Egg Drop Dead Page 22

  “No way,” Suzanne said. She was going to stick to her guns no matter what the cost. “This is a complete and total setup. That machete wasn’t here yesterday.”

  “Wait just a minute,” Doogie said. “You knew about this? You knew the horses had been stashed here and you didn’t tell me?”

  “I was just . . . trying to protect Noah,” Suzanne said. Her argument felt lame even as she said it.

  But Doogie had already dismissed her. “You’re under arrest, Noah,” he said as Deputy Driscoll snapped a pair of handcuffs around Noah’s wrists. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Mike Mullen.”

  * * *

  “WHAT a mess,” Toni said as they drove back toward town. “Now Noah’s under arrest and Doogie’s furious at you.”

  “Doogie can sit and spin for all I care,” Suzanne said. “It’s Noah that I’m worried about.”

  “So . . . you really knew he took those horses?”

  Suzanne gazed straight ahead. “Yes, I did. I kind of figured it out after Noah left a little stuffed horse for me at the back door of the Cackleberry Club yesterday. He was sending me a coded message. Trying to see if I was really a friend and if I’d back him up.”

  “And you did.”

  “Not really. Mostly I feel like I failed him miserably. I mean, Noah’s being carted off to jail.”

  “It’s the county lockup,” Toni said. “Not a federal penitentiary like Attica or Sing Sing. Junior’s been in lockup a few times and look at him.”

  Suzanne glanced at Toni.

  “Okay, so maybe that’s not a stellar example.”

  “Junior’s an overage juvenile delinquent who treats going to jail as one big joke,” Suzanne said. “Noah’s a kid who’ll be severely traumatized.”

  “What can we do?”

  “I’m trying to think,” Suzanne said. She felt so desperate she wanted to bang her head against the steering wheel.

  They drove along in silence for a few minutes. Then Toni said, “Where would you even get a machete?”

  “No idea. I don’t even know what you’d use one for. Clearing brush? Cutting down wild grapevines?”

  “The only place I’ve ever seen machetes was in jungle movies,” Toni said. “When greedy explorers were hacking their way through vines and stuff, trying to find a lost treasure.”

  “Or in war movies.”

  “Right. Like World War II guys fighting their way through the jungles of Burma or something.”

  “That’s it,” Suzanne said. “An army surplus store.” She felt a little shot of adrenaline squirt through her. A little bit of hope.

  “You think?”

  “Let’s see who might have bought one lately. Let’s at least give it a shot.”

  * * *

  ON the far side of town, a newly constructed industrial park included self-storage lockers, a commercial printer, scrapyard for reclaimed metal, and Sergeant Stan’s Army Surplus. The surrounding streets were deserted. No cars, no pedestrian traffic, not even any frolicking squirrels. Probably because there weren’t any trees.

  But Sergeant Stan’s Army Surplus was open.

  Housed in an ugly, squared-off cinder block building, a red, white, and blue sign proudly announced Sergeant Stan’s Army Surplus. Underneath in small print, World War II, Korea, Nam, Iraq.

  “Looks like they’ve got all the conflicts covered,” Toni said as they pulled into a parking space next to a dilapidated army-green jeep.

  Suzanne had never been here before. Then again, she’d never been in the market for cheap, used army surplus.

  The inside of the shop was as brightly lit as an operating room. Blaring fluorescents buzzed above mounds of dappled green uniforms, khaki packs, and strange-looking canvas bags. There were also folding shovels, pup tents, canteens, and combat boots.

  “You could outfit your own army here,” Toni said.

  “Or at least your own band of guerrillas,” Suzanne said.

  “Help you find something, ladies?” asked a man who was standing behind a glass counter. He was barrel-chested and wore a black Don’t Tread on Me T-shirt and camouflage pants tucked into lace-up boots. A jaunty watch cap covered his buzz cut.

  Suzanne stepped closer to the counter. “Are you Stan?”

  The man nodded. “That’s me.”

  “I guess you were in the army, huh?” Toni said.

  Stan nodded. “Supply sergeant.”

  “We’re looking for machetes,” Suzanne said. “Do you have any in stock?”

  “Sure do. Boyfriend got on your nerves, huh?” Stan joked.

  They followed Stan to the rear of the store where a line of locked glass cases stood next to a fire exit. Inside the cases were hunting knives, rifles, shotguns, and what looked like an old German Luger. He pulled a key chain from his pocket and unlocked one of the cases.

  The machete Stan pulled out didn’t look anything like the one they’d just seen back at the Jorgenson farm. This one had a grooved metal handle and a large hook at the end, almost like a bird’s beak.

  “This machete is the best one I carry,” Stan crooned in loving tones. “It’s got an eighteen-inch, corrosion-resistant blade. You can use it as an ax, machete, brush thinner, or knife. Comes with its own sharpening stone, too. Isn’t it a beaut?”

  “Do you have any with wooden handles?” Suzanne asked.

  Stan shook his head. “Oh no. When you’re talking wooden handles, you’re probably dealing with a vintage model. Sheffield manufactured a really nice wood-handled machete. British commandos used them back in WWII.” He nodded. “Those were the days.”

  “Have you sold any of those older machetes recently?” Suzanne asked.

  “Nah. Those are pretty much a specialty item. But if you’re interested, I could put the word out to some of the war relics collectors that I know.”

  “Thanks, but I think we’ll pass for now,” Suzanne said.

  * * *

  “NOW what?” Toni asked once they were back in the car.

  “Do you want to go back to the hospital and check on Junior?”

  “Maybe I should just call him again?”

  “You feeling okay?” Suzanne asked.

  “Just a little blue.”

  “Let’s go back to my place. Have a cup of coffee and call the hospital.”

  “You got anything to eat?” Toni asked. She gave a guilty look and said, “Sorry, but stress always kicks my metabolism into high gear.”

  “How about a cheeseburger? Or a French dip sandwich?”

  “Be still my heart.”

  * * *

  WHILE Toni called the hospital, Suzanne put in a call to Sam.

  “There you are,” Sam said. “I was wondering where you were.”

  “Toni and I went to the White Elephant Sale,” Suzanne said. “After that, we got kind of sidetracked.”

  “What happened?”

  “Oh, I suppose I’d better tell you. It’s all going to come out anyway.”

  “Then you for sure better tell me.”

  Suzanne took a few minutes to explain the whole mess to Sam. About finding the toy horse, going over to Noah’s and discovering the four horses in his back barn, then about Doogie storming in today and arresting Noah after he received an anonymous tip.

  Sam exhaled a glut of air. “Did Noah steal the horses?”

  “Yes, he did. But I can assure you he had a very good reason.”

  “Stealing is stealing, Suzanne. Those horses were not his property.”

  “But they were being mistreated. That guy Elder wasn’t feeding them properly. If you could have seen how their hip bones jutted out . . .”

  “I know you have a soft spot for horses, Suzanne. But . . .”

  Suzanne was practically in tears now. “Elder was going to ship them off to Canada, Sam. For horseme
at. Is that what you want? Poor, innocent horses being slaughtered?”

  “Of course not. The problem is, they’re not yours to interfere with.”

  “What if I bought them?” she blurted out.

  Sam was momentarily taken aback. “If you bought . . . those horses? Come on, be serious.”

  “I am serious. As serious as a heart attack.”

  “What on earth would you do with them?”

  “I have a barn, you know.”

  “And then what? You’ll have four more hay burners munching their way through winter at six dollars a bale.”

  “I’ll figure something out.”

  “Suzanne . . . please. The best you can do right now is to make an appeal to Doogie once he’s cooled down. Maybe you can get him to . . . I don’t know . . . drop the charges on Noah because he’s still a minor. Maybe get a sympathetic social worker involved.”

  “Thank you,” Suzanne said. “I’ll try exactly that.”

  “Suzanne, you said something a little earlier that scared the crap out of me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You said that Doogie received an anonymous tip.”

  “I guess the comm center did, that’s right.”

  “So Doogie went storming out there, found the horses, and just happened to discover a machete.”

  “Yes! Because Noah was set up.”

  “Which means he had to have been set up by the murderer,” Sam said, urgency coloring his voice.

  Suzanne was quiet for a few moments. “That’s exactly what I think, too.”

  “Sweetheart, you can’t mess around with this anymore. You’ve got to stop investigating.”

  “I’ll have to think about that.”

  “You’re in too deep!”

  “I’ll be careful, I really will,” Suzanne promised.

  “You’re going to keep investigating just like Junior did, aren’t you?” Sam said in exasperation. “And look what happened to him.”

  For the first time in a long time, Suzanne didn’t have a good comeback.

  CHAPTER 27

  THE sun had long since set and Suzanne and Toni still had no idea where that machete might have come from. They were sitting cross-legged on Suzanne’s sofa, replaying their day.

  “Maybe the machete was in Mike’s barn all along,” Toni said.

  “Could have been,” Suzanne said. “But then Mike’s murder points to a crime of passion. There was a heated argument, a tremendous struggle, someone grabbed the machete.”

  “Crime of passion meaning . . . Claudia?”

  “You tell me.” Suzanne shivered. She hated the idea that Mike’s wife could have been involved in his death, hated the idea even more that someone . . . the killer? . . . was trying to place the blame squarely on Noah’s head.

  “There’s always Julian Elder,” Toni said. “If he figured out that Noah took his horses, that gave him the perfect opportunity to shift the blame.”

  “And then there’s Byron Wolf.”

  “Whose roughneck crew probably beat up Junior.”

  “Lots to think about,” Suzanne said. “And it’s terribly upsetting to think that Noah’s sitting in jail right now. Makes me feel awful.”

  “We should do something,” Toni said.

  “What? Like bust him out of jail?”

  “Nooo. I meant do something to take our mind off this stuff for a while.”

  “You could call the hospital and check on Junior again.”

  Toni waved a hand. “I’ve already done that ad nauseam. Junior says he’s feeling great, he’s watching TV and eating string beans and Salisbury steak. Even the gals at the nurse’s station said he’s doing fine. No, I meant we should do something that will give our prefrontal cortexes a much-needed break.”

  Suzanne thought for a few moments. “I kind of promised Joey that we’d check out his Haunted Forest.”

  Toni considered this. “I might have already had my quota of scary stuff for the day. Maybe for the week.”

  “Come on, Toni, it’s for a good cause.”

  “Good cause? Those kids want to take a trip to Chicago. Do you know what happens on those class trips? Have you ever seen American Pie?”

  “Toni. Really.”

  * * *

  THE familiar rolling hills surrounding Catawba Creek cut crescents into the bright moon overhead. Moonlight partnered with giant cottonwoods to cast specters of shadows across the winding road while bright, shining eyes from the occasional whitetail deer observed their journey.

  “Better slow down,” Toni cautioned. “There’s more mule deer on this road than cars.”

  Another quarter mile on and Suzanne fell into the queue of cars being waved into a vacant, weedy lot by a young man wearing a gorilla mask and an orange vest.

  “Looks like we’re in the right place,” Toni said as they bumped across uneven ground, waved on by more kids with lanterns.

  They parked the car and joined the crowd of people heading for makeshift wooden gates, curling woodsmoke, and loud screams. All of which emanated from a large copse of dark trees across the road. There, amidst frolicking masked monsters, flaming torches, and booths selling food and T-shirts, they bought a pair of tickets from a zombie in a letter jacket.

  “I like your costume,” Toni said.

  The zombie leered at her. “It’s not a costume,” he hissed in a low, threatening voice.

  Toni held up a hand and looked sideways at Suzanne. “Wait a minute. Are we sure we want to do this?”

  “Come on,” Suzanne said. “We walk along the trail, have a few laughs, and split. No big deal.”

  “Where’s the trail? Oh, wait, I see it over there. With the balloons and fun bouncy house.”

  The zombie waved a withered hand. “That’s just for kids ten and under.” He licked his lips and grinned. “You ladies need to take the trail to the left and follow the pumpkin markers.”

  “Sure. Whatever,” Suzanne said.

  They headed down a path covered in woodchips until they came to a rustic wooden sign. It read Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here.

  “Cheery,” Toni said as they ducked under the sign.

  The path snaked through a dense woods lit by more flaming torches and marked by fat orange pumpkins.

  “What’s that up ahead?” Toni asked.

  “I think . . . more carved pumpkins,” Suzanne said.

  But when they got closer, they found extra-large pumpkins carved with smirking ghoul faces. Flickering red candles lent a malevolent feel.

  “We should remember . . .” Toni began just as a screaming girl in a torn and bloodied hospital gown careened out of the dark woods at them.

  “Help me!” the girl screamed. “They’re after me, every one of them!”

  Then, just as fast, she darted across the path and into the woods.

  “Holy crap,” Toni said. “That was awfully realistic.”

  They’d walked only another ten feet before the howl of a wolf pierced the air. Seconds later, a werewolf in ragged clothing bounded out of the trees.

  “No!” Toni threw up an arm to ward him off and the werewolf disappeared. She cast a reproachful glance at Suzanne. “I’m not really enjoying this.”

  “Stop worrying,” Suzanne said. “It’s kids playacting. Where’s your sense of fun?”

  “Back home in my underwear drawer?”

  They stepped up their pace but were immediately surrounded by a jostling pack of zombies. The zombies didn’t harass them, just gazed at them with dead eyes and enveloped them in a kind of zombie huddle.

  As soon as the zombies fell behind, Suzanne and Toni entered a cobweb forest where giant spiders trembled on stringy, diaphanous webs. This was followed by a genuine witch’s hut, complete with a green-faced witch stirring an outdoor cauldron, a squadron of
giant bats dangling from the trees, and Freddy Krueger showing off his recent manicure.

  “I think I’ve had enough of this Haunted Forest,” Toni said. “Where’s the parking lot?”

  “I think . . . off to our left?” Suzanne said.

  “If we see a trail heading that way, let’s take it.”

  Suzanne was pretty much over it, too. “You’ll get no argument from me.”

  “Owwwww!”

  Toni clutched Suzanne’s arm. “What was that?”

  Their old friend the werewolf was back for a return engagement.

  “How do we get out of here, anyway?” Toni asked him.

  The werewolf scratched his head and said in a youthful voice, “I’m pretty sure the trail splits off just ahead.”

  “Good enough,” Toni said as she grabbed Suzanne and pulled her along.

  And sure enough, they did come to a fork in the trail.

  “Here we go,” Toni said. “Let’s beat feet out of here.”

  “That’s not a marked trail though,” Suzanne said. “There are no torches, no pumpkin markers.”

  “Who cares? It’s our exit out of crazyland. What are you waiting for?”

  They headed down the dark trail, walking single file, trying to avoid being whipped by tree branches or tangled up in vines that snaked across their path.

  Five minutes later they still hadn’t hit the parking lot and the woods felt darker, more oppressive.

  Suzanne touched Toni’s shoulder. “Let’s pause and try to get our bearings, okay?”

  A cool wind had sprung up. It swept through the trees, chilling Suzanne and Toni to the bone and rustling up piles of decayed leaves. Overhead, real-life bats dipped and dived.

  “It’s silent as a tomb out here,” Suzanne said.

  “Nice metaphor,” Toni said. “Couldn’t you have come up with . . . ?”

  Not ten feet behind them a loud crack sounded, like a tree branch being split.

  Suzanne instantly felt her skin prickle and her pulse rate jump. Primal instinct had just kicked in, the fight or flight response.

  So what’s it going to be? Fight or flight?

  “It’s probably Bigfoot,” Toni whispered. “Even though he already got his own week on cable TV.”