Bedeviled Eggs Page 16

  “Yeah?” Dale looked like he didn’t quite trust her.

  “It’s sourdough bread, Gruyere cheese, ham, and an egg.” See? Nothing up my sleeve, just regular old ingredients.

  Dale gave a loud guffaw. “Shucks, Suzanne, I thought you were trying to pull a fast one on your customers. Like you did with the scones and clotted cream that time. People don’t really eat clotted cream, do they?”

  Suzanne reached across the counter and patted his hand. “Sometimes, Dale, you just have to live dangerously.”

  Chapter nineteen

  “One thing’s for sure,” said Toni, surveying the cafe, “it sure doesn’t look like a man cave.”

  Suzanne joined in the fun. “No wide-screen TV, no pool table, no pinups...”

  “No kegerator,” Toni added.

  “Just perfect decor for today’s Mystery Tea,” said Petra, as she came chugging out of the kitchen, carrying two crystal bowls filled with Devonshire cream. “I have to say, Toni, you worked wonders in here.”

  Lunch had been hastily orchestrated and now all the tables in the cafe were covered with beige linen tablecloths, with chocolate and burnt orange organza sashes swagged around each chair. Carved white pumpkins filled with dried milkweed pods, bittersweet, and autumn leaves served as centerpieces, and were flanked by cinnamon-colored tapers in wooden holders. Place settings were cream-colored china plates with matching teacups and polished silver. Tiny gold-net favor bags held cinnamon sticks, tea bags filled with persimmon and berry tea, and orange-flavored sugar swizzle sticks.

  “It’s Halloween, but without the black cat and goblin theme,” said Suzanne.

  “We’re saving all that for Sunday night.” Toni grinned.

  “That’s when we go all-out traditional with ghosts, bats, and a scream-a-ganza party!” She gave a little shiver. “A Halloween to die for.”

  “Let’s hope not,” Petra murmured, as the front door opened and a half dozen guests spilled in.

  “Lovely as always,” declared Mrs. Cleo, peering through the black veil that covered her eyes. Mrs. Cleo was Mrs. Cleopatra Sunderd, a staunch member of the community and a woman who adored dressing up for a proper English tea, albeit a Mystery Tea. Her black pillbox hat was teamed with a wine-colored wool suit. The suit was vintage fifties, but Mrs. Cleo hadn’t scoured every thrift store in the county to find her prize, she’d just yanked it from the back recess of her closet.

  Suzanne checked their guests’ names off her reservation list as Toni escorted them to their tables. When the room was about half full, Suzanne suddenly realized that Julie Crane, today’s featured author, was standing right in front of her.

  “Welcome, Julie,” said Suzanne, giving the girl a welcoming hug. She was thin with gorgeous reddish blond hair, and studious looking in a pair of narrow black glasses that looked both severe and fashionable at the same time.

  “This is so exciting.” Julie bubbled. “My very first book signing. I’ve always hoped and dreamed about this, but now it’s actually happening!”

  “And it’s well-deserved at that,” said Suzanne. “So ... we’ll have you signing at a table in the Book Nook. In fact, I have your books all arranged.”

  “Oh my gosh,” said Julie, following Suzanne into the Book Nook and gaping at the display that had been created, “it looks so ... so professional.”

  “That’s because you are a pro.” Suzanne smiled. “No more amateur status for you, my dear.”

  Julie plunked herself down at the table, pulled two rollerball pens from her purse, and grinned. “I’m lucky, you know that?”

  “How’s that?” asked Suzanne, who was busily rearranging books for a second time.

  ‘To even get published,” said Julie. “Palette Press generally handles only academic books written by Darlington College professors, but I kind of snuck in the back door. And now they’ve started to branch out and embrace other genres in hopes of generating additional revenue.”

  “All businesses have it tough today,” said Suzanne. “Restaurants, little retail shops, service industries, you name it.” She took a poster she’d whipped up and placed it to one side of the table. “Do you happen to know Jane Buckley, the museum registrar?”

  “Oh sure,” said Julie, “she’s really sweet. Too bad she’s been ... what would you call it? Marginalized?”

  Suzanne suddenly snapped to and focused on Julie. “How’s that?”

  Julie screwed up her face and said, “Unfortunately, the museum is focusing more on exhibitions by their own studio arts professors and students. There’s not much on display anymore that you could classify as traditional museum pieces.”

  “No paintings?” Suzanne asked. “No sculptures?” She remembered attending an art opening at the Darlington College museum a couple of years ago and being blown away by some tasty Early American paintings, Japanese prints, and some very contemporary sculptures. All kinds of things, in fact..

  Julie shook her head. “Not anymore. Not unless they’re done by professors or students.”

  “That’s awfully sad,” said Suzanne, wondering if Jane Buckley could have gotten some sort of crazy idea in her head. Maybe solicit a couple of important donations to score a coup and save her job? Could have happened.

  “Oh,” said Julie, “and since I got this book deal, I’ve been asked to teach a creative writing class.”

  “You know who taught there last year, don’t you?” asked Suzanne. “It was...”

  “Carmen!” Julie gasped, her eyes suddenly skittering past Suzanne and assuming a slightly stricken look.

  “What?” Suzanne squawked, spinning around abruptly only to be confronted by the grinning face of Carmen Copeland. Correction, make that a smarmy, grinning face.

  “Well, hellooo,” said Carmen, oozing her cool brand of charm.

  “You’re here... for the Mystery Tea?” Suzanne asked.

  Carmen dimpled prettily. “Not quite. Fact of the matter is, I was hoping to squeeze in an impromptu book signing with my fellow author here.”

  Suzanne stared at Carmen, marveling at the woman’s chutzpah. Now Julie was a fellow author. A couple of days ago Carmen had regarded her as a complete nobody.

  “I’m not sure how I’m fixed on books,” Suzanne stammered. “And there’s not much room for two authors.”

  “Oh, Julie can squeeze over,” said Carmen. “Can’t you, dear?”

  Julie hesitated for a moment, then said, “Sure. Why not? The more the merrier, I guess.”

  Let’s hope so, Suzanne thought to herself as she rushed into her office to grab the ringing phone. Julie may think

  she could share an author’s table with Carmen Copeland, but Carmen had a tricky way of stealing the spotlight.

  “Cackleberry Club,” Suzanne said, into the receiver.

  There was silence for a few moments, then a woman’s voice said, “Suzanne?”

  “Yes?”

  “This is Beth Ann Morrisey from city hall. We spoke this morning? You stopped by?”

  “Oh sure,” said Suzanne, suddenly recalling the reluctant clerk. “How can I help?”

  “I just wanted to let you know that a key card was reported missing.”

  A tingle of excitement shot up Suzanne’s spine. “Really?”

  “Yes, indeed,” said Beth Ann, “there was a memo about it. I didn’t notice it at first because we get a lot of memos.”

  “Do you, urn, know which office?” Suzanne asked. “So I can drop it by? I mean, I wouldn’t want to bother you.”

  “No bother at all. But the card belongs to the downstairs storage area.”

  “The storage area,” said Suzanne. The news didn’t exactly trip her trigger. Unless ...

  “That’s where they keep the voting booths and all?” asked Suzanne.

  “I suppose that would be right,” said Beth Ann. “The voting booths and other stuff we only use occasionally.”

  “Okay,” said Suzanne. “Thanks so much.” She hung up the phone and stared at the top of her des
k where a clutter of magazines edged out invoices and recipe cards. And wondered again if Mayor Mobley or Allan Sharp had tried to tamper with the voting booths. Had tried to fix the election.

  Would that explain a dropped key card in her backyard?

  Better yet, would putting a bug in Sheriff Doogie’s ear send his investigation in their direction?

  If the key card Doogie had found worked in that city hall location, would it push him into taking a long, hard look at Mobley or Sharp? Maybe. Possibly. Only one way to find out, of course, and that was talk to Doogie.

  Suzanne was still noodling ideas around when she emerged into the cafe. And was thrilled to find every seat in the house occupied and every woman sipping tea and smiling contentedly. Which made her smile contentedly.

  “I see the wicked witch dropped in for a spell,” said Toni, as she breezed by, hefting a teapot in each hand.

  Suzanne dogged Toni’s footsteps and asked, “How’s it going?”

  “Great,” said Toni; “they’re all loaded up on Petra’s pumpkin-walnut scones with gigantic gobs of Devonshire cream, so everyone’s pretty much riding a nice sugar high.”

  “So time to bring out the tea trays?” asked Suzanne. “Dazzle them with Petra’s sandwich and dessert artistry while we introduce a little needed protein?”

  Toni nodded. “Better hustle into the kitchen and lend a hand if you can.”

  “Will do,” said Suzanne. But when she scurried into the kitchen, Petra already had her three-tiered, silver trays lined up on the butcher-block table and was just arranging her goodies.

  “Can I help?” Suzanne offered.

  Petra gave a beatific nod as she arranged madeleines, brownie bites, and lavender tea cakes on the top tier.

  Suzanne shook her head in wonderment. “This is gonna be great. Again.”

  Petra nodded. “I just love it when we go all out for tea. Don’t you wish we could do this every day?”

  “I think we already are,” said Suzanne. She stepped to the sink, washed her hands, and said, “What do you want me to do?”

  “Middle tier,” said Petra. “Sandwiches.”

  “Okay,” said Suzanne. She looked around for the plastic trays Petra normally used.

  “There, over on the shelf,” said Petra.

  Suzanne grabbed the tray and pulled off the plastic wrap. “So ... we’ve got salmon and watercress on rye, cranberry walnut salad on buttered crostini, and...”

  “Cheese and turkey spirals,” finished Petra.

  Suzanne carefully arranged the small triangles and spiral sandwiches on each tray as Petra gave an approving nod.

  “And chicken tartlets on the bottom,” said Petra.

  “Perfect,” declared Suzanne.

  Petra grinned. “You think?”

  “I know.”

  “Then let’s carry them out.”

  Together, Suzanne and Petra each grabbed two tea trays, then bumped out through the swinging door.

  “Ladies,” said Toni, the minute she saw her cohorts appear, “your tea trays have arrived.”

  At which point, the entire tearoom erupted in thunderous applause.

  “Thank you, thank you,” said Suzanne, standing front and center, reprising her role from yesterday, as Petra and Toni scurried to deliver the rest of the tea trays. “And I’d like to remind you that Julie Crane is in the Book Nook signing her new book, Ghostly Lore and Legends, along with our own bestselling romance author Carmen Copeland.”

  One of the guests raised her hand. “Are the authors going to do a short reading?” she asked.

  “Yes, they are,” said Suzanne, deciding that was the perfect way to integrate Julie’s mystery book with the Mystery Tea. Along with the wild card Carmen, of course.

  Fifty minutes later, tea sandwiches enjoyed and many cups of tea sipped, the guests began to wander throughout the Cackleberry Club. Some congregated in the Knitting Nest while others found their way into the Book Nook.

  Much to Suzanne’s delight, they sold a respectable two dozen copies of Julie’s book, along with another dozen of Carmen’s romance paperbacks.

  When there was a slight lull, Carmen gazed at Suzanne and exclaimed in a fawning voice, “Such a cute little book our Julie wrote. There’s even a positively spine-tingling story about a place in Deer County called Vampire Valley.”

  “I think I’ve been there,” said Suzanne.

  “Julie and I were chatting,” said Carmen, launching into magnanimous mode, “and I think it’s just marvelous that she’s going to be teaching creative writing at Darlington College.” Smoothing her form-fitting dress, Carmen added, “I simply can’t fit pro bono activities into my hectic schedule anymore.”

  “You’re a busy lady,” said Suzanne, hoping Carmen would have the good grace to leave it at that.

  Of course she didn’t.

  “Although I do continue to serve on the Darlington College museum board,” Carmen announced, in broad tones. “As you’ve probably heard, I’ve amassed quite an art collection.”

  When Julie managed to look vaguely interested, Carmen added, “I started with outsider art and now I’m seriously into photography and contemporary art. People like Chuck Close, Jim Hodges, and Sigmar Polke.”

  “I’m impressed,” said Julie.

  Carmen reached over and patted Julie’s hands. “Just think, dear, someday you might be successful, too.”

  That was enough for Suzanne. She retreated behind the counter and proceeded to tally up the afternoon’s sales. Unfortunately, she could still hear Carmen prattling away.

  “Do you know,” said Carmen, “I’m seriously considering opening a coffee shop in downtown Kindred. Right next to Alchemy Boutique. I even have a name for it...” She paused for her dramatic reveal. “The Intelligentsia Café”

  Gritting her teeth, Suzanne packaged books, made change, made small talk, and finally made it into the kitchen. There, unhappy and slightly offended, she unloaded to Petra and Toni about Carmen’s proposed coffee shop.

  “What?” said Petra, outraged. “She’s trying to one-up you again, Suzanne! When Carmen got an inkling about your plans for a fine dining restaurant called Crepes Suzanne, she spread it around town that she was going to open a restaurant, too. Now she’s rattling her saber about starting a coffee shop. The woman is totally outrageous!”

  “And guess what she wants to call it,” Suzanne said in a sour tone. “The Intelligentsia Cafe.”

  “Carmen and intelligentsia?” sneered Toni. “There’s a concept at odds with itself. Kind of like army intelligence.”

  “Or educational TV!” Petra added in a huff.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Is she gone?” Suzanne asked in a small voice. She’d basically hid out in the kitchen for the rest of the Mystery Tea, wrapping up leftover sandwiches, stacking dirty dishes, rinsing teapots, and puttering around, trying to put things back to normal.

  “Carmen’s gone,” Toni said with a sigh, “along with everyone else. So there’s no need to exile yourself anymore.”

  “I’m sorry Carmen was such a pill,” Petra said to Suzanne. “But I know all our guests had a wonderful time, so that should serve as some consolation.”

  Suzanne popped a leftover brownie bite into her mouth and swallowed it whole. “I feel like I’m back in high school, battling my archenemy and getting rejected by the cheerleading squad.”

  “Sheesh,” said Petra. “I got rejected by the projectionist club. Something about not being able to focus.”

  Toni set down a tray of dirty dishes, fluffed her hair, and placed her hands on her blue jean-clad hips. “Not to flog a dead horse, but you want to know Carmen’s parting words?”

  “What?” Suzanne asked through tight lips.

  “She said, in that high-and-mighty tone of hers, that when she signs books at Barnes and Noble they always give her a muffin basket.”

  “I’ll drop-kick her a muffin,” Petra fumed, “right where she deserves it!”

  “Whoa,” said Suzanne
, touching a hand to her forehead, feeling the stirrings of a nasty headache. “Now we’re all letting Carmen get to us.” She paused, then drew what she hoped was a deep, cleansing, yoga breath. “At least I am.”

  Petra directed a baleful gaze at Suzanne. “You’re right. We’re all guilty of being cowed and infuriated by Carmen.”

  Toni nodded. “She did kind of put us off our feed this last hour or so.”

  “Time to regroup,” said Suzanne.

  “Reboot the old hard drive,” suggested Toni. “Delete the negativity.”

  Petra spread her arms wide, waggled her fingers, and pulled each of them close to her. “Bless us, Lord, and bring us peace, understanding, and tranquility.”

  “Are we good now?” Toni asked, though she was really asking Suzanne.

  Suzanne nodded. “Calm as can be.”

  Petra straightened up, looking content. But when she glanced out the window and saw how dark it was getting, a tiny bit of worry seemed to return. “The Mystery Tea ran longer than we intended. It’s going to be dark by the time we get everything cleaned up.”

  “Let Joey do it,” said Suzanne, glancing at her watch. “He should be here in ten minutes or so.”

  “You think?” said Petra.

  “Sure,” said Suzanne. “Let’s ... why don’t we grab ourselves a nice hot pot of tea and a plate of leftover tea sandwiches and retreat to the Knitting Nest?”

  “Veg out,” said Toni, liking the idea.

  Petra hesitated for a moment, then said, “Does Keemun tea work for everyone?”

  Sprawled in the Knitting Nest, the three women sipped tea and nibbled daintily at Petra’s sandwiches.

  “These cheese and turkey spirals are my favorites,” said Toni. “Any more left?”

  “Probably two dozen,” said Petra, “but you’ll have to fetch them yourself ‘cause my feet are killing me.” She slipped off her well-worn Crocs and wiggled her toes appreciatively against the faded Oriental carpet. “Feels good,” she breathed.

  “I’ll grab ‘em,” said Toni. “No problem.”

  “What’s that?” asked Suzanne. She’d just noticed a green-and-yellow-striped sweater tucked into the knitting basket next to Petra.