Stake & Eggs (21 page)

“Which means he’ll probably turn up again,” said Sam. He sidestepped closer, bumping
hips with her. “Don’t worry about it. Just put a little pile of cheese and bologna
on the back step, and he’ll probably come sniffing around again.”

Suzanne slugged Sam on the shoulder. “He’s a kid,” she said, “not a stray cat.”

“Just get Doogie out there searching for him.”

“Easier said than done,” said Suzanne.

They walked along enjoying the people, the lights, the festive mood. And just as they
scored a prime viewing spot
for the parade, they noticed Toni and Junior emerging from Schmitt’s Bar.

As usual, Junior had on his saggy blue jeans, but at least tonight, instead of a white
T-shirt, he wore a black bomber jacket against the cold.

“Hey!” Junior crowed when he caught a glimpse of Suzanne and Sam. “Lookie who’s here!”
He grabbed Toni’s arm and steered her through the crowd. “Did you guys just get here?
We was in Schmitt’s having a couple a’ belts.” He made a drinking motion with one
hand and giggled wildly.

Junior’s silly grin gave away the fact that he’d been drinking, but Toni said, “It’s
still nice and peaceful in there. No fights, nobody slamming a folding chair on top
of somebody’s head.”

“Good thing,” said Sam, trying to be friendly. Then he noticed Toni’s midnight blue
mohair jacket and said, “Nice duds.”

“Thank you,” said Toni, standing a little straighter.

“We’re celebrating,” Junior announced, wobbling on the run-down heels of his motorcycle
boots.

“Junior got some good news today,” said Toni, patting the collar of her jacket.

“What’s that?” asked Suzanne.
His probation is finally up?

“I placed a very important call today,” said Junior, “and had a conversation with
the marketing manager at a major consumer-products company.”

Suzanne did a slow, reptilian blink. “And why would you do that?”

“To see if we could put together some sort of deal,” said Junior. “You know, for my
car cooker.”

“What kind of company did you contact?” asked Suzanne.
An auto
salvage yard?

“A Crock-Pot manufacturer!” said Toni. She grinned and said, “I know, I know, I said
Junior’s car cooker was a crazy idea. But for the first time ever, I think he might
be on to something.”

“ ’Course I am,” said Junior. He pulled Toni close and planted a big smacker on her
cheek.

“Car cooker?” said Sam. He cocked his head, wondering if he’d heard them correctly.

“And they’re serious about wanting to make a deal?” pressed Suzanne.

“Well,” said Junior, puffing out his chest, “it’s about selling a patent, so I can’t
expect things to fall into place over night.”

“You have a patent?” asked Suzanne.

“No, I need to get that settled,” said Junior. “Plus they asked to see some kind of
business plan. Something about consumer demand and purchasing behavior. So there’s
that hoop to jump through. And then I need proof of tech support.”

“Good luck with that,” said Suzanne, as a sudden clash of cymbals, a crashing drum
roll, and a symphonic mix of trumpets, tubas, and French horns punctuated the night.

“The parade’s starting!” said Toni.

“Led by our own Kindred High School marching band,” said Suzanne as a line of flag
twirlers in white parkas marched down the street.

They all rushed to the curb then, as the band, in their crisp red-and-black uniforms,
streamed by unleashing a cacophony of sound.

“Nothing like a good old John Philip Sousa march,” said Sam.

As the snare and bass drums passed by, the crowd clapped and cheered.

“Thrilling,” said Suzanne, loving the moment, loving the fact that she was here with
Sam, even feeling mildly charitable toward Junior, though that would surely pass.

After the band came the baton twirlers, trim and leggy in shiny red-sequined bodysuits.
When one girl gave the signal, all six twirlers flung their batons high in the air,
spun themselves around like tops, then caught their batons on the downward arc.

The crowd murmured a collective “Wow!”

Next up was the official Fire and Ice float. It was a red-foam structure that formed
a slightly misshapen volcano with fluttering orange and red flames juxtaposed with
a plastic arctic floe, complete with fuzzy polar bear.

“I’ve never seen that float before,” said Toni.

“I think Mayor Mobley had it made special,” said Junior.

“Spending hard-earned taxpayer dollars?” said Suzanne.

“Speaking of which,” said Toni, “we haven’t seen him in the parade yet.”

A line of classic cars now snaked along, their horns beeping, their lights blinking.
Junior was almost beside himself when he spotted a baby blue ’56 Thunderbird, all
smooth curves and classic design.

“You see that?” he sputtered. “Now there’s a car!”

A group of earnest-looking women bearing torches marched along next. These were the
proud members of the Library Guild.

Then came the dogsled teams. Nearly two dozen Alaskan huskies, handsome, proud, and
beautifully groomed, pranced along as the mushers held their leashes.

Finally, two old, tough-looking World War II veterans came riding along, sitting on
the back of an open convertible. Bundled in great coats and fur hats with ear flaps,
they looked like they’d just returned from the Ardennes.

Junior raised a clenched fist and yelled at them as they passed by. “Go Army. Hey,
you guys sure whipped them Nazis!”

Suzanne turned to Toni. “Does Junior realize World War II has been over for more than
sixty years?” She was aware of a ragtag group of young skateboarders and bike riders
who streamed along beside the floats.

“He knows,” said Toni. “He just gets all whipped up over anything military. I think
he still feels bad about getting turned down by Army recruiters years ago.”

“Flat feet?” said Suzanne.

Toni tapped the side of her head. “More like low IQ.”

After a gaggle of cute Girl Scouts and Boy Scouts trotted past, two shiny red fire
engines from the town’s volunteer fire department brought up the rear and finished
off the parade. A great cheer went up, and then people turned and began to make their
way down to Founders Park, where the crowning of the winter king and his princesses
would be held.

“Having fun?” asked Sam as he squeezed Suzanne’s hand.

“Nothing beats a small-town parade,” said Suzanne. “And now we get to watch a coronation.”

Sam’s eyes crinkled. “Complete with real jewels?”

“Of course,” said Suzanne, “direct from the five-and-dime.”

A mass of people crowded the nearby park for the final event of the night—the big
crowning of royalty. Of course, the king was always a prominent business leader, and
the princesses were usually eighteen- and nineteen-year-old girls, looking a little
nervous and expectant as they shivered in prom dresses recycled as princess gowns.

“Over here,” said Sam. He pulled Suzanne through the park, past enormous blocks of
ice that had been hauled in for the ice-carving contest, over to where a six-foot-high
wooden stage had been whacked together by volunteers. Lit with bright tripod lights
that had been brought in by the sheriff’s department, it looked like an accident scene,
except for the sparkling bunting and a string of colored lights.

Suzanne snuggled next to Sam, the two of them caught in a sea of townsfolk that seemed
to ebb and flow as everyone awaited the arrival of the royal court.

But when someone prodded Suzanne in the back, she turned to look.

“Joey!” she exclaimed. There was Joey Ewald, her missing busboy, looking cocky and
sassy with his battered purple skateboard tucked under one arm. Joey wore a black
Oakland Raiders jacket with his usual collection of crosses and skulls clanking around
his neck.

Suzanne put her hand on his arm. “Joey, we need to talk.”

Joey gave her a blank stare.

“I’m disappointed you gave your key to my café to Colby without asking me first,”
she said. “That was a complete breach of trust.”

“Sorry about that, Mrs. D.,” said Joey.

“You know you can call me Suzanne.”

“Suzanne,” said Joey, trying to pull away. “Hey, see ya later.”

“We’re not done here, Joey,” said Suzanne, tightening her grip. “I need to know where
your buddy Colby is.”

Joey shrugged. “No idea. ‘The Dude abides.’ ”

“I don’t want a line from a movie,” said Suzanne, “I want the honest truth.”

“I don’t know where he is,” said Joey.

“Colby’s not staying with you?”

Joey shook his head. “Nope.”

“If I called your mom, I’d get the same answer?”

“That’s right,” said Joey.

“Okay,” said Suzanne, “one more question. Is Colby dealing drugs?”

Joey did a double take, like he’d never before encountered the concept of teenagers
and drugs. “Drugs!” he said, looking shocked as he rendered an Academy Award–worthy
performance. “What kind of drugs?”

“You know darn well what I’m talking about. Grass, speed, meth, whatever.”

“No way,” said Joey. Then he amended it to “Not that I know of.”

“If you knew Colby was dealing drugs, would you tell me?” asked Suzanne.

“Um…sure,” said Joey. And this time he did make a clean getaway.

“Doggone kid,” said Suzanne under her breath.

“Which one?” asked Sam.

“All of them,” said Suzanne.

The crowd surged closer to the stage then, carrying Suzanne and Sam with them. Mayor
Mobley, resplendent in a pinstripe suit that looked like he was starring in a remake
of
Guys and Dolls,
trooped onto the stage, followed by the Fire and Ice royalty. The crowd cheered and
Mobley grabbed a microphone.

“It is my great pleasure,” said Mayor Mobley, with all the pomposity he could muster,
“to present our newly crowned Fire and Ice king! Mr. George Draper!”

The crowd cheered and hooted again as Suzanne stared up at Draper. When she’d last
seen him, he’d had poor Claudia hanging on his arm. Tonight, in his red velvet robe
and faux-jeweled crown, George Draper looked absurdly pleased with himself, as if
he’d slain a dragon or rescued a damsel in distress to actually
earn
the title of king.

Toni bumped up alongside Suzanne. “Look at that,” she burbled. “King George. Do you
think he realizes his robe looks like it was munched on by a pack of demented squirrels?”

Junior leaned in to add his two cents worth. “What you girls probably don’t know,”
he said, “is that Draper is really the last-minute, pinch-hitter king.”

“How so?” asked Suzanne.

“Ben Busacker was supposed to be Fire and Ice king,” said Junior. He gave an elaborate
eye roll. “But considering the circumstances, Mayor Mobley had to step in fast and
appoint Draper.”

“And how exactly do you happen to know this bit of town business?” asked Toni, perplexed.

“I have my ways,” said Junior.

“Still,” said Suzanne, “Draper is acting like he was elected in a landslide.”

“But look at the court of royal princesses!” put in Toni proudly. “Kit Kaslik is one
of the princesses!” Kit was a former exotic dancer at Hoobly’s Roadhouse who Suzanne
had convinced to quit her job and seek more suitable employment. “It’s quite a step
up, don’t you think?” chortled Toni.

“From dancing under a blue light to a blue-blood princess,” said Suzanne. “Isn’t life
grand?”

The band played a somewhat shaky version of Whitney Houston’s “One Moment in Time,”
Mayor Mobley droned on, and the princesses continued to shiver in their strapless
gowns. All in all, it was a wonderful small-town event.

“Can I get you guys some hot cocoa?” asked Sam. “There’s a stand over there run by
some of the ladies from Hope Church, I think.”

“Sure,” came the chorus from Suzanne, Toni, and Junior.

But when Sam stepped away, the crowd shifted, and Suzanne found herself standing next
to Hamilton Wick.
Of all people
, she thought. Excellent! This was the perfect opportunity to speak to him.

“Hello,” she said, forcing a sincere smile. “It’s great to see you again.”

“Quite a night out in Kindred, huh?” said Wick. He gave a perfunctory smile.

“Fabulous,” said Suzanne. She edged closer to him. “And how are you doing? Any step
closer to cinching the bank presidency?”

“I wish,” said Wick. “Anything you could do…”

“I’ll definitely put in a good word for you,” said Suzanne.

Wick was so surprised he was practically speechless. “You would? Really?”

“Sure,” said Suzanne, feeling like a liar. “Of course I will.”

“You’re a real friend, Suzanne,” said Wick.

“I have to ask you something,” she said. “And it’s kind of a delicate matter…”

Wick’s brows arched over watery blue eyes. “What’s that?”

“Oh,” she said, doing everything but stubbing her toe in
the snow, “it just seems to me that perhaps Ed Rapson and Ben Busacker might not have
been on the best of terms.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I’m just wondering,” said Suzanne, “if perhaps Rapson could have
wanted
Busacker out of the way.”

“Out of the way,” repeated Wick. “You know what you’re saying?” He looked suddenly
nervous.

Suzanne nodded. “Yes, I think I do.”

“I don’t know. It sounds a little far-fetched…though Rapson is a pretty tough character.
Hard-nosed and demanding.”

“You think Busacker and Rapson’s relationship might have been adversarial?” Suzanne
asked.

“I’m not sure,” said Wick. He hesitated, as if he wanted to say more, then shook his
head.

“What?” said Suzanne. “Tell me more about Busacker. Help me understand him. What was
he really like?”

Hamilton Wick gazed into Suzanne’s eyes. “Look, I didn’t know him all that well. We
were never particularly close.”

“But you must have gleaned something from him,” said Suzanne. “You two worked together.
You were bank colleagues.”

A hard look came across Wick’s face, as if remembering some slight or insult. “He
did have a few secrets.”