Authors: Laura Childs
Is that it? Am I
really okay ?
A couple of hard
thwacks against the back of the build
ing told her no.
Ducking down below
window level, Suzanne let loose a
low moan. Then, because she wasn’t out of danger
yet, she
pulled
it together and screamed, “Toni! Douse the house-
lights now!”
Suzanne was deeply
fearful that the shooter could see
inside. The windows in the Cackleberry Club were
large, allowing maximum light and visibility, especially in the
kitchen. Usually, that was a good thing.
But Toni, smart cookie
that she was, did exactly as she
was instructed. The terror in Suzanne’s voice must have
an
swered
any questions about the seriousness of her request.
Another thwack sounded
against the side of the build
ing.
Then another.
Suzanne didn’t know if
the shooter was coming after her
now
or was just trying to scare her to death. But if he had intimidation on his
mind, it surely was working!
The door
from the cafe flew open and Toni flew in, cry
ing, “If that no-good Junior is out...”
“Get down! Get down!” Suzanne
screamed again, gesturing frantically.
There was another thunk
against the back of the build
ing and Toni
slid into the kitchen like a major leaguer slid
ing into home plate.
“It’s not Junior,” Suzanne whispered, as
Toni crawled closer to her. “Chuck Peebler’s been shot!”
“What?” Toni’s eyes were big as saucers. “When?”
“Ten seconds ago. He’s lying
outside in the dirt. Dead, I think.”
Still Toni was confused. “But who? How?”
“An arrow through his
...” Suzanne stopped, hiccupped,
couldn’t
seem to go on. What she’d just witnessed was too terrible for words. In fact,
she wanted to believe it was a nightmare and that she’d wake up soon. But the
voices in
her head screamed,
This is
reality, baby, and you’re in deep
doo-doo. Better do something!
Toni scuttled closer to Suzanne and Baxter.
“What are we gonna do?”
“Do you have your cell phone?” Suzanne
asked.
Toni patted her apron pocket then shook her
head. “I think... in the Book Nook? Want me to, um, make a run for it?”
“No, no, sit tight,” said Suzanne. She
glanced up, saw the wall phone illuminated by a sliver of light that shone in
from the yard light, decided she’d have to make do. Her head whipped back and
forth, then she spotted what she was looking for. “I’ve got another idea,” she
told Toni.
“Yeah?” Toni didn’t
sound all that convinced.
Slowly, quietly,
Suzanne began to ease her way toward the far corner, crawling on her stomach
the way she’d seen guys in war movies move toward enemy lines.
Baxter whimpered, then
let loose a couple of sharp yips,
as if warning her to remain still.
“Baxter, be quiet!”
Suzanne hissed, pulling herself for
ward with her elbows. “You’re not making this
easy.”
“You sure you know
what you’re doing?” Toni mut
tered, slipping her arms around Baxter’s neck to comfort
him.
But
Suzanne had already swiped a hand out and grabbed
the broom in the corner.
“Ah,” Toni murmured,
as Suzanne scurried back on her
knees,
dragging the broom. “Smart girl.”
Using the handle,
Suzanne knocked the receiver off the
hook. It banged and bounced on the floor, dancing
on the old kinked up cord, and causing everyone’s heart to skip a
beat. Holding their
breath, they listened for footsteps, or
heaven forbid, more thunks, but
heard nothing. Carefully, gently, Suzanne snagged the receiver and pulled it
toward
them. Success!
From there it took
only a few moments to press 911 with
the end of the broom handle and get a dispatcher
on the
line.
“This is
nine-one-one,” came the dispatcher’s voice in
Suzanne’s ear. A woman’s voice, calm,
but sounding very professional. “What’s the nature of your emergency?”
“A man’s been killed,”
said Suzanne, her words tum
bling out. “At least I
think
he’s dead. And
somebody’s still
out there
shooting at us!”
“The three of us,”
Toni added.
“You’re being shot at
with a gun?” came the swift reply.
“No, an arrow,” said
Suzanne. “Several arrows. Multiple
arrows.”
“Please confirm your
location,” said the dispatcher.
“The Cackleberry
Club,” said Suzanne. “Out on High
way 65.”
There was only the
briefest pause, and then the dis
patcher responded, “Stay on the line with me. Do not
hang
up. Help is on the way!”
Minutes
later, Sheriff Roy Doogie and his deputy Wil
bur Halpern arrived in a blaze
of flashing lights and loudly
wonking sirens. Suzanne and Toni peeped their heads up
gingerly and peered
out the back window. Baxter, smart
guy that he was, stayed curled up on the kitchen
floor.
A knock rattled the
back door and then a deep baritone
voice asked, “Suzanne? Are you okay?”
Through the window,
Suzanne could see a flashlight beam dance across the backyard. She made a
motion to
stand up, but Toni
yanked her back down.
“How do you know it’s
really Doogie?” Toni asked, her voice trembling. “It could be someone
pretending to be the
sheriff.”
Suzanne
looked askance. “I don’t think the killer would
come back with lights and sirens
and official-looking ears.”
“You never know,”
said Toni, scuttling across the floor.
“You ever see those deer-hunting
rigs guys put on their pickup trucks? Lights and racks and all those crazy doo
dads?”
But
Suzanne was already sliding the bolt then she
cracked open the door and
whispered, “Doogie?”
“Holy bull dingers!”
came an exasperated burst of static.
“What kind of mess did you get yourself in now!”
“It’s Doogie, all
right,” said Suzanne, yanking open
the back door. She’d recognize that ornery temper
any
where.
Sheriff Roy Doogie,
in all his khaki bulk and duly sworn
glory, stood on the back stoop, glaring in. His
jowls shook
above his fleshy, pink neck. His service revolver was drawn
and clutched in his
right hand. “What the Sam Hill’s going
on?”
“That’s what’s going
on,” said Suzanne, pointing at the dark, crumpled heap across the yard that
was... that had
been... Chuck Peebler. “Chuck Peebler’s been shot dead!”
As if to punctuate
her sentence, Deputy Wilbur Halpern’s
bouncing flashlight happened to land on Peebler’s
still form
at the exact same
moment.
“Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat!”
Doogie exclaimed. He thun
dered down the back steps and strode heavily toward Pee
bler, then dropped
down onto one knee. “Keep that light
shined right here, Wilbur,” he instructed his
deputy.
The deputy
complied and Sheriff Doogie sat back on
his heels as he checked Peebler’s
respiration, then carefully
studied the man’s face. A shiny, metal shank with black
and
orange
flanges stuck out from Peebler’s forehead. His blue
eyes were stuck wide open as if
he was riding the down side of a steep roller coaster; his mouth was open in
sur
prise.
The only detectable movement was the small amount
of bright red blood that
continued to trickle down the side of Peebler’s face, like a slowly dripping
faucet.
When Doogie loosened
Peebler’s collar and placed two
fingers against his neck, Suzanne forced herself to
stifle
nervous
laughter. Even she could tell the poor man was
dead as a doornail. Then Doogie
turned back to look at her
and said, as if surprised, “You’re right, he’s dead.”
Suzanne crept down the
back steps, Toni following in her wake, drawn by the macabre scene of a dead
body sprawled on their back lawn. Baxter remained inside the
Cackleberry Club,
peeping through the screen door, keep
ing his distance.
“The arrow killed
him, I guess,” said Toni.
Doogie sighed, then
pulled himself up, no easy task for
a man who far preferred glazed doughnuts to
steamed veg
etables.
He brushed dirt and leaves from his khaki-covered
knees and asked, “What happened?”
As if in answer, the
bray of another siren suddenly filled
the air. Now the ambulance was heading their way.
“It was horrible!”
Suzanne told him, her words tumbling out. “There was this weird twangy sound
and when I turned
to look at Peebler, he had this metal thing protruding from
between his eyes.”
She touched an index finger between
her own eyes and shivered. “The end of the arrow,
I guess.”
Doogie cast another
glance at Peebler, as if to confirm Suzanne’s story. “Shot clean through,” he
muttered. “Like
his head was a ripe melon.” He winced slightly. “Let’s hope
Peebler didn’t feel too much pain.”
Suzanne shivered,
knowing she would have felt extreme
pain if her melon had been so rudely lobotomized.
She was
pretty
sure she would have even experienced a shred of
cognition mixed with horror as
she faltered and buckled
like Peebler had, just like a cheap card table.
“But who would do
this?” Toni sputtered.
Young and eager to
help, Deputy Halpern stepped for
ward to answer. “Could have been an accident. Maybe a
hunter. It’s deer season, you know.”
‘Too early for that,”
said Suzanne.
Halpern shook his
head. “No, ma’am. Bow hunting runs
from mid-September till end of December.”
“So maybe an accident
after all,” Doogie offered, shrug
ging.
Suzanne was quick to
interject. “Sheriff, no way was
this
an accident.”
“You don’t know that,
Suzanne,” said Doogie.
“Shine
your light near the back door,” said Suzanne.
“Check the wall.”
Deputy Halpern shone
his light on the back wall of
the Cackleberry Club, then ran it slowly across the white
washed boards.
“Well, I’ll be,”
Doogie responded as the beam danced
against the wall, revealing two visible arrows stuck
into the weathered wood. Three other arrows lay on
the
ground.
Wilbum Halpern
bobbled the light as he rushed toward the back wall, tripping over his own feet
at the last minute.
“Wilbur, you be
careful!” Doogie yelled. “And for gosh
sakes don’t
touch
anything.
This is all crime scene evi
dence.
We gotta bag it and tag it.”
“Sure thing, Sheriff,”
said Halpern.
Doogie
turned toward Suzanne and sucked air through
his front teeth. “Someone after
you, Suzanne? Something
you’re
not telling me?”
“No, no,” Suzanne
answered softly. “I think the shooter
was aiming for Peebler. I was just in the wrong
place at the
wrong time.”
“But it’s not the
wrong place,” said Toni, looking all dis
combobulated and wild-eyed. “It’s
the Cackleberry Club. It’s
the right place, because it’s
your
place.”
“Toni does have a
point,” Doogie muttered, gazing at
Suzanne with the hooded eyes of a slumbering
rattlesnake. Doogie only looked a little slow moving. In reality, he was
dogged, surprisingly
analytical, and sharp as a tack.
“I really don’t have
any enemies, Sheriff,” Suzanne in
sisted.
Doogie eyed her. “You
mean as far as you know.”
Suzanne shook her
head as if to dismiss Doogie’s words.
“I’m pretty sure the shooter was aiming at Chuck
Peebler.
I’d lay money on it.”
“Huh,” muttered
Doogie.
“Maybe something to
do with the election?” Toni asked,
her voice rising in a squawk.
“It is awfully
strange,” Suzanne agreed, “seeing as how
the election is just two weeks away.”
Toni edged forward to
stare at Peebler. “Kind of looks like our incumbent Mayor Mobley doesn’t have
much to
worry
about now. I mean as far as opposing candidates go.”
Doogie rocked back on
his heels, looking thought
ful. “And here I was kind of hoping the town would get a
chance to boot Mobley out of office.”
Suzanne glanced
sharply at Doogie. In the hotly con
tested mayoral race, the now-deceased Chuck
Peebler
had
been the odds-on favorite to edge out the incumbent Mayor Mobley.
Peebler had been perceived as, pardon the expression, the straight arrow of
the two. Mobley was widely rec
ognized
as a greasy-palmed deal maker.
They all
turned as the ambulance screeched around the
building and bumped to a halt two
paramedics jumped out
from either side, men ran around to the back and pulled
out a
gurney.
It clanked across the hardpan, white sheets fluttering.
“Don’t hurry on this
fellow’s count” Doogie told them.
“He’s a goner. I’m
guessing he was dead the minute that
arrow split his frontal cortex.”
“Now you’re a coroner,”
Suzanne muttered.
“Seen enough of
death,” Doogie muttered back.
“You want us to shoot
a couple of pictures for you,
Sheriff?” asked one of the paramedics. “We’ve got a cam
era in back.”
“That’d be real
helpful,” said Doogie. “Then bag his
hands and zip him into a body bag will you?”
“Sure thing, Sheriff,”
replied the paramedic.
“Wilbur,” said
Doogie, “you go into the woods back
there and see what you can find. Try to rustle up
some sort
of evidence.”
Deputy Halpern nodded
tersely, as if he’d just been tasked with storming an enemy bunker at Anzio. “Sure
thing,
Sheriff.” He ran toward the wooded area, managing
to trip only once on a tree root.
The woods and fields
directly behind the Cackleberry
Club were also owned by Suzanne. The fertile acreage
had been purchased as
an investment by her late husband
Walter. The land and farmhouse were now rented
out to
a
farmer named Ducovny, who grew record-breaking
amounts of soybeans and
unbelievably tall stalks of corn in
the nutrient-rich black soil. Ducovny also kept
Suzanne’s
horse
Mocha Gent and a mule named Grommet, in the fad
ing red, hip-roofed barn that sat
on the property.
“Why the heck was
Peebler here in the first place?”
Doogie asked, gazing at the dead man as the
paramedics
worked
on him. “Don’t tell me you guys are open for sup
per now?” Doogie looked mildly
interested. Like maybe
Suzanne and Toni might offer him a tasty plate of
meatloaf
or pork chops.
“For read dating,”
Suzanne explained.
Doogie
screwed up his doughy face and let loose a dubi
ous, “Hah?”
“It’s
like speed dating,” Suzanne explained, “except you
judge your compatibility with
someone based on the kind
of
books you both like to read.”
“For Doogie that would
have to be comic books,” said
Toni, giving Suzanne a nudge and emitting a high-pitched,
nervous laugh.
Doogie
chose to ignore Toni’s comments. “Anything
unusual go on here tonight?”
That put a damper on
Toni’s mirth. Her eyes slid over to
Suzanne and they exchanged meaningful glances.
Their exchange didn’t
go unnoticed by Doogie. He
stuck out a big paw, waggled his fingers, and said, “Come
on, what gives?”
“Nothing, really,”
Suzanne told him, her mind sud
denly searching for the right words. She knew whatever
she said could easily
be misconstrued. “There was just a teeny little altercation between Chuck
Peebler and Jane
Buckley.”
“Buckley,” said
Doogie, thinking. “She’s that librarian
at the art museum, right? At
Darlington College?”
“Actually, she’s the
registrar,” said Suzanne.
“Regis-what?” Doogie
asked, confused.
Suzanne realized
museums were not Doogie’s natural
haunts. But she knew this wasn’t the time for a
remedial
lesson on the finer
points of academia.
“You’re right,” said
Suzanne. “Jane’s the librarian.”
“So what were she and
Peebler arguing about?” asked
Doogie.
“Probably an
altercation over a book,” interjected Toni.
Doogie cocked a wary
eye at her. “Were you there? Did
you
hear them?”
“No,” Toni said in a
small voice.
“Then
butt out,” said Doogie. He turned toward Suzanne
and shifted his attitude into
super-cop. “Spill it, Suzanne.
What
did they say to each other?”
“I didn’t hear the
whole argument,” said Suzanne. “I just
know there was a heated exchange
and then Jane told Pee
bler he
was insane.”
“And then
he called her a crazy lady,” said Toni. “And I
think everybody pretty much heard that”
“Got a
list of names?” Doogie asked. “Of your read-
dating guests?” He said the words
read dating
like he was
referring
to cow poop.
“You can have a list,
yes,” said Suzanne.
“What else went on?”
asked Doogie. He’d pulled a spi
ral notebook from his pocket and was scratching notes in
it
now. “What
else were they scrabbling about?”
“Not
sure,” said Suzanne. But she sure had an itch to
find out.
An earsplitting crack
caused them all to spin around
as Wilbur Halpern, deputy extraordinaire, stumbled out
from the dark and
flipped, headfirst, over a waist-high wild
blackberry bush.
“Ouch,” said Toni, as
the deputy sprawled on the ground.
“You okay?” asked
Suzanne. It seemed like Wilbur had
taken an awful tumble.
Wilbur gave a feeble
wave as he staggered to his feet.
“I’m good.”
“Find anything?”
Doogie hollered.
“Not a doggone thing,”
Wilbur yelled back as he brushed
leaves off his khaki trousers and carefully plucked
thorns
from
his shirt. Suzanne noted that a few leaves were still
stuck in his curly brown hair.
“Boy
couldn’t find his butt crack at high noon in the hall
of mirrors,” Doogie muttered
under his breath.
“It is
awfully dark,” allowed Suzanne. Honestly, Doogie could be an awful sourpuss.
And was this situation not
totally weird? Standing in the backyard of the
Cackleberry
Club, a dead body sprawled on the ground, Doogie grousing, his deputy
rustling around in the dark.
“I’ll
have to come back here in the morning and take a
closer look.” Doogie sighed. “Wilbur,
grab the yellow tape
out of the vehicle, will you?” As was typical of law en
forcement, Doogie
pronounced it “ve-hi-cle,” hitting hard
on three distinct syllables.
Suzanne grimaced.
Nothing would scare away paying customers faster than fluttering yellow tape
with the words
Crime Scene
—
Do Not Enter.
“Sheriff, you’re not
really going to hang that awful black-and-yellow tape on our cafe are you? Our
custom
ers will freak...”
“Just the backyard,”
said Doogie. “So you better make
sure all employees enter through the front door until I
clear
them.”
“Employees?” said Suzanne.
“You mean Toni and Petra?”
“You suspect us?”
shrilled Toni.
“Whatever.” Doogie
shrugged. “You got other people
working here, too, don’t you? You’re a big hoodoo enter
prise now, what with
all your little nooks and crannies and
books and yarns.”
“We have a busboy who
helps out,” said Toni. “And
once in a while Kit Kaslik pinch hits as a waitress. ‘Course
most of
the time she’s workin’ as an exotic dancer out
at Hoobly’s, so I think you can
rule out any concealed
weapons...”
Suzanne placed her
hands firmly on Toni’s shoulders. It
was their super-secret, nonverbal, BFF code that
basically
meant
Time to shut up, sweetie.
Thankfully, Toni did.
“I’ll
have the tape pulled
down soon’s I can,” Doogie told
Suzanne. He hitched at his belt,
shifting gun, flashlight, keys, and what looked like a thermos bottle. “But I
have to follow procedure.”
“Excuse me, Sheriff?”
said one of the paramedics. He
was a thin-faced man whose nametag read Pauley. “This
here’s some wicked-looking arrow.”
Suzanne recognized
the paramedic as Sid Pauley. Pau
ley had once worked at a local hardware store, mixing
paint
and
measuring out lengths of rope and chain. Now that the
big Save Mart had set up shop on
the edge of town, edging
out local businesses, Pauley had probably found steadier
income as a paramedic.
Doogie walked over and
made an acknowledging sound.
“Arrow cut clean through,” he told Pauley. He shook his
head in a sort of
tacit acknowledgment of the grim reaper.
“You fellas know anything about
bow and arrow hunting?”
The other paramedic,
Dick Sparrow, leaned in to take a
closer look. He snapped on latex gloves and, with
practiced
fingers,
gently lifted Peebler’s head, letting it loll in his
hands as he inspected the
protruding arrow. Then he lowered Peebler’s head back down to the ground and
touched
an
index finger to the metal part between the dead man’s
eyes. Sparrow looked up at
Doogie, concern mingled with
interest. “That’s no ordinary arrow, Sheriff,” he
observed.
“It’s from a
crossbow.”