Free Bedeviled Eggs by Laura Childs Page B

for another day. So ... Kit, tell me exactly why you
think Sasha might be involved in Chuck Peebler’s murder?”
    “Because Sasha wasn’t afraid to stand up to
Peebler,” said Kit. “She was tough and
tenacious and even threatened to kill him if he ever laid a hand on her.”
    “You actually heard her say this?” asked
Suzanne.
    Kit nodded vehemently.
“So did some of the other girls. And
Frankie, the owner.”
    “Huh,” said Suzanne thinking. She picked up
the bottle of Barolo, poured the last half inch into her wineglass, picked up the glass, and swirled it around,
contemplating what Kit had told her.
    “What’s Sasha’s last
name?” Suzanne finally asked.
    “O’Dell,” said Kit.
    “Oh
crap,” said Suzanne. She was pretty sure O’Dell had been one of the names on the
deer-hunting licenses that Doogie
had tracked down via the DNR.
    “What’s wrong?” asked
Toni, suddenly on the alert.
    “Nothing, I hope,”
replied Suzanne. “But we have to tell Doogie.” She made a slight grimace. Better to get
it all out in
the open. “The thing is, Doogie’s already talked to the DNR officials about
bow-hunting licenses and O’Dell was one of the names they gave him.”
    “Holy moley,” said
Toni, giving a low whistle, “I think you’re right.”
    “I really
didn’t come here to get Sasha and Mike in trou ble,” said Kit, a touch of
defiance creeping into her voice.
    “You know,” said
Suzanne, “I think it might be a little late for that.”
     
     

Chapter Eight
     
      “You think Kit’s
friend is in trouble?” asked Petra, stand ing at her butcher-block table,
chopping onions. “What was her
name again? Sasha?”
    “Yes, I do,” said
Suzanne, watching Petra’s knife flash back and forth. “Or maybe Sasha’s husband is.”
She’d brought
Petra up to speed on the conversation from the night before because she wanted
to get her take on the situ ation.
    “I guess you can’t go
around threatening to kill a guy,” said Petra, “even if he is a no-good jerk.” She
chopped furiously for a few moments, then looked up and blinked. “Do you think anybody
else in Kindred knows Peebler was a no-good jerk?”
    “Only if
they patronized Hoobly’s,” said Toni, as she bumped open the swinging door
and made her way into the kitchen. “If they hung around to shoot a little eight
ball or check out the dancers.”
    “And all the while
Peebler put up a carefully cultivated front,” said Petra. “Passed himself off as a
trusted pillar of the community, managed to get himself on the ballot for mayor. He was even
vice president of the Downtown Booster
Club, for gosh sakes.”
    “Now they’ll just have
to boost without him,” said Toni.
    Petra dumped a heaping
pile of chopped onions into an aluminum bowl already filled with chopped red peppers. Today was Hot Mama
Frittata day at the Cackleberry Club and Petra was prepping like crazy. “What irks me
is that I
would have voted for Peebler! If he hadn’t been killed, that is.”
    “A lot of people
would have,” said Suzanne.
    “Want to know what’s
really sad?” Toni asked, pouring herself a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. “Peebler’s secret
life practically makes our incumbent Mayor Mobley the moral choice for mayor. That
and his untimely death.”
    “Don’t kid yourself,”
said Suzanne. “Mobley’s just as bad. Maybe worse.” She’d heard constant rumors about Mobley’s
improprieties regarding zoning committees and planning boards. Grease his
chubby little palms with green backs and your building or zoning plans, no matter how
un favorable
to Kindred, would get rubber-stamped and shoot right through city hall, like
grain through a goose.
    “Oh no!”
Petra screamed. Then lost her focus and dropped her knife on the floor.
    ‘Toes up!” shouted
Toni.
    “What’s
wrong?” asked Suzanne. Petra was generally unflappable, but this Peebler
dung really had her going.
    Twin spots of color
bloomed on Petra’s cheeks. “I