Authors: Laura Childs
Friday
morning may have been Egg Strata Ya Gotta day
at the Cackleberry Club, but a
sense of unease pervaded
the place. Normally the joint was jumping, but today it
was
a
much smaller, more reserved crowd that had piled in for
breakfast.
“Everybody’s
still nervous,” said Petra, as she rattled
pans and poured pancake batter
onto her blackened griddle, “even though two of the prisoners have already been
appre
hended.”
They’d heard the news this morning on WLGN
radio. Two prisoners had been
found curled up behind a Dumpster in back of Paradise Pizza. Apparently, they’d
helped
themselves to a half dozen or so discarded pizza
pies, then fallen asleep from
the carbo high. At least that’s
what they were reporting on the
Bugs and Moe Morning
Show.
“But,” said Toni,
looking worried, “two guys are still on
the loose.”
“Probably far away
from here,” Suzanne said breezily. “Hopped a freight train or something,
hightailed it out of
the
county. Maybe out of the state.”
“People
still do that?” Toni asked. “Hop freight trains?” “I dunno,” said Petra, “maybe
they hopped an Amtrak.”
“Dressed in prison pinstripes?” asked Toni.
“You’re thinking of
prisoners in those old black and
white movies,” said Suzanne. “I think today they wear or
ange jumpsuits or something.”
“Oh,” said Toni. ‘Trendy
stuff.”
“Holy smokes,” said
Petra, “I hope they don’t pick up Joey Ewald by mistake. Wasn’t he wearing a
prison shirt
the other day?”
Suzanne rolled her
eyes. “Oh man,” she murmured, “he
sure was.”
“Suzanne. Toni,” Petra
said in a quiet voice. She slid
wedges of egg strata onto four plates, added a dollop of
salsa,
then a tangle of cilantro for garnish. “We have orders
to deliver.”
“If
two
prisoners are still on the loose,” said Toni, when
she and Suzanne convened at the
coffeepot, “where do you
think
they are?”
“Not here,” said
Suzanne. She gazed out at her custom
ers, eyes pausing to study a few grizzled faces. “At
least I
don’t think so.”
“Good thing I took
that self-defense class,” Toni said, as
she filled a pot of coffee,
enveloping them in a heady aroma
of
French roast.
“What was that again?”
Suzanne asked. “Jujitsu?”
“Krav maga,” said
Toni, managing to keep a straight
face. “The deadliest fighting art known to man.
Only a hand
ful of warriors have actually been initiated. I mean, we’re
talking
mortal
combat.”
“You go, girl,” said
Suzanne.
“You two sound like
you’re having fun out there,” said Petra, when Suzanne strolled back into the
kitchen.
“It’s a laugh a minute,” said Suzanne.
Petra glanced at her sharply, then said, “Oh
you.”
Suzanne nibbled at a pumpkin pancake that
Petra had decided wasn’t quite perfect enough to serve. “Do you think we should
call the hospital and see how Reverend Yoder is?”
“I’m sure your doctor friend will keep you
tightly in
the loop,” said Petra. A slow
smile spread across her broad
face. “Am I right?”
“I suppose,” said
Suzanne.
Tightly in his arms would be
even better.
“But we should certainly send flowers,”
said Petra.
“That’d be a nice gesture. Last night, Sam
said there was a whole contingent there praying for him.”
“Praying for Sam?”
“No.” Suzanne
giggled. ‘For Reverend Yoder.”
“Then he’ll for sure get better, won’t he?”
“I’m thinking yes.” Suzanne watched as
Petra tossed a generous handful of slivered jalapeno and habanero peppers into
her cast-iron skillet to sizzle alongside chunks of
thick-cut bacon and rounds of diced Yukon potatoes. When
everything was golden and brown, she added her whisked
egg mixture to the pan.
Tres bien!
“Suzanne,” said Petra,
who was keeping an eye on three
different
pans at once, “can you slice up those Granny greens?”
“Sure.” Grabbing a silver bowl full of
peeled apples,
Suzanne balanced a half
dozen apples on the cutting block
and began slicing them into rounds. “You
going to make apple fritters?”
“I thought I might,”
said Petra. “They’re such a nice au
tumn treat. Good alongside a pork chop, or you
can serve
‘em
with a scoop of vanilla ice cream for dessert.”
“You’re so creative,”
said Suzanne.
“Hah,” said Petra, “look
who’s talking. You did the
whole
menu for the catering gig today.”
“Something I’m not
exactly looking forward to,” Su
zanne admitted. In fact, she was pretty much dreading the
Cashmere and Cabernet event.
“Carmen
Copeland can be a real trial,” said Petra.
Though she never came out and
directly insulted Carmen,
Petra
did seem to hit the nail on the head.
Suzanne sliced for a
few moments, then said, “Petra,
you don’t think last night’s prison breakout could be re
lated to the two murders, do you?”
Petra, who had a
wooden ladle halfway to her mouth for
tasting, stopped and stared at her. “What are you
saying,
Suzanne?”
“I don’t know. What
if last night’s scare was engineered
to be a... what would you call it? A diversion?”
Petra frowned. “A
diversion from what?”
‘Taking focus away
from the two murders? An attempt
to make Sheriff Doogie look bad? Reinforcing the need for
a law-and-order mayor?”
“That would never
have occurred to me! Suzanne, you
have a very active and suspicious mind.”
“Sorry, but I’m
just...”
“No, no,” Petra said,
waving a hand. “You bring up a
legitimate concern. Lord knows, things have been kapow
crazy all week.” She
turned toward the large, stainless-steel
refrigerator and pulled out a
tray of small glass ramekins
filled with crème brule. “And now that you mention it,
the
prison
break
did
take the edge off the murders.” She shook her head. “Now you’ve
got me looking at angles and ques
tioning motives.”
“The only sticking
point,” said Suzanne, “is that it
would have to be a fairly elaborate scheme. And
Lester
Drummond would have to
be involved.”
“Do you think he is?”
asked Petra.
“No clue.” Suzanne
thought for a few moments. “And
the prisoners would have to be sort of dunces,
handpicked
by Drummond.”
“He really bothers
you,” said Petra.
“I just
don’t think he’s a nice guy,” said Suzanne. “Or
even trustworthy.”
“And he runs a
prison,” said Petra.
“Go figure,” said
Suzanne.
Petra was still
considering Suzanne’s words. “So you think Mayor Mobley and Lester Drummond
could be
allies?”
“Possible,” said
Suzanne. “Anything’s possible. The
thing to figure out is ... what’s the payoff?”
“What do you mean?”
Petra asked.
Suzanne popped a bite
of apple into her mouth. “Who
stands
to benefit?”
“Good gizzards!” Toni
cried suddenly, as she popped
her head through the pass-through. “We just got hit with
a
spurt of customers!”
“Be right there,” said
Suzanne.
“I’m going to think
about what you said,” said Petra.
Within
twenty minutes the Cackleberry Club was over-
the-top busy again. Suzanne
threaded her way from table to
table,
pouring ice water and topping off coffee cups, while Toni studiously took
orders. As Petra cranked out cheesy
wedges of strata, scrambled eggs, and French
toast, Su
zanne
and Toni hustled to deliver the orders.
“Hey
diddle diddle, it’s hot off the griddle,” Toni joked
playfully.
“Did you
hear the one about the Roadkill Cafe’ Su
zanne asked. “From your grill to ours?”
“Good
one!” said Toni, whirling like a ballerina, balanc
ing her tray on one hand.
But merriment and
mayhem came to a screeching halt when Lester Drummond and Allan Sharp strolled
into the
Cackleberry Club
midmorning.
Lester Drummond, all
broad shoulders and shiny bald
head, was smiling like Hannibal Lecter after a buffet of
fel
low
inmates. Sharp was equally slimy with a thin, snake of
a smile crawling across his face.
Toni flashed Suzanne
a
what’s up?
glance.
Suzanne answered with
a shrug. Something sure looked
like
it was about to play out.
Drummond strode to
the center of the cafe, hitched up
his pants, and broadened his smile. “Ladies and
gentle
men,” he began.
Customers coughed,
forks clanked against plates, and chairs were tilted to catch a better angle.
Definite electric
ity in the
air.
Suzanne slammed the
register shut but made no motion
to interrupt Drummond. He could say his piece, but if he
started spouting any type of politics, she’d put a hasty stop
to it
“I
know you were all worried about
the little incident at
the prison,” said Drummond. “But I’m pleased to announce
that all escaped
prisoners have been apprehended and are
once again locked securely in
their respective cells.”
The crowd broke into
a round of applause. Murmurs of
“thank goodness” and a few hallelujahs were heard.
Incident,
thought Suzanne.
That’s
a nice, benign way to
soft-pedal
it.
Allan Sharp beamed,
then strode across the room to join
Drummond. “At no time was a citizen of Kindred
ever in danger,” he added. “Our mayor Mobley saw to that.”
There was another
brief spate of applause, then the two
men shook hands, as if they’d single-handedly
sloshed
through
a swamp with a pack of baying bloodhounds and
captured the prisoners themselves.
When Drummond and
Sharp wandered back toward
a table, Suzanne hustled over to greet them. “Great news
about the
prisoners,” she told them, as she filled their cof
fee cups.
“Thank you,” said
Sharp, who seemed to have appointed
himself grand poobah spokesman and PR
muckety-muck.
“My men found them in
that old rock quarry out on
Driver Road,” said Drummond. “They were hiding in a
cave.”
“So they didn’t get
very far,” said Suzanne.
“Not on my watch,”
boasted Drummond. “We were able
to
react almost immediately.”
“That’s right,” said
Sharp, like a bad echo, “the war
den’s own guards apprehended the prisoners. No thanks to
Sheriff Doogie.”
“I’m sure Sheriff
Doogie and his deputies were out
looking as well,” said Suzanne. “He wasn’t just sitting
at his desk,
twiddling his thumbs and listening to Kenny
Chesney albums.”
“Still,” said
Drummond, “we’re the ones who got the
job done.”
“And Mayor Mobley is
absolutely thrilled,” said Sharp.
“The operation couldn’t have gone better.”
“Sure it could,” said
Suzanne, dropping menus into each
of the men’s hands. “Those prisoners never should
have
escaped in the first
place.”
“You feeling more
optimistic now?” Toni asked Petra.
They were all gathered in the kitchen, muddling
over
Drummond’s news and
prepping lunch.
Petra nodded. “About
the prisoners I do. I’m still wor
ried about Reverend Yoder.”
“Suzanne, why don’t
you call the hospital,” Toni sug
gested.
“See how he’s doing.”