Scorched Eggs (3 page)

“Yes,” said Petra, still looking perturbed, “there is that.”

“And remember,” Toni went on, “Kit's having a
vintage
wedding. So the wedding party is going to be all duded up in vintage clothes from that funky little shop, Second Time Around, over in Jessup.” She grinned. “I got a sneak peek at Kit's dress. It's all ruffled and romantic, very '60s earth mother.”

“It sounds lovely,” said Suzanne, chiming in.

“And it's nice and flowy,” said Toni. “So you can't really tell that Kit's got a bun in the oven.”

“Oh dear,” said Petra, her brow furrowing. “I wish you hadn't brought
that
up.” Petra wasn't thrilled that Kit was having what she euphemistically referred to as a shotgun wedding.

“Let's just let that go,” said Suzanne. “It is what it is and we can't change things.”

Toni looked thoughtful. “I just hope there isn't any fallout from the fire and that it's not still smoky downtown. That burned building is awfully close to the park where Kit's wedding is gonna take place.”

“I doubt the fire will upset her plans at all,” said Suzanne. “That building's still a couple of blocks away. You can't even see it from where the bandstand is. There's a whole row of birch trees and a grove of oaks blocking the view.”

“Petra,” said Toni, “you're still going to bake Kit's wedding cake, aren't you?”

“Of course I am,” said Petra. “I said I would and I never break my promises. I've got a design all sketched out and I plan to start baking first thing tomorrow so the cake's all nice and fresh.”

“That'll for sure put you in a better mood,” said Toni.

“I don't know,” said Petra. She hoisted herself out of her chair with a huge sigh of resignation. “I can't stop thinking about Hannah and . . .” She stopped abruptly and shook her head.

“Petra,” said Suzanne. “Is there something you want to tell us?” It felt like Petra was holding back.

“No,” said Petra. “At least not until I get my mind in the right place.”

T
HEY
locked up the Cackleberry Club then, getting ready to head for home. After Petra sped off in her car, still looking upset and out of sorts, Suzanne and Toni lingered in the back parking lot, talking.

With the late-summer sun lasering down through the oaks and pine trees that bordered the lot, the day felt warm and mellow. But the leaves on the sumac were starting to turn red and Suzanne had noticed a few tinges of gold and yellow among the poplars and white oaks.

Summer on the wane, autumn sneaking up on us, she thought. Where did the time go? Why did the seasons whip by as if you were riding a wildly spinning carrousel and leaning out to frantically grab the brass ring?

And then Suzanne remembered, she
had
grabbed the brass ring. After her husband, Walter, had died a year and a half ago, she hadn't been sure if she could ever be truly happy again. That worry had been one of the deciding factors, the impetus to open the Cackleberry Club. If you build it, they will come, she'd told herself. Plus it would give her mind a vacation from sorrow and sadness. And she had hoped that maybe, somewhere along the line, she might find peace and happiness again.

Well, customers had come. They poured in for morning breakfast, farm-to-table lunches, and afternoon tea and scones. And somewhere in that whole crazy, jumbled process of becoming an entrepreneur, negotiating contracts, building a customer base, and expanding into books and yarn, Suzanne found herself bouncing back. She found her happy. And then, wonder of wonders, she'd met Dr. Sam Hazelet, whose crooked grin, sense of humor, and steady optimism had
really
made her happy.

And wasn't that just the cherry on top of the hot fudge sundae.

Suzanne blinked, suddenly coming out of her reverie and realizing that Toni had just spoken to her.

“Excuse me, what did you say?”

“Have you got big plans for tonight?” By “big plans” Toni was asking if Suzanne had a date with Sam.

“No, nothing. What about you?”

“Aw, I'm just gonna go home and curl up with the latest issue of
OK!
magazine. See which stars are back in rehab.”

“Ah,” said Suzanne. She figured Toni had something on her mind. Sooner or later she'd spit it out.

Toni stuck the scuffed toe of one cowboy boot into the sand and shoved it around, creating a panorama of miniature hieroglyphics. “What if you and I went downtown and took a look at that burned-out building?”

“Why would we want to do that?”

Toni shook her head. “Dunno. It just feels like something we should do. Kind of for Hannah's sake. Look at the . . . remains.”

Suzanne mulled this over for a few moments. “Okay. I guess I can see your point.” Truth be told, she was a little curious, too. What was going on down there? Had any sort of arson investigation kicked into gear yet? Had the building been deemed an official crime scene? Maybe there were some answers to be gleaned. She pulled open the driver's side door of her Taurus. “See you there?”

“Sure,” said Toni.

Just as Suzanne was pulling out, a blue BMW turned into her lot and cruised toward her. She rolled to a stop, grinned happily, and thought to herself,
Sam, how perfect.
She jumped from her car just as Sam came to a quick stop and jumped out of his car. He was wearing blue scrubs and a pair of New Balance shoes. With casually tousled brown hair and intelligent blue eyes, he had a slightly preppy, boy-next-door look to him.

They were in each other's arms in a heartbeat, kissing, hugging, cooing greetings to each other since it had been two whole days since they'd last seen each other.

“I was worried about you,” Sam said, his words tumbling out. “I knew you were downtown today.” His eyes mirrored his concern; his voice, generally smooth and mellow, conveyed a touch of worry.

“I witnessed the entire thing,” said Suzanne. “The explosion, fire, everything. I was getting my hair, um, done at Root 66.” She didn't want to go into too much detail. Sam was four years younger than she was, and didn't need to know all the sordid details about root touch-ups, foils, and hair color. Instead, she went on to tell him about the fire, the firemen showing up, and the tragedy of poor Hannah Venable.

“I knew it was bad,” said Sam. “I was in a meeting at the hospital and heard the ambulance go screaming out of the ER bay.”

“But they were too late.”

“It's still a piece of luck that there was only one casualty.”

“Sheriff Doogie's already talking arson,” Suzanne blurted out.

“Is that a fact? Wow. I hadn't heard anything about that. That puts a whole 'nother spin on things.”

“Why would someone intentionally set a fire?” Suzanne asked. “For the thrill of it? To cover something up? Or are they just . . . deviant?”

“I'm no psychiatrist,” said Sam. “But I know that arson often has deep-seated roots that can stretch back to an unhappy childhood.”

“Sounds awful,” said Suzanne. “So a person does it just to gain attention?”

“Sometimes,” said Sam. “Or they're acting out, crying for help, or . . .” He stopped.

“Or what?”

“Or they think their actions are perfectly normal.”

Suzanne's brows knit together. “Normal? How would you deal with someone with that sort of mentality?”

Sam gazed at her. “Very carefully.” Then his smile warmed up again. “Okay, gotta get back to work. You take care now.”

“Always,” said Suzanne.

*   *   *

“
O
H
man,” Toni cried when they met in the middle of Main Street some ten minutes later. “With the County Services Building destroyed, this block looks like a jack-o'-lantern with its front teeth knocked out.”

Suzanne had to agree. The building, still smoldering, stood in total ruin. The front walls and windows were completely gone. So was the second floor, where a small apartment had been located. The only thing left of the roof was a web of blackened timber, open to the sky in most places. The brick wall that abutted Root 66 seemed relatively intact, but the opposite side and back walls had been reduced to rubble. The gutted, jagged remains reminded Suzanne of old newsreels she'd seen of bombed-out buildings in Berlin at the end of World War II.

“And it's still all smoky,” said Toni, wrinkling her nose.

“It's awful,” Suzanne agreed. An acrid smell and faint haze hung over this entire block of downtown Kindred. And even though the rubble was black and charred—nothing really left to burn—the smaller of the town's two fire trucks was still parked at the curb with two uniformed firemen standing watch.

“I guess they think the fire might start up again,” said Toni, gesturing at the fire truck.

“Or maybe that a gas line might have been disrupted and could spark another blaze,” said Suzanne.

“They can do that?”

“I
think
so,” said Suzanne. She noticed that Gene Gandle, the intrepid reporter from the
Bugle
, was dashing about, snapping pictures like crazy and scribbling in his notebook. With his skinny body and flapping suit, he reminded her of a scarecrow.

Toni glanced around at the crowd of two dozen or so folks who had gathered as a hazy twilight began to slowly descend upon their town. They all talked in low voices and seemed intrigued by the wreckage. “See, we weren't the only ones who felt compelled to come here. Lots of folks came out to take a gander.”

“This is a major event for Kindred,” said Suzanne. “In fact, I don't recall ever seeing a fire quite this destructive.”

“There was that fire last year at the Pixie Quick,” said Toni.

“I think some kids tossed firecrackers into the Dumpster out back. It just blew the top off and spread a bunch of rotten lettuce and oranges around.”

“Oh . . . right,” said Toni as she continued to scan the crowd. “Hey!” She brightened considerably when she suddenly spotted a familiar face. “Look who's here.” She lifted an arm and pointed toward Ricky Wilcox.

“Back again,” said Suzanne. “I ran into Ricky this afternoon right at the height of the fire. Well, him and just about everybody else in downtown Kindred.”

“Hey, Ricky!” Toni called. She was waving like crazy now, all jacked up with excitement. “Howdy-do, fella!”

Ricky noticed Toni waving and lifted an arm in a shy return greeting. Then he ambled through the crowd to talk to them. Ricky had sandy brown hair that perfectly matched his eyes, a husky build, and a youthful face, sprinkled with freckles and tanned from a summer of outdoor work.

“What are
you
doing here?” said Toni. “Aren't you supposed to be attending some wild and crazy bachelor party and pouring Wild Turkey down your gullet? After all, this is your last night as a free man!”

Ricky ducked his head. “Ah, I was just checking on the arrangements over in the park.”

“I hope everything's okay,” said Suzanne. She hoped the smoke hadn't affected any of the wedding plans. To her, a wedding in the park, under a verdant bower of trees, seemed like a perfect idea. After all, what better cathedral to be married in than God's own?

“Everything looks pretty fantastic,” said Ricky, a grin creasing his face. “The bandstand has been strung with garlands and little white twinkle lights, and the chairs go in first thing tomorrow.”

“You must be all keyed up about this,” said Toni. “I know we are.”

“I just wish Kit and I had more time for a proper honeymoon,” said Ricky.

“Oh no,” said Suzanne. “Don't tell me your National Guard unit finally got called up?” She was afraid that was going to happen. Kit had been giving them constant updates on Ricky's unit and there'd been rumors all over town.

Ricky nodded. “Yup, looks like I'm off to Afghanistan. I was hoping it wouldn't happen until November, but our orders are to take off this coming Thursday. At least that's the plan.” He furrowed his brow. “I had to give notice at work. Sure hate to give up twenty bucks an hour for what Uncle Sam is going to pay me.”

“Only six days until you have to leave,” said Toni. “That's an awfully short honeymoon.” She gave a sly wink. “I trust you'll make the best of it.”

Suzanne just smiled. With Kit three months pregnant, she figured the honeymoon had already come and gone. Now she just prayed that the two young people could manage the stress of a long-distance military marriage as well as the birth of their first child.

Toni clapped Ricky on the back. “Okay, Mr. Groom, we'll see you tomorrow!”

As Suzanne and Toni headed for their cars, they were suddenly accosted by another familiar character.

“Good evening, ladies,” said Carmen Copeland. Carmen was a prominent romance author who lived in the neighboring town of Jessup. She was caustic, snooty, snotty, and exotic-looking—and the
New York Times
bestsellers she consistently churned out had made her rich. Which meant she indulged her taste in clothes and jewelry and always wrapped herself in the latest couture. Today her floral-print silk blouse and cream suede skirt were pure Givenchy, and the bright red soles on her four-inch-high alligator stilettos clearly proclaimed Louboutin.

Because Carmen considered herself a glittering fashionista and the undisputed arbiter in all matters of taste and style, she'd opened a clothing boutique called Alchemy in downtown Kindred. Suzanne always figured it was Carmen's fiendish scheme to impose fashion and flair on what Carmen considered the little brown wrens of Kindred. But to Suzanne's amazement, Carmen's boutique had proven quite successful. Women actually purchased the silk blouses, filmy scarves, leather moto jackets, statement rings, and Hudson jeans that Carmen stocked in her shop. And Suzanne's good friend Missy Langston, although she had been fired and rehired multiple times by Carmen, still worked as store manager.

Though Suzanne carried the entire backlist of Carmen's books in her Book Nook, the two women were basically oil and water. For whatever reason, they always seemed to argue or clash. Tonight, however, Suzanne made up her mind to be civil to Carmen. Correction, more than civil. She would shoot for cordial.

“How are things in the rarefied air of the
New York Times
?” Suzanne asked. Carmen's most recent release,
Blossom's Sweet Revenge
, had just landed at the number seven slot on the list.

“Holding my own,” said Carmen. “But as far as rarefied air goes, isn't
this
a complete disaster?” She flapped one hand disdainfully at the hulking wreck of the burned building.

Suzanne bit down hard, the better to hold her tongue. “You know, Carmen, Hannah Venable was killed here today.”

“You're right,” said Carmen, “it's terribly sad.” She didn't sound one bit sad. “But this horrendous odor . . . I'm terrified it's going to seep into my boutique and taint all our clothing. We just received an enormous shipment of Cavalli jeans this morning—a dozen boxes—and I'm debating whether to even unpack them.” She waved a hand in front of her nose as if, through sheer force of will, she could eradicate the offensive odor.

“It's supposed to be nice and breezy tonight,” said Toni. “Maybe this smoke will all get swept away.” She gave a little snort. “Maybe all the way over to Jessup.”

“I
live
in Jessup,” Carmen said in a steely tone.

“Oh,” said Toni. “Sorry.”

“Are you coming to the big wedding tomorrow?” Suzanne asked.

“I'm afraid I had to decline,” said Carmen. “As usual, I have a publishing deadline that's fraying my nerves and wrecking havoc with my beauty sleep.”

“Be sure to stop by the Cackleberry Club when you get a chance,” said Suzanne. “We'd love to have you sign a few copies of your new book. In fact, we've already sold nearly half our stock.” Carmen gave a self-satisfied smile and Suzanne decided that Carmen reminded her of the evil queen in
Sleeping Beauty.
If Carmen ever offered her an apple wedge she'd for sure decline it.