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  Suzanne shook her head. She was as puzzled as he was. “I didn’t do anything with them.”

  But Doogie was all frothed up and wasn’t about to take no for an answer. “Come on, where are they?”

  “You are so going off in the wrong direction,” Suzanne said. “Because I have no idea where Elder’s horses disappeared to.” She folded her arms across her chest and gave Doogie a challenging stare. “But clearly they are not here.”

  * * *

  SUZANNE was still in a huff as she locked up the barn. Doogie had left in his cruiser, but her mind kept rumbling over his unfounded accusations.

  “Why on earth would Doogie think that I stole those horses?” she asked.

  Sam fixed her with a skeptical gaze. “Oh, I don’t know, Suzanne. Let me think about this. Maybe it’s because you were instrumental in helping four of them get purchased? Which I just now found out about. Or maybe because you have an enormous soft spot in your heart for homeless horses? Or perhaps it’s because you . . .”

  Suzanne held up a hand. “Okay. I see where you’re going with this.”

  Sam moved closer to her. “Listen, it’s just you and me now. Nobody around except maybe an owl perched up in a tree. So tell me the truth. You really didn’t move those horses somewhere?”

  “No, cross my heart. I’m as puzzled about this as Doogie.”

  “He wasn’t just puzzled,” Sam said. “He was spitting mad.” He peered at her again. “You’re sure you don’t know?”

  “No, I don’t,” Suzanne said slowly. “But I have a couple of ideas, things I’d like to check out.”

  Sam caught her hand and squeezed it gently. “I think maybe there’s been enough investigating for one night. Don’t you?”

  Suzanne smiled at him. His eyes sparkled and in the hazy light he looked like he was about twenty-two. Mmmm, she thought. He really is quite delicious. All thoughts of Doogie and missing horses slowly vanished from her brain. She stood on tiptoes and kissed Sam. “You have something else in mind?” It had been a long, crazy day that started with a funeral, segued into a nasty encounter with a food broker, and ended with a scene right out of Bonanza where she’d been accused of horse thievery. Now what could cap off a day like that?

  “I have an idea,” Sam whispered. He slid his hands around her waist and pulled her closer. “Do I ever.”

  CHAPTER 21

  SATURDAY morning at the Cackleberry Club brought poached eggs on sweet potato muffins, cheddar breakfast strata, and blueberry puffy muffins. Petra was whistling away at the stove, wearing an oversized T-shirt that said Fries Before Guys, baggy khaki pants, and her green Crocs.

  Suzanne and Toni hovered nearby, ready to grab orders and scoot them out to their customers.

  “That sure was fun last night,” Toni said.

  Petra turned and arched her brows. “Until Sheriff Doogie came galloping in for the last roundup.”

  “He did make quite a scene,” Toni said. She glanced at Suzanne, who hadn’t said much about it. “Honey, are you okay? You look a little peaked.”

  “To tell you the truth,” Suzanne said, “I’m still ticked off about Doogie. If he had barged in any earlier, he might have completely ruined our event.”

  “He certainly went off the deep end,” Petra said. She placed buttered sweet potato muffins on four medium-sized plates.

  “Doogie’s a master at the art of overreacting,” Toni agreed as she buttered two orders of toast. “He wrote the book on it.” She placed little packets of jelly next to the toast.

  “Still,” Suzanne said, “it was wrong to come stomping in here and accuse me of stealing horses.”

  “He was dead wrong,” Petra said. “He could have handled things much better.” She scooped perfectly poached eggs from a pan of simmering water and gently plopped them atop the muffins.

  “I wonder where those horses really are?” Toni asked. “Do you think actual horse thieves still exist in this day and age?”

  “Apparently so,” Suzanne said.

  “But your evening turned out okay?” Toni asked. She had a mischievous smile on her face now. “I mean, you and Sam . . . ?”

  Suzanne blushed. “Well, I guess . . .”

  “Whoo-hoo,” Toni whooped. “Details, please.”

  “Don’t go there,” Petra warned.

  “I never kiss and tell,” Suzanne said primly.

  “Honey, I want to hear about more than just plain old kissin’,” Toni said.

  Petra placed her hands on her ample hips. “Toni, there are orders to deliver.”

  * * *

  ONCE all the breakfast orders had been delivered to their early-morning customers, Suzanne had another mission in mind. She grabbed the business card that Cassie Givens had given her yesterday and dialed her number. When Cassie answered, Suzanne said, “Cassie, this is Suzanne Dietz at the Cackleberry Club. We have a huge problem.”

  “Excuse me?” Cassie sounded a little fuzzy, like she’d just woken up.

  “Did you haul away all eight of Julian Elder’s horses?”

  “What?” Cassie sounded legitimately confused. “Um . . . what are you talking about?”

  “Julian Elder’s horses have mysteriously disappeared,” Suzanne said. “Did you take them?”

  “No, of course not,” Cassie said. She was sounding a little more awake now. “I just took the four that I bought from him. Like I told you, there wasn’t enough money to purchase them all.”

  “So you really didn’t take the final four horses as well?”

  “No. And why are you asking? What’s going on?”

  Suzanne quickly explained the situation.

  Cassie was outraged at any hint of impropriety. “I wouldn’t just steal horses,” she said. “That would put our entire organization at risk. We have a group of very dedicated volunteers as well as some fairly high-test people who sit on our board of directors. Lawyers, some marketing people, a couple of veterinarians. I’d never betray their trust by pulling an illegal stunt like that.” She paused. “You do believe me, don’t you?”

  Suzanne was 99.9 percent convinced. “Yes, I do.”

  “Besides,” Cassie continued, “I could barely squeeze the four horses I did buy into my trailer, pathetic and skinny as those poor things were.”

  “Cassie,” Suzanne said, “I’m sorry to bother you. Even sorrier to have doubted you.”

  “That’s okay, that’s okay. Just, um . . . well, do you have any idea where those horses disappeared to?”

  “I’m afraid not. But I’m assuming our local sheriff will be hot on their trail. At least he was last night.”

  “Jeez. Wow. Well, keep me in the loop, will you?”

  “I sure will,” Suzanne said.

  She walked back into the kitchen looking puzzled.

  “I take it you didn’t find the missing horses?” Petra asked.

  Suzanne shook her head. “Nope. The Hoof-Beats lady didn’t take them.”

  Toni had followed her in. “I didn’t think Cassie carted them away. I mean, you saw that broken-down trailer she was towing. It was a squeeze just to get four of those nags in there.”

  “So where did they disappear to?” Petra asked. She could tell Suzanne was still puzzled and a little upset. “Do you think Elder already shipped them off to Canada and is trying to pull a fast one? Make out a fraudulent insurance claim or just try to get you in trouble?”

  Suzanne shook her head. “I honestly have no idea.”

  Toni grabbed a sugar donut and started munching. “Good thing we’re closing at one o’clock today. And that we’ve got tomorrow off. I think we all need a break.”

  “You got that right,” Petra said. “Me, I’m going to work on my new quilt. I started a star flower pattern.”

  “You’re so dang creative,” Toni said. “I was just gonna dial up some Netfl
ix and settle in with Matthew Mc-Conaughey or Charlie Hunnam.”

  “So you guys think we’re all set for Monday?” Petra asked. “For Halloween?”

  “I think so,” Suzanne said. “We’re still going to serve Halloween specials all day long?”

  “For sure,” Petra said.

  “And the little kids are invited to trick or treat from four to six?”

  “And then our party for adults begins at seven.”

  “Hot dog,” Toni said. “I guess you’ve lined up a band and everything?”

  “I’ve got the Whistling Dixies coming in,” Suzanne said. “And we’ll have fire pits, grilled brats, costume contests, and a hay wagon.”

  “Who says we don’t know how to throw a great party?” Petra said. She glanced at Suzanne, who was putting leftover cheese into plastic bags. “Suzanne, do you think you could carry out the trash for me? I don’t want to run into that awful hissing creature again.”

  “Where’s your sense of adventure?” Toni asked. “Maybe you could befriend that little opossum. Tame him or something. Then we could put up a YouTube video of the two of you cuddling together.”

  “Dream on,” Petra said.

  * * *

  SUZANNE carried two bags of trash outside and tossed them into the Dumpster. The day had dawned hazy and cool, but a nice yellow sun was starting to peep through the clouds, promising to warm things up into the low sixties. The line of trees that stood between the Cackleberry Club and the farm fields out back was still a riot of color, and the Kodachrome reds, oranges, and russets lifted Suzanne’s spirits enormously.

  Sheriff Doogie may have intruded on her pizza party last night, but he wasn’t going to intrude on her life. Not if she had to kick him to the curb all by herself.

  As Suzanne crunched back across the back parking lot, she noticed a small, dark object leaning near the back door.

  What is that? It looks almost like a child’s toy.

  It was toy. In fact, it was a little stuffed horse.

  What on earth?

  Curious now, she leaned over and picked it up. The little toy horse was a scuffed, plush animal with a mane and tail made out of yellow yarn, and little black beads sewn on for eyes. The nose was smooth and worn as if it had been well loved.

  Suzanne cradled the tattered little horse in her hands. The black, beady eyes seemed to stare up at her with sweet intensity.

  Who did this? she wondered. Did someone leave this for me?

  It was puzzling at best. Maybe Petra had seen someone . . .

  But when Suzanne stepped into the kitchen, there was no time to question Petra or Toni. Junior was already leaning against the counter, legs crossed, slurping a poached egg out of a ceramic mug.

  “I got an important favor to ask you,” Junior said when he saw Suzanne.

  Suzanne smiled at him. “The answer is no.”

  “Whaaa?” Junior’s face dissolved into a disappointed pucker. “You don’t even know what the question is.”

  “She can guess,” Toni said.

  Junior set down his mug and postured importantly. “I was hoping you’d let me hold my auditions here.”

  “The answer is still no,” Suzanne said.

  “You know, auditions for my car wash girls?” Junior finished lamely.

  “Are you deaf?” Toni asked. “What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand? Now take your stupid eggs and move your scrawny butt out of here.” She grabbed Junior by the arm, spun him around, and physically pushed him into the café.

  Suzanne followed along. “I have a suggestion,” she said once Junior had seated himself at the counter. “Why don’t you hold your fantasy girl auditions at Hoobly’s Roadhouse, where they already feature exotic dancers?” She ducked behind the counter to grab a cup of coffee for herself. “Maybe you can interest a couple of those ladies.”

  “I already explored that angle,” Junior said. “And not one of those attractive young women was even remotely interested. First off, they told me they didn’t want any kind of dumb day job. And then they told me they didn’t want to get their hair wet.”

  “What else?” Toni asked.

  Junior hung his head. “They told me they didn’t think tips at a car wash would amount to very much.”

  Petra leaned down and poked her head through the pass-through. “Tips?” she called out. “Did I hear somebody say tips? If so, I’m available.”

  * * *

  AND still Junior was harder to get rid of than a bunch of freeloading cousins at a family picnic. He remained on the fringes of the café, munching a donut and muttering to himself. Finally, when Toni zipped by him for about the fourth time, he grabbed her and said, “Toni, you’re driving me crazy with that perfume you’re wearing. What is it anyway? Something by one of those fancy French designers? Yves LePeu or Christian Die-orey?”

  Toni glared at him like he was off his rocker. “What you’re probably smelling is the faint aroma of the roach spray I used out by the garbage cans.”

  “Whatever it is,” Junior said, “it’s turning me on.”

  “Junior,” Toni warned, “just sit at the counter like a good little boy.”

  “Are you still gonna come over and help me with the dishes this afternoon?” he asked. “’Cause they’re really piling up. You should see my kitchen, it’s a disaster zone.”

  “That’s because you’re turning into a hoarder.”

  “Naw,” Junior said. “I just don’t like doing the dishes.”

  He sat at the counter, staring into the glass pie saver, not saying a thing for a good twenty minutes.

  “You okay, Junior?” Suzanne finally asked. “Is there somewhere else you have to be?” Like, not here?

  “I was counting the colored sprinkles on that donut.”

  “Fascinating.”

  Junior swiveled in his chair to face her. “I’ve been thinking, too.”

  “There’s a first,” Toni quipped.

  “About Mike’s murder,” Junior said. “And the disappearing horses.” He made a vague spinning gesture with his hands. “The way I see it, it’s all balled up together.”

  “And then again maybe it’s not,” Suzanne said.

  “I still think you guys should let me put on my Sherlock Holmes hat and do some investigating.”

  “Please don’t,” Suzanne said.

  Toni sidled over to join them. “Don’t be rockin’ the boat, Junior.”

  A cagey look came into his eyes. “But I know something you guys don’t.”

  “What’s that, Junior?” Suzanne asked.

  Junior slid off his stool and postured like he was about to address a class of graduating lawyers. “I happened to see that Byron Wolf guy over at the County Registrar’s office yesterday afternoon, when I was looking into how to get a Commercial Class A driver’s license. And I know for a fact that he was doing some sort of official transaction with that lady with the jiggly arms.”

  “You mean Mrs. Manchester?” Toni asked. Mrs. Manchester used to teach freshman English at the high school until somebody slipped a rubber spider down the back of her dress. Then she handed in her resignation and found a new job with the county.

  Junior nodded. “That’s the lady. She was stamping a piece of paper, like, a million times.” He cackled nastily. “Man, her arms were jiggling like crazy. Like big old tubs of Jell-O.”

  “You mean, like she was recording a deed?” Suzanne asked. This information was suddenly very interesting to her.

  Junior shrugged. “Yeah. Maybe. Probably she was.”

  “Jeez,” Toni said. “Do you think Claudia really did sell the farm to the Big Bad Wolf? That now it’s a done deal?”

  Suzanne was still processing this. “I don’t know. But it would be nice to get the particulars on this.”

  Junior tapped his chest. “I bet I could fi
nd out.”

  “No, Junior,” Suzanne warned. “Don’t get involved.”

  “You’ll just mess things up,” Toni said.

  Dismayed, Junior cried, “That’s exactly the kind of sassy disregard that frosts my butt!” Then he stomped out of the Cackleberry Club, letting the door slam behind him.

  “Finally,” Toni said.

  “You know that Junior’s going to sit in his truck and sulk,” Suzanne said. “He’ll wait for you to come out and prop him back up.”

  Toni turned up her nose. “He can sit there all day. Me, I’m waiting for my Prince Charming.”

  Petra came out to join them, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Don’t bother,” she said. “Men never ask for directions, so your prince probably took a wrong turn and got hopelessly lost.”

  CHAPTER 22

  AN idea had been niggling in Suzanne’s brain ever since that little stuffed horse had turned up on her back doorstep.

  So, against her better judgment, she drove out to the Jorgenson farm.

  When she pulled into their driveway, Noah was outside, tossing a Frisbee to a shaggy black-and-white dog. He wore a tan barn jacket, blue jeans, and lace-up boots. In other words, he looked like any other teenage kid.

  When Suzanne climbed out of her car, the black-and-white dog rushed over to greet her. She held out a hand so the dog could sniff her and know she was friendly.

  “That’s my dog, Sissy,” Noah said as he came over. “I think she likes you.”

  “She’s a very pretty dog,” Suzanne said as Sissy immediately lost interest and wandered away.

  “She’s part Australian shepherd, which is a kind of herding breed, so she’s real good with other animals.”

  That was the opening Suzanne needed.

  “Noah, I need to talk to you.”

  He gave her a quizzical but benign gaze. “What about, ma’am?”

  “I think you might know.” Suzanne glanced around. The Jorgenson farm was a small farm, probably not a working farm since she didn’t see tractors or equipment of any sort sitting around. There was just a sedate-looking white house, a faded red barn, and a detached two-car garage. “Is your mom home?”