's that? Something to do with fireworks? For the county fair?”

“I wish,” said Suzanne. “No, it's a kind of drink promotion over at Schmitt's Bar. Apparently, they marinate maraschino cherries in grain alcohol and then sell them for a quarter.”

“That sounds like something we used to do in med school.”

“With cherries?” said Suzanne.

Sam looked amused. “Well, no. With . . . um, maybe we shouldn't go into detail while we're still eating.”

“Maybe we shouldn't,” Suzanne agreed.

*   *   *

T
ONI
was already sitting in a booth at Schmitt's Bar when Suzanne arrived. Looking very curvy in a tight white tank top and blue jeans, Toni grinned and waved a hand, happy to see her.

“I was afraid you wouldn't come,” said Toni when Suzanne settled into the seat across from her.

“I had to take the owl home. But I promised I'd come and I did. I try never to break my promises.”

“Like how you promised Petra you'd help figure out who killed Hannah?”

Suzanne nodded.

“And then you promised Kit that you'd try to get Ricky off the hook.”

Suzanne could see where this was leading.

“And when you promised . . .”

“Okay,” said Suzanne. “I catch your drift.”

Toni offered a mousy little smile. “You're a genuinely good person, Suzanne. But sometimes you get in over your head.”

“And you don't?” said Suzanne. “How about that thing with Lester Drummond? And that awful . . .”

“Okay, okay,” said Toni. “What you're saying is we're a couple of busybodies.”

“I think ‘concerned citizens' might be a nicer term.”

“How about observant and mindful?”

“I'll buy that.”

“Better yet, I'll buy you a couple of cherry bombs,” said Toni. She held up a hand. “Garçon?”

“Aren't we fancy tonight,” said Suzanne.

“Two years at the Sorbonne,” Toni joked. “You can really pick up the language skills.”

But Freddy was more than happy to go along with Toni's good cheer. “How many cherry bombs do you gals want?” he asked. “Better order up now 'cause they're going fast and we'll probably run out.”

“Maybe a half dozen?” said Toni.

“And they're really soaked in grain alcohol?” said Suzanne.

“Darn right.” Freddy rapped his knuckles against the table. “This ain't Applebee's, Suzanne.”

*   *   *

S
UZANNE
glanced around the bar. The place seemed crowded for a Tuesday night. Then again, she didn't make a habit of hitting Schmitt's Bar on a school night, so she wasn't sure if they were operating at full capacity or not.

“How'd your meeting with Annie Wolfson go?” Toni asked.

“Okay. I think she feels bad that her husband is on Doogie's suspect list, so she's talking about getting back together with him.”

“Is that so? Because something tells me that Marty Wolfson isn't all that hot to put his little family back together again.”

“Why do you say that?” said Suzanne.

Toni gave a harsh chuckle. “Because he's sitting right there at the bar.”

Suzanne's head spun around like it was on ball bearings. Then she spotted him. Marty Wolfson was sprawled at the bar and leaning heavily toward a woman in a purple sweater who was seated next to him. A pitcher of beer and a basket of pull tabs sat in front of him. Suzanne half expected Darrel Fuhrman, the ex-fireman, to be sitting at the bar, too. Just as he had last Saturday night.

“Wolfson looks like he's drunk,” observed Suzanne.

“Well . . . yeah,” said Toni. “That's like his third pitcher of beer.” She paused. “He's a real picture of a family man, huh?” She smirked, then ducked her head and locked eyes with Suzanne. “Oh crap.”

“What?” said Suzanne.

“I think he's looking at us. I think he knows we were talking about him.”

“No, he doesn't,” said Suzanne. “He's all wrapped up in that woman with the ghastly purple spangles on her sweater.”

Turns out, he wasn't.

“Hey,” yelled Wolfson. “Hey, you.”

“I'm pretty sure he's talking to you,” said Toni.

“I don't think so,” Suzanne muttered.

“You, Cackleberry lady,” said Wolfson, louder this time.

“That would definitely be you,” Toni said in a singsong voice.

Suzanne stole a quick glance toward Wolfson. He was glaring at her.

“I hear you're a regular little Miss Marple,” Wolfson said to her. “Playing the role of Sheriff Doogie's sidekick, investigating the fire, asking questions all over town.”

“I think you heard wrong,” Suzanne said in an even tone. There was something about Marty Wolfson that frightened her. He was one of those men who looked like he was perpetually angry at the world. Even now, she was picking up a weird vibe from him, as if he might be the kind of man who wouldn't mind slapping a lady around. And enjoying it immensely.

“You mind your own business!” Wolfson barked. “And if you dare point a finger at me, I'll come after you with everything I've got!”

Hot anger flared inside Suzanne. “Is that a threat?” she asked, mindful that the man might be armed.

“It's a warning!” said Wolfson.

“Ladies,” said Freddy, suddenly interjecting himself between them and Wolfson. “Your cherry bombs.”

Suzanne crossed her arms. “I don't think I'm all that interested anymore.”

“Aw, don't let that dude get to you,” said Freddy. “He's just whacked out of shape over all the questions Sheriff Doogie's been putting to him. And he's been drinking like a fish.”

“Are you gonna throw him out?” asked Toni. She loved nothing better than to witness a good saloon dustup.

“Pretty soon,” said Freddy. “So try to ignore him for now, okay?”

“Sure,” said Suzanne. “Whatever.” She poked a finger at a cherry bomb, then said, “Really?”

“Just pop it in your mouth and chew it,” Toni urged.

Suzanne popped it in her mouth and chewed.

“So whadya think?”

“Bracing,” said Suzanne. “And it tastes a little medicinal.” She smiled to herself, thinking about Sam's remarks concerning grain alcohol, and suddenly wished he were with her tonight.

“So,” said Toni, grabbing another cherry bomb, “Doogie was pretty shocked by that poker chip today.”

“He was pretty annoyed,” said Suzanne, popping another cherry bomb into her mouth. “On the other hand, the chip might mean nothing at all.”

Toni inclined her head toward the bar. “What if Wolfson was the jackhole who dropped it there?”

“That would make it a serious clue,” Suzanne agreed.

“Or maybe Jack Venable dropped it?” said Toni.

Suzanne stared at Toni as a little lightbulb clicked on inside her brain. “Toni, do me a favor, will you?”

“Sure. Hey, are you gonna eat that last cherry bomb?”

“No, help yourself.”

Toni did. “So what's your favor?”

Suzanne pulled out her iPhone and slid it across the table to Toni. “Take a picture of Marty Wolfson, will you?”

Toni stared at her. “You want me to waltz right up to Mr. Hothead over there and say, ‘Watch the birdie'?”

“No, I want you to do it surreptitiously. Go to the ladies' room and then come back. But, for gosh sakes, be careful.”

“I'm always careful,” said Toni.

“This time you have to make like a cat burglar,” said Suzanne. “Wolfson might be armed, he might have a gun.”

“Pish,” said Toni, “I'm not afraid of that.” She slid out of the booth and walked past Wolfson. He didn't take any notice of Toni, but his eyes seemed to constantly dart back to Suzanne.

Good
, she thought.
Now if Toni can just . . .

Toni was strolling back along the bar now, with the cell phone tucked discreetly in the palm of her hand. When she was a couple of feet away from Wolfson she aimed it at him and took a photo!

Gotcha!
Suzanne thought to herself.

*   *   *

“
W
HAT
was that all about?” Toni asked once they were standing outside on the sidewalk.

“I had a kind of brainstorm,” said Suzanne. “What if we took photos of Marty Wolfson and Jack Venable over to that casino and asked around? See if they're regulars there?”

“That's a stupendous idea!” said Toni. “We'd be following the trail of the chip.” She hesitated. “Except that . . .”

“Except what?”

“We don't have a shot of Jack Venable.”

“Not yet we don't,” said Suzanne.

Toni narrowed her eyes. “What are you thinking, girlfriend?”

“Hop in the car and I'll show you.”