Stake & Eggs (31 page)

Sam cocked his head to one side. “Looks fine to me.”

Toni snatched up a mitful of snow, formed it into a fast snowball, and tossed it at
him in mock anger. “It’s whacked!” she cried. “We need to straighten this crazy thing
out, and fast. Petra, what the heck are we gonna do?”

Petra was tromping around, squinting at their sculpture. “Make an adjustment?” she
said.

“Well, I know
that,”
said Toni. “The question is how?”

Sam moved a little closer. “Maybe if you add a little more snow to the left side…”

But Suzanne had suddenly tuned them out. Instead, she was hyper-focused on a dark
figure, a slight figure, who’d just darted behind a half-formed Pegasus sculpture.

He looks familiar…Could it be…?

But when she’d crunched over a few steps toward the Pegasus, the person was gone.

Gone where?

She strained her neck, hoping to catch another glimpse of him. For, surely, it had
to be Colby. But where had the little dickens run off to?

She spun around, taking in the bright lights, glinting sculptures, and ice carvers
moving about in their colorful jackets and hats. But just outside this magic circle
was darkness, where shadows danced and blue-black evergreens swayed in the night wind.

Orienting herself, looking back at Sam, Toni, and Petra, Suzanne took a few steps
toward the trees, riveting her gaze on that copse of darkness. But when she got to
the tree line, no one was there.

She stood rock still, a little unnerved. Were her eyes playing tricks on her?

No, there it was again. A sylph-like shadow slipping behind a snowman made of ice.

Suzanne dashed over, ready to confront Colby. But he wasn’t there.

Then where?

She strode around the park now with purpose in her stride, peeking behind hunks of
ice, keeping a keen eye out for the kid.

When she’d looked behind and around every single ice sculpture, even those half finished
or barely begun, she still didn’t see him.

Oh…crud.

Standing on the edge of the park, gazing at the sculptures and all the folks who’d
come out to try their hand, Suzanne suddenly felt helpless. Colby wasn’t here. And
if he had been, he’d certainly outfoxed her.

But there was a lot of that going around this week.

Doogie and his investigators had been outfoxed so far, too. And even as the fine residents
of Kindred jostled in the park, enjoying the task at hand, not minding the cold one
bit, she knew it wasn’t even close to being small-town perfect.

After all, a killer was still on the loose.

F
IFTY
pounds of bratwurst special-ordered from Sheboygan, Wisconsin, rested in the cooler.
Three enormous kettles of beans sat soaking in water on Petra’s industrial-size stove.
Suzanne had arrived at the Cackleberry Club at one o’clock this Sunday afternoon,
anxious to make sure everything was primed and ready for their big Winter Blaze party
tonight. And even though her morning with Sam had been leisurely—she’d made cheddar
cheese egg strata, and they’d perused the
New York Times
—tonight’s party had been niggling away in the back of her mind.

But, really, all Petra had to do was add molasses, sugar, and onions to her beans
and set them to baking. After all, they were only handling the brats and beans part,
everything else was…

Boots stomped loudly on the back steps leading to the kitchen door.

“Being delivered,” said Suzanne out loud. She pulled open the wooden door and peered
through the screen door. Yup, there was Bill Probst from the Kindred Bakery, struggling
under a tower of cardboard boxes.

“Got some bratwurst buns for you,” said Probst.

“Bring your buns right in here,” said Suzanne.

Probst eased past her. “Couldn’t resist, could you?” he said, the corners of his mouth
turning up just slightly. “People love to say that.”

“Sorry,” said Suzanne. “I guess I should have tried for something a little more original.”

“That’s okay,” said Probst, stacking the boxes on the butcher-block counter. He looked
around. “Where’s Petra? I figured she’d be here worrying and fussing over everything.”

“She’ll probably show up any minute. And then she’ll start worrying and fussing.”

“Okay,” said Probst, giving a tip of his red felt cap. “Cheers. See you at the party
tonight.”

Suzanne was just about to shut the door when she heard laughter and high-pitched voices.
She looked out, saw an animated Toni and Petra chatting with Mr. Probst. Then, a few
seconds later, her cohorts came rushing in with a burst of cold air. Toni looked like
a ski bunny in her pink ski jacket and fuzzy white hat. Petra wore a puffy blue down
coat.

“You’ll never guess what happened!” said Toni, pulling off her cap and tossing it
in the air.

“Doogie apprehended the killer,” said Suzanne.
Please let me be right.

“Nooo,” said Toni.

“Then what?” said Suzanne.

Toni was dancing in place, giggling like a goofy teenager. “You tell her, Petra.”

“It’s kind of unofficial,” said Petra, a broad grin on her kindly, open face, “but
the simple fact is, we won.”

“What!” cried Suzanne. “Are you talking about the ice-carving contest?”

“According to Missy, who kind of tipped us off because she’s going out with one of
the judges, our six-tiered wedding cake took third place!” said Toni. “Can you believe
it?”

“Yes, I can believe it,” said Suzanne. “You guys were chipping away like fiends last
night.”

“Petra’s the one who really clinched it for us,” said Toni, “because she’s decorated
so many real cakes.”

“The most difficult part was getting the layers just right,” said Petra.

“When we got to the top layer,” said Toni, “everything looked a little crooked and
off center.”

“I remember,” said Suzanne.

“So we just packed on handfuls of snow and molded it,” said Toni. “With a little help
from Sam, of course.”

“Kind of like Play-Doh,” said Petra.

“And then our brilliant Petra here took a spray bottle and spritzed everything with
water,” said Toni.

“So it pretty much froze instantly and turned to ice,” said Petra, peeling off her
voluminous coat. “And took on a nice glaze.”

“We’re going to get a ribbon and everything,” said Toni. “Mayor Mobley’s going to
announce all the winners tonight at the party.”

“Who won first place?” asked Suzanne. She’d seen so many fanciful sculptures last
night, they’d all seemed prize-worthy.

“We don’t know that yet,” said Petra. “For the ice carving or the ice-fishing contest.”

“I don’t much care about ice fishing anymore,” said Toni, “since I’ve probably dropped
to tenth place by now.”

“You gave it a good shot,” said Suzanne.

“I guess,” said Toni. She reached down, picked up her hat, and said, “So what needs
to get done around here?”

“I’m going to focus on my baked beans,” said Petra. “So maybe the two of you could
haul the buns out to the café and line up all the paper plates and cups and plastic
forks and stuff. Have it ready so we can shuttle everything outside in a couple of
hours and be ready for the thundering horde.”

“How many people do you think will show up?” asked Toni.

“I’m guessing two hundred,” said Suzanne. “At least, that’s what we’ve planned for.”

“What if we get more?” said Toni. “What if we run out of food?”

Suzanne gave a lopsided grin. “In that case, we’ll have to depend on Junior and his
car cooker. Hope for the best.”

“Dear lord, no,” said Petra, grabbing a bottle of molasses.

“T
HIS
isn’t working,” said Toni. She stood in the middle of about ten strings of mini lights.
“I’m trying to get them into one long string, but all I have is a ginormous tangle.”

“These lights are tricky,” said Suzanne, crunching across the snowy parking lot toward
her. “Here, you take one end—”

“I can’t
find
one end,” Toni huffed.

“Then let’s unplug all the strings and start over.”

They picked and plucked and finally got ten strings of mini white lights untangled
and laid out straight.

“Now we’ll just loop them around the top of the tent,” said Suzanne. She knew the
twinkle lights would lend a fun, festive air once it got dark.

“All of the lights?” said Toni. “How about I hang a couple of strings in the pine
trees?”

“If you can climb up there without falling and breaking a hip, sure,” said Suzanne.
She looped her lights around the tent, then muscled three shallow metal cauldrons
into the middle of the parking lot. In another two hours, they’d build fires inside
them and the cauldrons would become cozy beacons of cheer for their party guests.

Dan Mullin, owner of Mullin’s Dairy, had trucked in a load of hay bales, and Suzanne
and Toni dragged those around, setting them in concentric circles around the cauldrons
to serve as seating.

“Good thing I grew up on a farm,” said Toni, flexing her arms in a muscle-man pose.
“I can still heft a hay bale.”

“You’re remarkably strong for your weight,” said Suzanne.

“Yeah,” said Toni. “Junior says I’m all sinew and gristle.”

“That Junior’s a sweet-talkin’ man,” said Suzanne.

“If we want to catch some of the sled dog races,” said Toni, “we better head over
there now.”

Suzanne and Toni skirted around the Cackleberry Club, pushed their way through the
woods, and came out on the edge of what had been a green undulating alfalfa field
just a few months earlier.

“Whoa, Nelly!” said Toni. “This looks like a real racetrack!”

Plows and snowmobiles had plowed and flattened a one mile oval in the snow. Now it
was packed hard and fast, ideal for sled dog racing.

“They did a great job,” said Suzanne, “creating banked turns and everything.”

“Even the dogs approve,” said Toni.

Across the way, swirling packs of Siberian huskies and Alaskan malamutes yipped and
yapped with unbridled enthusiasm as their harried owners struggled to strap them into
their tandem harnesses. At least fifty or sixty people were positioned around the
track and ready to cheer on their favorite canine teams.

“This is so exciting,” said Toni, as the wooden sleds were hooked on and six teams
lined up at the starting line. “How many times are they going to go around?”

“No idea,” said Suzanne. This was her first dogsled race, and she had no clue if there
was a set number of laps or if the dogs just ran until they got pooped.

An air horn released a noisy belch, and just like that, the teams were off!

“Look at those pooches run!” cried Toni. The teams were running full-out, already
rounding the first turn.

“This would have been wonderful inspiration for Baxter,” said Suzanne. “To see actual
dogs in an all-out sprint.”

“Right,” Toni said in a dry tone. They both knew Baxter was a confirmed couch potato
and didn’t really relish the
cold. Plus, he was getting up there in years, as much as Suzanne tried to overlook
that fact.

The teams had already made a complete lap, with two teams pulling out in front. One
team had slowed down considerably.

“Did you see that they’re all wearing paw covers?” said Toni.

“Thank goodness for that,” said Suzanne. She hated the idea of the dogs’ paws getting
cold and scratched from the ice and snow.

“And here they come again,” Toni whooped, as the dogs flew by them for the second
time. “Oh, oh, somebody’s waving a flag over there.”

“Must be signaling the final lap,” said Suzanne.

“The bell lap, kind of like in NASCAR racing,” said Toni.

Now three dog teams were neck and neck as they flew around their final lap. People
were really starting to scream and shout now.

“Gonna be close,” said Toni.

“But one team is pulling ahead,” said Suzanne. “Oh, wow, they’re really pouring it
on.”

The dogs flew past them a third and final time, ears back, muzzles thrust forward,
headed for the finish line as the crowd urged them on.

“Fantastic!” said Toni, as the lead team crossed the finish line and the dogs, as
if realizing they’d won, braked immediately. Barking, yipping, and wagging their plumy
tales, they seemed to be celebrating and congratulating each other with nips and slobbery
kisses.

“We’d better head back,” said Suzanne, when the excitement had died down a bit. She
glanced at her watch. “It’s three-thirty already. Our guests should start arriving
around five.”

“There’s a couple more races,” said Toni. “I think maybe an eight-dog hitch.”

“Still…”

“Okay,” said Toni.

“Did you listen and write down this morning’s treasure-hunt clue?”

Toni walked along with her head down. “Aw, I’ve pretty much given up on the treasure
hunt. It’s just not in the cards for me.”

T
HE
Bogus Creek Bluegrass Boys had just arrived, so Suzanne met with them and showed
them where to set up, close to one of the blazing cauldrons so they’d hopefully stay
nice and toasty.

“You guys play a little country, too?” she asked. They were four men in quilted jean
jackets, trapper hats, and pac boots who each played a different instrument—mandolin,
fiddle, banjo, and guitar.

Their leader, Teddy Grinnel, nodded solemnly. “We play bluegrass, country, some Methodist,
and a touch of revival for good measure.”

“You need an extension cord?” she asked. “To mike your instruments?”

“Mike?” said Teddy. “No, that’s Buddy over there.”

By quarter to five, the bonfires were lit, the musicians had already run through a
peppy rendition of “Walking the Dog,” and Petra and a small group of volunteers had
arranged three Weber grills under the tent. A group of men, honchoed by Whitey Milburn,
who worked for the power company, had set up six stanchions of glowing lights. By
the time Suzanne turned on her mini lights, the whole place sparkled and shimmered
like a scene inside a snow globe.