Scorched Eggs, page 5
“Sounds good to me,” said Suzanne. Kit and Ricky were having a smaller wedding, maybe forty or fifty guests, so that size cake should be just about right.
Petra diced a Vidalia onion and tossed it into a pan of hashed brown potatoes. “You think Doogie really will stop by today?”
“He’ll be here,” said Suzanne. “When I called him earlier, I made it crystal clear that we needed to talk to him. As soon as was humanly possible.”
Petra looked nervous. “You said ‘we.’ That means you and I? You’re going to stand toe-to-toe with me on this, right?” She plunged a ladle into her pancake batter and dropped perfect little circles of batter onto her griddle.
“Of course, I will,” said Suzanne. “But it would be much better if the information—the explanation—came directly from you.”
Petra gave a mock shiver. “What if I’m butting in and doing the wrong thing? I mean, I don’t really know what went on between Hannah and Jack Venable.”
“Sure you do,” said Suzanne. “You know it in your bones. And, believe me, you’ve got good bones.”
Toni came slaloming through the swinging door, carrying a handful of orders. “Hey, Davey Holzer is asking for an order of Canadian bacon. Do we have any of that left?”
“No,” said Petra. “There’s nothing left. The pantry is empty.”
“Huh?” said Toni, frowning and looking around. “But you’ve got sausage and taters sizzling in your frying pans. And you’re doing silver dollar pancakes, right?” She tiptoed over and peered at the grill. “I see bubbles popping up. You’d better hurry up and flip those puppies.”
Petra grabbed her spatula and flipped her pancakes just in the nick of time.
“Our Petra’s feeling a bit frazzled this morning,” Suzanne explained to Toni. “She’s nervous about talking to Doogie.”
“I can understand why,” said Toni. “That’s a mighty big, red-hot, heartburn-inducing breakfast burrito that you’re gonna lay on him.”
Petra looked even more upset. “I’m not making any accusations, per se. I’m just going to tell Doogie what I know.”
“And what you suspect,” said Toni.
“Toni,” said Suzanne. She knew she’d better stop this little back-and-forth between them. “You’re just making things more tense.”
“I didn’t mean to,” said Toni. She made a comical downturned face. “Jeez, Petra, I’m sorry if I upset you.”
Petra waved her big metal spatula as if to clear the air. “Oh, foo. Don’t worry about me. I’ve been upset before. I’ll get over it.”
Suzanne spread out a half dozen white plates and watched as Petra doled out sausages and hash browns.
“Great,” said Toni. “Thanks. I’ll run these orders right out.”
“And these peaches are ready for the pancake orders,” said Suzanne.
“Got it,” said Petra. She placed four pancakes on each plate, then stepped back while Suzanne added sliced peaches and a dollop of whipped cream. She carried the plates to the pass-through slot and tapped a small silver bell, her signal to Toni that more orders were up.
Another sharp ding meant the oven timer had just gone off.
“Perfect,” said Petra, pulling her coffee cake and muffins from the oven.
“Gorgeously golden brown,” said Suzanne. “Now you can get on with baking your wedding cake.”
While Suzanne took over at the stove and filled orders for the next twenty minutes, Petra quickly mixed up her batter, filled five cake pans, and stuck them in the oven.
“You still look worried,” Suzanne observed.
“That’s because I am worried,” said Petra.
“Think about the cake-decorating part. You always do such a wonderful job.” It was true. Petra’s skill for baking made-from-scratch cakes, plus her ability to spin ordinary sugar-based frosting into intricate flowers, rosettes, and spirals, had convinced more and more customers that the Cackleberry Club was the perfect place to special order cakes for weddings, graduation parties, and birthdays.
Petra forced a smile. “I just have to stay positive today, especially for Kit’s sake. I don’t want to spoil her wedding after all.”
“Honey,” said Suzanne, “you could never do that.”
* * *
JUST as Suzanne was writing their abbreviated luncheon menu on the chalkboard, Sheriff Doogie walked in. Actually, it was more like a swagger. Doogie’s hat was pulled low, he wore mirrored sunglasses, the kind state troopers favored, and his walk was distinctly jaunty. With a jingle of keys and a flap of his holstered gun, he took his customary seat at the counter.
Suzanne grabbed a cup of coffee for Doogie and set it in front of him, along with a knife, fork, spoon, and sugar bowl. Doogie had a ferocious sweet tooth and loved his sugar. Not just one or two lumps for him, it was more like three or four.
“Would you like a sweet roll, too?” Suzanne asked.
The brim on Doogie’s hat dipped.
“And are you looking for a late breakfast or an early lunch?” Suzanne asked.
Doogie reached a big paw up and slid his hat off. He placed it on the stool next to him in a territorial manner, then ran a hand over his thinning gray hair.
“Depends on what you’ve got for lunch,” he growled.
“Well, it’s a short day today, because of the wedding,” Suzanne told him. “So it’s a short menu. We’ve got pita bread stuffed with grilled vegetables, ham and Swiss on rye, tomato soup, and tuna melties.”
“That’s it? No cheeseburger?”
“If that’s what your little heart desires, I’m sure we can rustle up a cheeseburger.”
“Naw,” said Doogie, squinting at the chalkboard. “I’ll just go with the ham and cheese. But maybe make it cheddar cheese?”
“You got it,” said Suzanne. She printed out her order slip and slid it through the pass-through slot to the kitchen.
Petra leaned down and caught her eye, then made a little face. She was clearly nervous and getting cold feet.
Meanwhile, Doogie was surveying the café, which was almost half filled. Toni continued to scurry around, a coffeepot in each hand, pouring refills and joking with the customers. She could, Suzanne observed, charm the stitches off a baseball.
“I suppose people are still talking about yesterday’s big fire,” said Doogie.
“That’s pretty much all they’re talking about,” said Suzanne. She hesitated. “Are you still going to pursue that arson angle?”
“I think we pretty much have to,” said Doogie. “Fire Chief Finley is pretty firm about it.”
“He’s the expert,” said Suzanne.
“Actually,” said Doogie, “we’ve gone ahead and contacted some real experts, from the state crime lab. They should be hitting town later today.”
“I know you’re busy,” said Suzanne. “So I want to thank you for coming in.”
“That’s okay.” Doogie patted his ample belly. “A man’s gotta eat.”
“I know, and I apologize for being a little vague on the phone with you first thing this morning. About asking you to come in and talk to Petra.”
“You were very mysterioso,” agreed Doogie. He took a sip of coffee. “So . . . what’s up?”
“You’re not going to believe this . . . and maybe it doesn’t amount to anything, but . . .”
The front door to the café suddenly flew open and a tall, red-faced man appeared in the doorway. His blue-and-white-checkered shirt was half un-tucked from his jeans, his boots were only half laced, and waves of anger seemed to radiate off him like gamma rays.
“What on earth?” said Suzanne. She wasn’t the only one staring at this strange man. Now pretty much everyone in the café had turned to look, too.
The man lifted a hand and pointed in Suzanne’s direction. “You!” he thundered.
“Me?” she said, her heart catching in her throat. Who was this man? And what had she done to get him so riled up?
And then Doogie turned and slipped off his stool in one fluid motion. He anchored himself in place, feet apart, hands on his belt, and said, “He means me, don’t you?”
“Who is he?” Suzanne hissed.
“Marty Wolfson,” said Doogie, keeping his voice low. “The husband of the woman who was rescued from that second-floor apartment yesterday. The estranged husband.”
“Oh,” said Suzanne as Wolfson clomped across the floor toward Doogie, and all her customers watched with growing curiosity.
“What do you want, Wolfson?” asked Doogie. His meaty face wore the bored look of a duly elected sheriff who’d seen it all. Or at least most of it.
But Marty Wolfson had worked up a giant head of steam and wasn’t about to be put off by Doogie’s calm yet authoritative demeanor.
“You’re investigating me?” Wolfson shouted. “Are you serious?”
“I’m the one who generally asks the questions around here,” said Doogie.
“And you’ve been asking them behind my back!” snarled Wolfson. “How dare you!”
Suzanne’s eyes bounced from Doogie to Wolfson and then back to Doogie, as if she were following a championship tennis match instead of a raging argument. She couldn’t believe that the normally excitable Doogie was keeping his cool. And she couldn’t believe how angry Marty Wolfson was. Every time he started in on a new rant, drops of spittle exploded from his mouth. She made a note to wipe down the entire marble counter with a good dose of Lysol.
“Back off, Wolfson,” Doogie warned. His voice carried a flinty edge as he held up a hand.
But Wolfson was overwrought and seething with indignation. “How dare you!” His right hand was clenched in a fist and his entire arm seemed to be spasming. “If you weren’t—”
“Gentlemen,” said Suzanne, suddenly finding her voice. “I think you need to take this outside.” She was well aware that her customers were hanging on every single word. She didn’t doubt that they were itching to see a physical confrontation, too.
“She’s right,” said Doogie. “Outside with you.” Doogie made a shooing motion with his hand. “Now.”
“You arrogant blowhard!” Wolfson shouted. “You’ve got nothin’ on me!” He spun fast and his shoulder caught the edge of an antique wooden cupboard that stood next to the kitchen door. The cupboard shook, the colorful flock of ceramic chickens that perched on the shelves rattled precariously, and then one little hen, a Speckled Sussex chicken, suddenly toppled over and plunged to her death. Hitting the floor, she shattered into a dozen pieces.
Wolfson clumped out, with Doogie close on his heels.
“Great gobs of gook!” cried Toni. She’d been watching the whole messy encounter with saucer-sized eyes. “That jerk just broke one of our chickens.”
“It’s okay,” said Suzanne, though she knew it really wasn’t. Anytime a precious memento got broken it was like a dagger to the heart.
Showtime being over, their customers turned back to their breakfasts. But Toni knelt down and carefully gathered up the broken pieces in her apron.
“Poor little chickie,” said Toni, cradling the largest part. “Broke its little neck clean off.”
“What are you people doing out there?” Petra called through the pass-through. “If this cake falls while it’s in the oven, somebody’s going to pay dearly!”
* * *
FIVE minutes later, Sheriff Doogie strode back into the Cackleberry Club. He sat down and rested his elbows heavily on the counter.
“Is my sandwich ready yet?” he asked.
“Coming right up,” said Suzanne. She turned, grabbed a platter, and set the whole thing in front of Doogie. “Petra grilled it and added some hash browns, too.”
Too bad she didn’t slip a Xanax in there.
“Good,” said Doogie. He picked up a half sandwich and started eating with gusto. “Arguing with jackholes always works up my appetite,” he said, between bites.
“I can see that,” said Suzanne. “So . . . that guy Wolfson. I take it he’s one of your arson suspects?”
“One of them,” Doogie said in a noncommittal tone.
“He seems like a real hothead.”
Doogie stabbed at his hash browns. “Now we just need to find out if he’s a firebug, too.”
“Why do you think he would be?” asked Suzanne. She couldn’t imagine that a husband, even one who was estranged, would try to kill his wife and child. Or set fire to the entire building.
“I talked to Mrs. Wolfson,” said Doogie. “Annie. Even though they’re separated, she acts like she’s afraid of him.”
“Really?”
Doogie nodded. “Annie also told me that her husband’s name is still on her parents’ will and all their joint insurance policies.”
“So he would be the one to inherit if something happened to her?” said Suzanne.
“Substantially inherit,” said Doogie.
“It seems to me,” said Suzanne, “that a father wouldn’t put his own child in that kind of danger.”
Doogie looked up at her. “The kid wasn’t supposed to be there. He was supposed to be in nursery school, but he stayed home because of a cold.”
“That does change things,” said Suzanne.
* * *
SUZANNE left Doogie to finish his ham and cheese. She and Toni did their whirling, twirling ballet, setting tables, readying the café for lunch, and seating a few early customers.
Once everyone had been escorted to a table and Toni was busy taking orders, Suzanne grabbed Petra. She dragged her out into the café and shoved her into the Knitting Nest with Doogie.
Five minutes later, as Suzanne was grilling onions and red peppers at the stove, Petra returned. She looked nervous but relieved.
“All done with your talk?” Suzanne asked.
Petra gave a weak smile. “For now anyway. Doogie said he might have to ask me some more questions later.”
“Everything went okay? I mean, he didn’t rush you or pressure you or put words in your mouth?”
“He was a little brusque at first,” said Petra. “But when he saw I was on the verge of tears, he kind of eased up.”
“Tears,” said Suzanne. “One of those weapons in our female arsenal that usually works. Well, at least ninety percent of the time anyway.”
Toni pushed into the kitchen with a handful of orders. “Not anymore it doesn’t. I’d put our odds at about fifty percent now. In case you haven’t noticed, men have changed.”
“You think?” said Petra.
“Oh yeah,” said Toni. “They’re onto us big-time.”
* * *
SUZANNE cut a whopping slice of pecan pie and carried it out to Doogie.
When he saw it, his eyes danced with happiness. “Now that’s what I call getting a piece of the pie,” he enthused.
She laid down a clean fork and gingham napkin and said, “So? What do you think? About what Petra told you about Jack Venable, I mean.”
“It’s an angle,” said Doogie.
“Isn’t the husband often the guilty party in the death of a spouse?”
Doogie shifted uncomfortably on his stool. “That’s sometimes the case.”
“Does that mean you’re going to take a careful look at him?”
“If you’re asking me if I’m going to question Jack Venable, the answer is yes,” said Doogie. “But I was going to do that anyway.”
“Really?” said Suzanne. And then, because her curiosity had been piqued, she said, “Why?”
“If it was arson,” said Doogie, “and it’s looking like it is, I need to ask Jack if he knew anyone who might have had a beef with Hannah. Or with him, for that matter.”
“So just the usual run-of-the-mill questions?”
“Yeah, except now there’s a different aspect to it.”
“The possible divorce aspect.”
“The operant word being ‘possible,’” said Doogie. “Since we don’t really know what went on between them.”
“But you heard what Petra said. And you saw that she was genuinely upset, so she wasn’t just making her story up.”
Doogie leaned back and loosened his belt. Suzanne suspected he let loose a suppressed belch, too.
“When you’ve got your domestic-type situation,” said Doogie, “you never know what to expect. Most of the time it’s fairly cut-and-dried. Somebody gets angry and calls the cops. But once in a while, a woman will call 911 and claim that her man is beating on her. Then, when we show up, she does a total switcheroo and is ready to claw our eyes out if we make a move to haul him away.”
“That’s crazy,” said Suzanne.
“Welcome to the wonderful world of law enforcement.”
“Do you have anyone else you’re looking at?” asked Suzanne. “Besides that Wolfson guy and, now, Jack Venable?”
Doogie took another bite of pie and chewed thoughtfully.
Suzanne knew him well enough to read his body language. “So there is someone else.”
“Ah . . .”
“Come on,” said Suzanne. “I’m hip-deep in this thing already. You can tell me.”
“There’s this other guy. I don’t think you know him. Darrel Fuhrman.”
“I do kind of know him.”
“Good-looking guy,” said Doogie. “Tools around town in that candy apple red Jeep Grand Cherokee.”
Suzanne nodded. She’d seen him at the fire yesterday.
“Well, Fuhrman got let go from the fire department a couple of months ago.”
“Why?”
“What they call disciplinary measures.”
“I get that,” said Suzanne. “But why exactly?”
“I don’t know the full story, that’s why I’m meeting with Chief Finley in a couple of hours. Who knows? Fuhrman might have had a bone to pick.”
“If he intentionally set yesterday’s fire that would have been an awfully big bone,” said Suzanne. She paused. “You know he was at the fire yesterday, watching the whole thing.”
