Bedeviled Eggs Page 24

  “Very effective,” agreed Suzanne.

  “We just need to carve a few more.”

  “You need my help?” Suzanne asked.

  “Naw,” said Toni, “Kit’s gonna come by and help me finish up.”

  “Glad to hear she’s not dancing tonight,” said Suzanne.

  “She’s not,” said Toni, then gave a mischievous grin. “At least not at Hoobly’s.”

  Suzanne suddenly had a mental picture of Kit showing up in her red bra and panties. “She’s not going to wear her usual costume, is she?”

  Toni shrugged. “Search me. Or better yet, search her.”

  “Not with those skimpy clothes,” said Suzanne. “No place to hide anything!”

  They both chuckled, Suzanne a little uneasily, then turned to look as a rattling truck and trailer chugged its way into their lot.

  “Junior,” said Toni. ‘With the fire pits.”

  Junior hopped from the cab of the truck and grinned. Spreading his arms wide, he twirled around, the better to show off his red devil costume. Then he reached back into the cab and produced a sparkling, silver pitchfork.

  “Good gravy,” Suzanne breathed. Now she really was glad Reverend Yoder wouldn’t be around to catch this act.

  “Like my costume?” asked Junior. “It’s guaranteed authentic.”

  Suzanne lifted an eyebrow.

  “And it’s made of genuine polyester,” Junior added.

  “Don’t get too close to the fire,” Toni cautioned, “you’ll go up like a moth in a flame!”

  “Where did you find it?” Suzanne asked. Honestly, where did one purchase a perfectly hideous red polyester devil suit that had the same basic construction as a pair of long Johns?

  “Dollar store,” said Junior.

  “Such a deal,” said Suzanne.

  “And I got your fire pits,” said Junior. “Come on and take a look.”

  Suzanne and Toni followed Junior to the trailer and peered in. He was as good as his word. Three low, round fire pits, almost like flattened-out cauldrons, squatted in the trailer.

  “You made these?” Suzanne asked, trying to ignore the truck’s mud flaps, which featured silhouettes of reclining naked girls.

  Junior nodded. “Welded ‘em using a couple of oil drums.”

  “From your scrap metal business “ said Suzanne.

  “Um, sort of,” said Junior, shifting nervously.

  “Well, they look just great!” Toni exclaimed. “Perfect for toasting marshmallows and roasting chestnuts. Look! They’ve even got legs.”

  “I always figured that welding class I took in reform school would come in handy,” said Junior, practically crowing over his handiwork. “It’s amazing what kind of art you can create with an acetylene torch.”

  “So here’s how it’s gonna work,” explained Toni. ‘Ten dollars buys an orange bracelet, which gives customers unlimited access to our food, cider, s’mores, games, prizes, music, and the costume contest”

  “And how many people are we expecting?” asked Petra. They were crowded in the kitchen, making last-minute adjustments.

  “Maybe a hundred,” said Suzanne. “Although I suppose it could even run to a hundred and fifty.”

  “The Cackleberry Club is the most popular venue in town!” Toni said, with glee.

  “So maybe even two hundred people,” Petra fretted. “I wonder if we have enough...”

  “Knock, knock,” came a woman’s voice at the back door.

  “You’ll have to go around front,” Toni screeched through the screen. Then did a fast double take and said, “Kit?”

  Kit Kaslik grinned as she pushed her way into the kitchen. Dressed in a white silk mini-dress, Kit had plastered Priority Mail stickers all over her dress. On her head was a veil made of bubble wrap.

  “I get it!” Toni squealed. “You’re a mail-order bride!”

  “Oh, that’s so creative,” Petra enthused. “And here I’m just going to be plain old Raggedy Ann.”

  “What’s your costume, Toni?” asked Kit.

  “Cowgirl,” Toni said, proudly. “What else?”

  Kit gave Suzanne a shy smile. “How about you, Suzanne?”

  But Suzanne was surprisingly mum.

  “She’s not talking,” said Toni. “It’s some kind of big hoo-ha surprise.”

  “That’s right,” said Petra, “You’ll just have to wait and see. And be around when I do my special introduction.”

  “This is intriguing,” said Kit.

  “Have to wait and see,” said Suzanne, a sparkle in her eye.

  Toni pushed two tables together in the cafe and laid out newspapers. Then she and Kit rolled up their sleeves and went to work on the pumpkins.

  “We don’t have much time left,” Suzanne cautioned. The food was prepped, the cauldrons were lit, chestnuts were roasting. In another thirty minutes their guests would begin to arrive.

  “We’re only going to carve seven,” said Toni. “Special ones to, you know, sit on top of those wooden stakes.”

  “I like what you’ve got going there,” said Suzanne, studying one of Kit’s pumpkins. It was a goofy face with a crooked grin.

  “Thanks,” said Kit. Then she gave a wicked laugh. “I modeled it after one of the customers at Hoobly’s.”

  Hoobly’s, thought Suzanne. Where Sasha O’Dell also danced. And where her crazy husband, Mike, probably looked on with some trepidation. Or was he feeling vindicated now? Could he have killed Peebler and Wilburn Halpern and gotten away scot-free?

  “How’s your friend Sasha doing?” Suzanne asked.

  “Good,” said Kit, scraping away pumpkin pulp. “In fact, I told her to stop by tonight.”

  Suzanne frowned. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, I asked her to help me with the games,” said Kit. Then she made a nervous gesture. “I think she might bring her husband, too.”

  Mike O’Dell, Suzanne thought again. I hope he’s not in costume so I can keep an eagle eye on him. The last thing we need tonight is some kind of... accident.

  “How many games did we end up with?” Toni asked. She glanced over at Suzanne, who was filling out gift certificates to be used for prizes.

  Suzanne tapped her pen against the table. “We’ve got Pin the Tail on the Werewolf, Wheel of Misfortune, Vampire Ring Toss, and a Witches Pond, which is really a sort of fishpond for the kids. Oh, and the costume contest. I guess you could count that as a game.”

  “Know what we should do next year?” said Toni.

  “What?” said Suzanne.

  “Have a zombie crawl,” said Toni. “Get a whole bunch of people to dress up like zombies and then have everybody lurch through downtown.”

  Kit chuckled. “They already do that. Every Saturday night after last call!”

  Toni glanced out the window, suddenly taking notice of a battered minivan. “Hey, our band just arrived. We should go out and show them where to set up.”

  “Got it,” said Suzanne, pocketing her pen and tamping her gift certificates into a nice, neat pile.

  Toni looked at the pumpkins as she wiped her hands on her jeans.

  “You go,” said Kit. I’ll finish up here.”

  “You sure?” asked Toni, but Kit nodded sagely.

  “Who’s the band again?” Suzanne asked, as they tromped outside.

  “Buckshot Benoit and the Ring Tones,” said Toni.

  “I’m not familiar with them,” said Suzanne, somehow doubting that this group’s musical repertoire had ever made it to serious ringtone status.

  Junior came hustling up as they threaded their way through hay bales, heading for the band. “Where does the Wheel of Misfortune go again?” he asked, waving his pitchfork, looking a little weary.

  Toni heaved a sigh and took off with Junior, leaving Suzanne to go it alone with the band.

  But the band turned out to be a friendly lot, with the band’s leader greeting her effusively.

  “Buckshot Benoit,” said a tall, bespectacled man in overalls, as he offe
red a hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, and thanks so much for inviting me and the boys to play.”

  “I hope you have enough room here,” said Suzanne. There seemed to be five musicians in all. Two guitar players, two fiddle players, and a drummer. They were all men, all of an indeterminate age owing to various beards, goatees, ponytails, piercings, and tattoos.

  “We’re just fine.” Buckshot grinned.

  “What kind of music do you play?” Suzanne asked. She hadn’t vetted the group and had relied solely on Toni and Junior’s recommendation, so she wasn’t sure what brand of rompin’, stompin’ music they’d pump out.

  Buckshot picked up his guitar and plucked a string. “Rock, disco, old-timey, we play it all.”

  “Eclectic,” said Suzanne.

  “Electric?” said Buckshot. He shook his head, sadly. “Naw, we just got regular old acoustic guitars.”

  Five minutes later, Suzanne slipped into Junior’s clunker and chugged her way across the back field. It was time to saddle up Mocha Gent and then ride him back across to the Cackleberry Club. After all, she had a grand entrance to make on horseback!

  But as she bounced across the rutted field in the dark, Suzanne’s party mood began to slip. Low hanging clouds had filtered in; blotting out what should be a full moon. They hunkered low and fretful, giving the night an eerie feel. Adding an element of... danger?

  Suzanne thought about all the costumed revelers who’d soon show up at the Cackleberry Club with one thing in mind—dancing, eating, and playing games, as if they didn’t have a care in the world.

  As if nothing had happened in Kindred.

  But that wasn’t the case. Two murders remained unsolved. A killer was still running loose. And tonight, the trusting folks of Kindred might even mingle unknowingly with him.

  A killer who was, quite possibly, hiding behind a mask.

  Chapter Thirty

  Suzanne, Toni, and Petra crowded into the back office, giggling and elbowing each other as they changed into their costumes. Toni was a slam dunk, of course. She just tucked a gaudy, embroidered Pepto-pink cowboy shirt into form-fitting jeans and donned boots, hat, and string tie.

  “Cute,” said Petra, as she struggled into her Raggedy Ann costume.

  “Holy buckets,” said Toni, “you’re wearing red-and-white-striped stockings, too?”

  Petra stopped and gazed at her. “Do I look stupid? I look stupid, don’t I?” She seemed like she was ready to cry. “And I shouldn’t be wearing a polka-dot smock, it’s just too weird.”

  ‘It’s adorable,” Toni assured her, but couldn’t seem to restrain her giggles.

  “Aw crap,” said Petra. “I knew it” All the last-minute preparations had frazzled her confidence.

  “No,” said Suzanne, “you look cute.”

  “Cute?” asked Petra. “Or cutesy? There’s a difference, you know.”

  “What can I tell you,” said Suzanne. “It’s a great costume.”

  “Really?” Petra asked, fingering her bonnet. “You wouldn’t just say that?”

  Toni was nodding her head like mad. “That bonnet lends an extra special touch.”

  “Group hug,” Suzanne declared. “Everybody take a deep breath and think only happy thoughts. Then let’s go out and have fun.”

  “Doggone,” said Toni, wiggling her hips like a hula dancer. “My six-guns are flapping.”

  “That’s what you get for having big guns,” Suzanne cackled.

  “Oh you!” said Toni, punching Suzanne on the shoulder as she shrugged into her black, high-collared jacket. “Hey, what are you dressed as really?”

  “Have to wait and see,” Suzanne cautioned.

  “A Revolutionary War character?” Toni asked.

  “Maybe,” smiled Suzanne.

  “John Paul Jones?’

  “No.”

  “Sergeant Pepper?”

  “Try again.”

  Toni stomped a foot “I hate it when you get all coy!”

  Night was full on now, with flames dancing in the fire pits, a breeze stirring the ghosts in the trees, the band playing a blend of country and rock, and the drifting scent of burning pine and apple wood hanging like incense in the air.

  “Yowza,” said Toni, surveying the scene, “everything looks spectacular.”

  “Spooktacular,” added Petra.

  Suzanne had to agree. The Cackleberry Club’s front lot had indeed been magically transformed. And just when things couldn’t get any better, like leaves tumbling in on the night wind, their guests began to arrive.

  There was a clown, a pirate, an astronaut, Darth Vader, and a whole troupe of vampires.

  “Look,” said Petra, pointing, “even Spider-Man came.”

  “So did Hugh Hefner,” said Toni.

  “He’s got the requisite smoking jacket and pipe,” said Suzanne, “but no bunnies on his arm.”

  “This is gonna be a madhouse,” said Petra, as more people arrived.

  “Don’t you love it?” asked Toni.

  They scattered in a rush, then, Suzanne dashing over to greet their guests, only to find that Junior had put up a sort of rope entrance. “What’s going on here?” she asked.

  “Me and Kit are taking tickets,” said Junior, in a self-important tone.

  “You don’t have to make a big deal of it,” Suzanne told him. “Just give each guest a plastic wristband and let them in.”

  “You sure?” asked Junior.

  “Yes, I’m sure,” said Suzanne. “And lose the rope. “What do you think this is? Studio 54?”

  Petra busied herself with grilling brats, while Toni served up hot cider. Buckshot Benoit and his gang cranked out tunes like mad and even inspired some vigorous dancing.

  A caveman, a French maid, and a ghost came waltzing in, and then, just as Suzanne was beginning to wonder where the heck he was, Harry Potter arrived.

  “You look great,” Sam said, hugging her.

  Suzanne shook her head. “This is only part of the costume.”

  “I wasn’t talking about the costume,” Sam said, pulling her closer. They swayed together, arms entwined, bumping hips, watching the festivities heat up around them.

  “Limousine coming,” observed Sam.

  “Not for this party,” said Suzanne.

  “It’s stopping,” said Sam.

  Suzanne gazed at the glistening black stretch limo as a driver in hat and coat jumped out, then dove for the back door. It yawned open and Carmen Copeland, their local author terrible slowly emerged.

  Carmen was dressed as a sorceress in a stunning purple velvet dress. It was hooded, floor length, and slit up one side. A dangerously plunging neckline was modest only by dint of a stunning crystal pin that thankfully covered a large expanse of skin.

  “She looks like some exotic character out of a Jackie Collins novel,” Sam commented. “And making a grand entrance to boot.”

  “Carmen’s the queen of grand entrances,” Suzanne told him.

  ‘Tell me about it,” said Sam. “Carmen comes into the clinic, it’s like she expects us to roll out the red carpet.”

  “Well, do you?” asked Suzanne, a hint of jealousy creeping into her voice.

  “Are you kidding?” said Sam. He clutched her hand tighter. “No way.”

  Suzanne wasn’t expecting him, but Sheriff Doogie showed up, too. She didn’t think he was on duty, but he was wearing his uniform.

  “Nice costume,” said Toni, as she flitted by him. “What is that? French Foreign Legion?”

  “Very funny,” said Doogie, as he headed for Suzanne, looking slightly grim.

  “Evening, Sheriff,” said Sam, who threw a meaningful glance at Suzanne, then slipped away quietly.

  “Sheriff,” said Suzanne, greeting Doogie, “everything okay?”

  Doogie answered with a shrug.

  “If you’re looking for suspects,” she said, “it appears the whole town has turned out here tonight.”

  Doogie nodded. “Kind of what I expected.”
<
br />   “But you’re not expecting anything else, are you?” Suzanne asked. “Like trouble?” She glanced over at Petra, who was talking with an animated Jane Buckley, and wondered if Doogie was still hounding Jane. Maybe. Maybe not.

  “I’m just surveying the crowd,” Doogie told her. “Keeping the peace.”

  Suzanne did a quick check to make sure they wouldn’t be overheard. “Did you find out anything about my car, yet?”

  Doogie shook his head. “Only that it’s still a smoldering piece of metal.”

  “How about the fighting dogs?”

  “Got something on that,” Doogie said, brightening. “I dug around county records and came up with the owner of the farm where the dogs were kenneled.”

  “Did you pay the owner a visit?”

  “I did,” said Doogie. “At first the guy didn’t want to talk, but I can be a fairly persuasive fellow, so he finally admitted that particular piece of land was’ leased to Parnassus Enterprises.”

  “What’s that?” Suzanne asked.

  “Funny you should ask,” said Doogie. “Because then I had to do some more digging and finally discovered it was a subsidiary of Obsidian Inc.”

  Suzanne frowned. “I never heard of them, either.”

  “It’s a shell company.”

  “Shill?”

  “No,” said Doogie, “shell. But never mind that. Guess who’s one of the corporate officers?’

  Suzanne considered this for about a second. “Mayor Mobley?”

  “Nope,” said Doogie. “Lester Drummond.”

  “The prison warden?” Suzanne squealed. “Are you serious? Lester Drummond is raising fighting dogs?”

  Doogie gave a nod. “Looks like.”

  “Illegal,” said Suzanne.

  “A felony,” said Doogie.

  “Do you think...” Suzanne’s mind was racing a mile a minute now. “If there’s a clandestine dog fighting ring around here, do you think it could be linked to Chuck Peebler’s murder as well as Deputy Halpern’s?”

  Doogie gazed into the crowd. “Possible.”

  “What if Peebler found out and disapproved to the point of turning Drummond in?”

  Doogie nodded. “That’s one possibility.”

  “And your deputy caught on to it,” Suzanne added.

  “Again, a decent enough supposition,” allowed Doogie. “Now we just need some actual proof?