Bedeviled Eggs Page 6

  Suzanne plated a scone for Bunch and added a huge dollop of Devonshire cream. Two seconds later, Toni brought out a large bowl of chili and placed it in front of him.

  “A veritable feast,” declared Bunch.

  Suzanne slid into the chair across from him, while Toni finished setting up tables for tomorrow. “Mr. Bunch ...” she began.

  “Arthur,” he said, spooning up chili at a rapid rate.

  “Arthur,” said Suzanne. “Do you, by any chance, know a woman by the name of Evelyn Novak?”

  He shook his head without breaking pace. “I don’t think so.”

  “It’s possible she could have donated some items to the historical society.”

  Now he paused. “Novak? And you say she donated items?” He looked thoughtful. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “I said she might have,” explained Suzanne. Then she quickly summarized her reason for asking. Told him about Peebler’s quarrel with Jane Buckley concerning the missing items.

  “Oh my goodness,” said Bunch, finally seeing the connection. “I see what you’re driving at. So you want me to check our records, in case the pieces are with us? I can surely do that for you.”

  “Would you?” said Suzanne, feeling better already. “That would be great.”

  “And these were paintings?” asked Bunch.

  “That’s what Evelyn Novak donated to the Darlington College museum, but I don’t know what items were missing from her house.”

  Bunch sat back and pursed his lips, looking suddenly academic, as if he was about to deliver a lecture. “You realize, the Logan County Historical Society specializes in American pieces only. Artifacts that have to do with early settlers.”

  Suzanne smiled as Bunch went on with his little speech.

  He really was a man dedicated to his job. Plus he had kindly agreed to deliver a short lecture at their Quilt Trail Tea on Wednesday. Probably, Suzanne decided, he’d be the perfect counterpoint to all their tea and frills.

  Thirty minutes after Arthur Bunch left, with an extra scone tucked in his baggy jacket pocket and a take-out cup filled with Darjeeling, Suzanne, Toni, and Petra were ready to throw in the towel. Busy days were welcomed, stressful days were not.

  “Whew,” breathed Petra as she plopped down in a frayed velvet armchair in the Knitting Nest. She shucked off her Crocs and gave her feet a much-deserved rest on the opposing ottoman.

  Toni joined her in a swoopy orange swivel chair that looked like it had once belonged to the Jetsons. “Glad I cancelled book club tonight.” She sighed. “I just don’t have it in me.”

  Suzanne was right on their heels, also ready to call it a day. “The coffeepot’s turned off and the front door is locked,” she told them.

  “What about the back door?” Toni asked, in an ominous tone.

  “Checked that, too,” said Suzanne. “Unless we have customers storming the parapets, we’re done for the day.” She eased herself into a slightly frayed blue club chair. When four thirty rolled around, this was where the three of them usually convened. To talk things out, giggle about the day, or just de-program. Petra usually grabbed a pair of knitting needles and worked on one of her many projects, the clacking of the needles lending a decidedly soothing

  sound. Petra was crazy over knitting and quilting—they were her favorite forms of relaxation. Although to Suzanne both needlecrafts looked like awfully tricky business.

  “I just love that quilt,” said Toni, gazing at the wall where a striking blue-and-red-star pattern quilt hung.

  “Still time to bid on it,” said Petra. The Knitting Nest was holding a silent auction on a number of handmade items, with all the money earned earmarked for Alzheimer’s research. “Come Wednesday, I’m going to hang it outside.”

  “Then the bids will really skyrocket,” said Toni, morosely.

  “You know,” said Petra, kindness in her voice, “I’d make you a quilt anytime you want.”

  “Really?” said Toni, thrilled.

  “Of course,” said Petra, gazing happily at the wooden walls that were festooned with knitted mittens and caps, felted bags, and quilted throws and coverlets. Antique highboys held skeins of cotton and wool yarns in all colors of the rainbow. Large ceramic crocks were filled with knitting needles, baskets held blocks of six-by-six-inch fabric pieces. These square motifs came in different colors and designs including baby motif, calico, Christmas, floral, and batik. Petra also made sure they were well stocked with jelly rolls—pre-cut strips, forty to the count, and just perfect for quilting.

  Toni hauled herself out of her chair, wandered over to the knitting needles, and picked up a pair of bamboo needles. Pretending to use them like chopsticks, she said, “Considering what happened last night, today went fairly well.”

  “Agreed,” said Petra. “I was so busy most of the time I didn’t have a chance to think about poor Chuck Peebler.”

  “Me neither,” said Toni. “Except when I hauled out the trash. The arrow holes in the back wall are still an ugly reminder.”

  “Stick a little putty in them,” said Suzanne, letting her eyes flutter closed. “Be good as new.”

  ‘Too bad they couldn’t do that to Peebler,” mused Toni.

  The smile dropped off Petra’s face and she focused on Suzanne with a steady gaze. “Suzanne? You think you can help Jane?”

  Suzanne opened her eyes and squinted at Petra. “I promised I’d try. Although, I’m not exactly sure what I promised. I don’t really know what to do or where to start.”

  “But you told Doogie where to start,” said Toni. “Just this morning. I heard you.”

  “I’d like to tell him where to get off.” Suzanne sighed.

  “Doogie listens to you,” said Petra. “He may be an obstinate man, but he’s savvy, too.”

  “And Suzanne’s a smarty,” Toni enthused, as she pulled out a pocket mirror and fluffed her hair. “A perfect blend of Nancy Drew and Xena the Warrior Princess!”

  Suzanne smiled, but all she could think was, Oh dear.

  “Man, I wish I could do something about these wrinkles,” said Toni, still peering in her mirror. “It ain’t easy being over forty.”

  “Don’t think of them as wrinkles,” counseled Petra, “just consider your face as being gravitationally challenged.”

  By the time Suzanne loaded up Baxter and arrived home, she didn’t know which of them was hungrier. So she dumped a cup of kibble into Baxter’s aluminum dog dish, then, while he crunched and noshed, explored her well stocked refrigerator for something quick.

  The something quick turned out to be a little leftover beef Stroganoff. Forgoing the noodles tonight, Suzanne heated the beef mixture on top of her stove, stirred in a dollop of sour cream at the last minute; then poured it all onto a slice of toasted baguette. She loaded her plate onto a wicker tray, then went back to the refrigerator and poured out a half glass of Barolo Riserva.

  Baxter was finished by then, so he accompanied Suzanne into the living room for a casual dinner on the learner couch.

  As Suzanne ate and watched TV, Baxter watched Suzanne eat.

  “Not this,” she told him. “Not tonight.”

  Baxter edged his muzzle onto the couch and tried to convey a sad, appealing look, but no dice. Suzanne ate her own dinner, cleaned up, then found herself back in front of the TV. When nothing seemed all that interesting, she turned down the sound and reached for Kostova’s novel, The Historian, which she’d promised herself she’d start reading.

  Suzanne was deep into chapter six when the doorbell rang. One loud, long briiiing that startled both she and Baxter.

  Leaping up from where he’d been twitching and snoozing, Baxter raced to the door, head held stiffly down, hackles bristling.

  Tiptoeing after him, Suzanne was also wary, recalling last night’s bizarre incident and, at the last second, stepping to one side before she asked, “Who is it?”

  Chapter Seven

  “It’s me,” came Toni’s muffled voice.

  Suzanne
pulled open the door. “Toni, what are you ... ?” Suzanne stopped abruptly when she recognized the stunning young woman who was standing next to Toni. “Kit?” she said, her voice rising in surprise.

  A smile lit Kit Kaslik’s clean, scrubbed oval face. “You remember me,” she said in a soft voice. Then she shrugged back her long blond hair, looking supremely pleased.

  “Of course, I do,” said Suzanne.

  “From when I pinch-hitted at your cake show,” said Kit.

  “Sure,” said Suzanne, still slightly blown away by Kit’s appearance on her doorstep. Kit normally worked evenings, churning out a living as an exotic dancer at Hoobly’s roadhouse, a big, ugly Quonset hut of a place out on County Road 18. Though Kit wasn’t a stripper per se, because technically she didn’t remove her clothes, Suzanne had still urged her to pursue more suitable work, since exotic dancing wasn’t the most promising career move. But Kit, for whatever reason, by personal choice or by dint of simple economics, was still prancing about in black go-go boots and red lace undies on Hoobly’s postage stamp-sized stage.

  “We gotta talk,” said Toni. “It’s real important. Besides ...” She did a quick little dance and shrug. “It’s starting to rain like crazy.”

  “Come on in,” said Suzanne, opening the door wider.

  Toni shrugged off her brown leather bomber jacket and hung it on the antique walnut coatrack that stood in the entry. Kit, dressed in denim jacket, baggy sweater, and cargo pants—clothes that certainly didn’t scream, Look at me, I’m a wild and crazy dancer!—opted to keep her jacket on.

  “Hey, Baxter,” said Kit, bending down to pet Baxter, who pretended not to eat up the attention, but immediately stuck his muzzle in Kit’s hand when she tried to pull it away.

  “Don’t mind him,” said Suzanne. “He’ll bug you for hugs and pets and treats all night.”

  “Sweet guy,” murmured Toni, smiling at Baxter. Then her eyes seemed to shift into serious mode and they all trooped into the living room, settling into chairs somewhat self-consciously.

  “We interrupted your dinner,” said Kit, spying a tray on the coffee table.

  “Not really,” said Suzanne. “I was just having tea and banana bread. There’s plenty of banana bread left if anybody wants some. And a little bit of beef Stroganoff if anybody’s real hungry.”

  Both women shook their heads. “Pass,” said Toni.

  “How about something to drink?” Suzanne asked.

  Toni shifted nervously. “You got any wine?”

  “Sure,” said Suzanne. “I’ve got open bottles of Chardonnay and Barolo Riserva, although there may only be a couple of fingers left of the Barolo. What’s your choice?”

  “The white stuff,” said Toni. “Whichever one that is.”

  “Sure,” said Suzanne. She looked at Kit. “Kit?”

  “Nothing for me,” said Kit, holding up a hand. “I don’t really drink.”

  Toni seemed surprised. “Seriously? You work at Hoobly’s and never tip back a brewski now and then?”

  ‘Trust me,” said Kit, “if you worked out there, you wouldn’t drink, either.”

  Suzanne brought back a glass of Chardonnay for Toni and the almost-empty bottle of Barolo for herself, then settled cross-legged on the floor. Baxter slunk over and lay down next to her, pressing his warmth against her body.

  “Okay,” said Suzanne, trying to keep the conversation light, even though a nervous buzz had started pulsing in her brain. A warning blip that said, Something’s about to happen here. “You darkened my doorway and said you had important news for me.”

  Toni cleared her throat, then said, “Here’s the thing. I know it’s gonna sound weird, but we’ve got some information that relates to Chuck Peebler’s murder.”

  “What?” said Suzanne.

  Toni held up a finger. “Strangely enough, it also dovetails with your looking into things as a special favor to Jane...”

  “Okay,” said Suzanne, wishing Toni would get to the point.

  “The thing is,” said Toni, “it’s something that could sort of...” She searched for the right word. “... impact the investigation.”

  “I’m listening,” said Suzanne, wiggling a foot nervously, wondering where all this was going.

  Toni took a quick sip of wine, set her glass down, and said, “Junior took me out to Hoobly’s earlier tonight for a beer and burger.”

  Suzanne wanted to say, Big mistake, but didn’t. Instead she said, “Uh-huh.”

  “After we were done eating, I ducked into the ladies’ room,” said Toni. “And that’s when I ran into Kit.”

  Kit looked slightly embarrassed.’ “The dancers don’t have their own bathroom like they do at big clubs,” she explained.

  “We were standing at the mirror,” said Toni, “minding our own business and refreshing our lip gloss. And somehow we started talking about Chuck Peebler’s murder. Which is on everybody’s radar right now.”

  Suzanne gave an acknowledging nod.

  “Anyway,” said Toni, looking decidedly nervous and taking another sip of wine, “we jabbered about the murder and... well, you tell her, Kit Tell Suzanne exactly what you told me.”

  Kit stared at Suzanne with big, guileless eyes. “Chuck Peebler, the guy who was killed last night... ?” She hesitated, her courage seeming to falter.

  “Yes,” said Suzanne, tiredness seeping into her voice now. “Toni and I were there when it happened, and I’m sure she gave you all the gruesome details.”

  ‘True crime, up close and personal,” muttered Toni.

  “And what about Peebler?” Suzanne asked Kit.

  “Well,” said Kit, “Chuck Peebler used to ... how shall I phrase this? He used to frequent Hoobly’s.”

  “You mean he was campaigning there?” asked Suzanne. “Asking for votes? Glad-handing the customers, such as they are?”

  “Actually, it was more like manhandling,” said Kit, in a disgusted voice.

  “What!” said Suzanne. Now they really had her attention.

  “Peebler used to hang around Hoobly’s and pester all the girls who worked there,” explained Kit “But most of all, he had a thing for dancers.”

  “Lot of that going around,” muttered Toni. “Pestering, I mean.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Suzanne, holding up an index finger. “Peebler was old enough to be...” Her mouth snapped shut this information was not only weird; it put a whole new spin on things’. “I had no idea,” Suzanne murmured, still digesting Kit’s words. “But, but...” She knew she was sputtering now. “Peebler was running for office! He was on the ballot to be mayor of Kindred!”

  “Interesting, huh?” said Toni.

  “And if you can believe the straw poll that the Bugle conducted,” said Suzanne, “Peebler was even showing a slight lead over Mayor Mobley.” She inclined her head toward Kit. “You sure about this?”

  Kit nodded. “Oh yeah.”

  “Kit’s not making this up,” said Toni. “She wouldn’t do that.”

  “You’d think Peebler would have been a whole lot more careful,” said Suzanne, “considering Hoobly’s is a fairly public place. That he would have toed the line and conducted himself with a little more dignity.”

  “It sure isn’t dignified to chase girls half your age,” agreed Toni.

  “You got that right” said Kit “but the thing is, Peebler went beyond that. He was... creepy. Always sitting at the edge of the stage, flashing a wad of cash, trying to, you know, tantalize the girls with what he thought was his power and magnetism. Then he’d hang out by the dressing rooms, trying to grab a look-see, always talking a steady stream of patter. A little nasty, a whole lot aggressive.”

  “You could knock me over with a feather right now,” said Suzanne. Peebler had been a card-carrying member of the Methodist church. He’d served on the school board. True, he was a single man, but he’d always acted conservative. Looked conservative in his JCPenney suits. Had probably voted Republican, too.

  “Tell her the res
t,” Toni urged, polishing off the last of her wine.

  “There’s more?” said Suzanne.

  Kit glanced about nervously. Baxter, seeming to sense her unease, pulled himself up and padded over to her. Kit draped an arm around Baxter’s furry neck and continued, as if heartened by his display of doggy solidarity. “And the really weird thing,” continued Kit, “is that Peebler had pretty much singled out one girl as his ... favorite.”

  “You?” Suzanne asked, fearing the worst.

  Kit gave a vehement shake of her head. “No, not me, thank goodness.”

  Suzanne pursed her lips together. “So what exactly are you saying? That Chuck Peebler had been stalking one girl in particular? Harassing her?”

  “Harassing,” said Kit. “Yes, I’d say that pretty much hits the nail on the head. Peebler would tail her to her car, trying to put his hands all over her. Made overt suggestions that they hook up.” Kit let loose a deep and heavy sigh.

  With her fortysomething years of experience behind her, Suzanne wanted to say, What did you expect would happen out there? You gals are dancing under red lights in your Victoria’s Secret underwear? But she didn’t. This wasn’t the time or the place to deliver a lecture.

  “So what’s the bottom line on this?” Suzanne asked. “Are you saying that this girl might have despaired of Peebler’s unwanted attention and taken matters into her own hands? That she killed Peebler?” Just verbalizing the notion sounded awfully crazy to her.

  “Or maybe her jealous husband did,” Toni muttered.

  “What particular dancer are we talking about?” asked Suzanne. So far, no names had been mentioned, but she knew there had to be at least a dozen different girls who performed on Hoobly’s red-lit stage. All of whom must have acquired a certain patina of toughness by now.

  Toni and Kit glanced nervously at each other. Silence hung heavy between them.

  “You guys drove all the way over here just to drink wine and clam up?” Suzanne asked, putting a little extra oomph in her voice.

  Kit dropped her head forward, her fine blond hair draping across her face. “Okay,” she said. “It was Sasha.”