Authors: Laura Childs
He had her there. “Um,” said Toni, “maybe like those kids in the
Twilight
movies?”
“I still don’t know what that means,” said Doogie.
“Sheriff,” said Suzanne, “we had a somewhat strange encounter last night.”
Doogie pulled out a hanky and blew his nose with a loud honk. “Huh?”
Suzanne quickly told him about the mad snowmobiler who had tried to run them down.
Being of the discreet sort, she purposely left out the part about seeing Claudia and
George Draper locked in a more-than-fond embrace.
“On Catawba Creek?” said Doogie. “You shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”
“We were looking for the treasure medallion,” said Toni.
“Darn fool thing to run a treasure hunt when there’s a manhunt going on!” said Doogie.
He wiped at his nose again and edged away from them. “You gals gotta stay the heck
out of the investigation.”
“Really,” said Suzanne, feeling frustrated, pretty much talking to his retreating
back now, “I get that.” But she knew she was already in it up to her ears.
“A
RE
you bored?” asked Toni. She was plopped on the ice, sitting Indian style on a blanket.
“Not too much,” said Suzanne, even though she’d decided ice fishing was akin to watching
paint dry. “But maybe we could get something to eat?”
Toni perked up. “A cup of chili?”
“With shredded cheese and sour cream, I hope,” said Suzanne, eager for anything to
break the monotony. “I’ll go grab us some.”
She dashed off through the crowd toward the food stands, happy to be moving and mingling
with people she knew. As she dodged around ice holes, she saw lots of fish being pulled
out, fairly good-size ones, too. And wondered if the minnows Junior had given them
were total duds.
“Suzanne!” called a cheery voice.
Suzanne turned as Missy Langston rushed up to greet her. “If it isn’t Theda Bara herself,”
said Suzanne. Then she decided that Missy, who was a few years younger than she was,
might not catch the reference. So she said, “How’s Kindred’s very own celebrated actress?”
“Doing okay,” said Missy. “Carmen actually closed the boutique today, so I have some
time off.”
“That’s great,” said Suzanne.
“Well, she wants me to enter the ice-carving contest tonight, so I’m back at it in
a few hours.”
“What are you going to carve?” Toni and Petra had talked about carving a giant cake,
but Suzanne wasn’t sure if they’d follow through.
“Oh,” said Missy, “probably a woman’s figure of some sort. But very high fashion,
you know?”
“Like a fashion sketch or a dress form?” said Suzanne.
Missy nodded. “Something like that.”
“Missy!” called a rough voice.
They both turned to see Lester Drummond hustling toward them.
“Oh no,” said Missy, looking suddenly nervous. “Him again.”
“Drummond’s been bothering you?” said Suzanne.
“Endlessly,” said Missy. “Says he wants to take me out on a date.”
“Don’t do it,” Suzanne said under her breath as Drummond suddenly planted himself
in front of them.
“You’re looking fresh-faced and radiant today,” said Drummond, casting a harsh smile
at Missy. “All recovered from last night’s play?”
Missy just nodded.
“Hello, Lester,” said Suzanne.
“Yeah, hi,” said Drummond, barely glancing at her.
“Can I buy you a bratwurst?” asked Drummond.
“Gosh, I just had one,” said Missy brightly. “And I’m right in the middle of something
with Suzanne. So…gotta run.” She grabbed Suzanne’s arm and together they moved off.
“Catch you later!” called Drummond. “For sure!”
“Eeyuh,” said Missy, giving a little shiver. “He makes my skin crawl.”
“Join the club,” said Suzanne.
“He was forever trying to cozy up to me at rehearsals,” said Missy. “And I don’t want
anything to do with him. He reminds me of some kind of Craigslist stalker.”
“Just tell Carmen that Drummond’s keeping you from doing your job,” suggested Suzanne.
“That’ll get her to chase him off soon enough!”
“Good idea,” said Missy.
“Whoa,” said Suzanne, suddenly stopping in her tracks as a car put-putted toward them.
“I think that’s Junior!”
“Toni’s husband? Er, ex-husband?” said Missy.
“Soon-to-be-ex, I think.”
“Why is his car smoking like that?” asked Missy. They watched as great gluts of dark
smoke poured from the front of Junior’s car, then whirled skyward like a mini tornado.
“It looks like his engine’s caught fire.”
“Come on,” said Suzanne. “This you gotta see.”
S
UZANNE
and Missy moseyed up to Junior, who was dressed in a black ski jacket, jeans, and
a pair of sparkly blue vintage moon boots.
“Whatcha cooking, Junior?” asked Suzanne.
Junior’s face lit up when he saw her. “Oh hey, Suzanne! And Missy. Howdy do, ladies.”
He made a sweeping gesture as he clumped around to the front of his car. “You’re just
in time. I’m doin’ hot dogs and beans in my car cooker.”
“Car cooker?” said Missy, making a face.
“Tomorrow I’m gonna do barbecued ribs,” Junior boasted.
“As you can clearly see,” said Suzanne, “Junior has a new invention.”
“A pretty strange invention, too,” said Missy. “But what I want to know is, does it
really work?”
“Does it work? This here’s the
future,”
proclaimed Junior. “I’m gonna personally put an end to fast food and greasy diners.”
“Is that so,” said Missy, clearly not impressed.
“Say,” said Junior to Suzanne, “you and Toni got any minnows left? If I dredge ’em
in enough batter, who’s to know they’re not fried smelt?”
Vrooom! Ratatatata!
Out of nowhere, a snowmobile suddenly careened directly toward Suzanne. Shocked, terrified
it might be the same person who had tried to run her down last night, her first instinct
was to duck and hide. But would someone
really dare run her over in front of two hundred eyewitnesses?
Suzanne’s question was quickly answered when the snowmobile roared to a stop not two
feet from her. And the driver yanked off his helmet.
Suzanne blinked. “Sam?” Was it really
her
Sam sitting astride that throaty-sounding snowmobile? Yes, it certainly was.
“Surprise!” said Sam, a big grin on his face, his hair all askew.
“What are you
doing
with that thing?” she demanded.
Sam climbed off the snowmobile. “It’s a special surprise! I rented it just for you!”
Suzanne took a step backward. “I can’t ride a snowmobile,” she blurted. Fresh in her
mind was the nasty, threatening, droning machine from last night.
Sam, you have no idea what happened to me last night.
“Sure you can.” Sam reached out and patted the seat. “Hop on, we’ll take a quick spin
around the lake.”
“Do it,” coaxed Missy. “It’ll be fun.”
“Maybe later,” said Suzanne, still hedging.
“Maybe now,” said Sam, reaching out and catching her hand. “Come on, climb on back.”
He handed her a shiny red helmet. “I’ll give you a lesson. Snowmobiling 101.”
She climbed on reluctantly, put her arms around Sam’s waist, and laced her gloved
fingers together. She’d grit it out, she decided. Close her eyes and hang on for dear
life. In a few minutes it would all be over. She’d tell Sam she’d had a wonderful
ride, thank him profusely, and that would be the end of it.
Good-bye, snowmobile.
Except it didn’t quite work out that way.
Thirty seconds into the ride, Suzanne found she was beginning to crack a smile. Fish
houses whipped by, tiny little pellets of snow stung her face, and she suddenly felt
like she was flying. The ride was scary, exhilarating, and liberating, all at once.
Then they were clear across the lake and zooming up a snowy embankment and into a
frozen pine
forest. She was full-out grinning now as they slalomed in and out of trees, carving
big S-turns, and whooping as they went.
“Disclaimer!” Sam shouted. “Do not attempt at home!”
“Professional driver on closed course only,” Suzanne shouted back.
Sam rocked the machine to a stop. He turned in his seat, gave her a kiss, and said,
“Your turn.”
“Really?” She wanted to drive it, but was still a little nervous.
“Sure, it’s easy,” he told her. “Throttle’s on the right handlebar, the brake is on
the left.”
“So, it’s kind of like a motorcycle,” she said. She’d owned a scooter in college and
had loved it.
“Something like that,” said Sam. “Only easier.”
They traded places, and Suzanne took off, tentative at first, until she started to
get the hang of it. She found that stopping in deep snow was a cinch. You just took
your hand off the throttle, and the snowmobile pretty much stopped. Ice was a little
trickier. Stopping on a slick surface meant braking like a car. Pumping gently, then
easing off.
By the time she’d circled the lake twice, Suzanne was having a blast. She headed for
Toni’s fishing hole, made a showy stop that blew up a ten-foot-high rooster tail of
snow, then pulled off her helmet for a big reveal.
“That’s you?” said Toni. “Holy buckets! I didn’t think you knew how to drive a ’bile.”
“I didn’t,” said Suzanne, climbing off, feeling a sense of pride, “until now. Sam
rented it for me.”
Toni glanced at Sam, who still sat straddling the machine and gave a thumbs-up. “Right
on, dude,” she said.
Suzanne glanced down at Toni’s feet, where a skinny, greenish fish was flopping about
wildly. “Hey, you got one!”
“Just pulled it out,” said Toni. “Northern pike. Gotta go get it weighed.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Suzanne, feeling guilty about not bringing the chili back.
“Okay?” she said to Sam.
“See you guys later,” he said, revving up the snowmobile again. “Go have fun.”
T
ONI
’
S
northern pike weighed in at eight pounds, one ounce.
“That puts you in third place,” the head of the judging committee told her. His name
was Burt Finch, and he ran the local sporting-goods store.
“What’s that pay?” asked Toni.
“Twenty-five dollars,” said Finch. He was a big, burly guy in brown thermal overalls
with a tufted fur hat that looked like the kind Khrushchev used to wear.
Toni shook her head. “Have to do better than that.”
“You got time,” said Finch. “There’s still three hours left.” He looked past them,
and said, “What have you got there, Charlie?”
Suzanne and Toni turned to find Charlie Steiner holding up a good-sized walleye. His
wife Elise stood behind him.
“Got the prize winner right here,” said Steiner, bulling his way in.
Finch hooked the fish onto his handheld scale and read the numbers. “Twelve pounds,
two ounces. That puts you in third place, Charlie.” He gazed at Toni. “Knocks you
down to fourth.”
“Big whoop,” said Toni. “Now I’m out of the money.”
“Hah!” Steiner cackled. “My luck is starting to turn!”
Suzanne had the feeling Steiner might not be referring solely to his fish.
“How’s that, Charlie?” she asked. She was aware of Elise throwing her a hopeful look.
Steiner gave a nasty, snaggletoothed grin. “First they stuck that bank fellow Busacker
in the ground, so I got a kind of reprieve on my property, and now my fish is in the
money. Nothing wrong with that!” As he talked, his breath plumed out, carrying the
distinct odor of cheap whiskey.
“You fool!” shouted Ed Rapson, startling them as he
suddenly rushed up out of nowhere and insinuated himself in the mix. “You got maybe
a one-month reprieve! Once I put a new bank president in place, your property is toast!”
He stared at Steiner with hate in his slitty, piggy eyes. “Just like that stupid fish
of yours, you’re still on the hook!”
Steiner suddenly lost it. He grabbed his fish from Finch and slapped it hard against
Rapson’s chest! Snow, fish scales, and bits of fish goop stained the man’s coat.
“Charlie, don’t!” wailed Elise.
“What are you accusing me of?” growled Steiner. “You think I had something to do with
that snowmobile accident that killed Busacker? Go ahead and
prove
it! I dare you!” He shook with anger as Elise pulled him away from the melee.
“I’ll not only prove it,” shouted Rapson, “I’ll help slap the handcuffs on and personally
escort you to jail!”
“Hey!” shouted Finch, looking disgusted. “Enough of this nonsense! This is a
family
event! Charlie, take your danged fish and get out of here.” Then he shook a warning
finger at Rapson, who was muttering and brushing fish scales off the front of his
black wool coat. “And
you
, back down. Don’t run around accusing people of things you can’t prove. Don’t think
you can take the law into your own hands!”
“We’ll see about that!” shrilled Rapson, as he stalked off angrily.
Toni stared at Finch. “Does this mean I’m back in third place?”
O
VER
cocoa and kettle corn, Suzanne and Toni replayed the nasty event.
“Charlie Steiner just got elevated to suspect
numero uno
in my book,” said Toni. “He’s one scary, unstable buckaroo.”
“No kidding,” said Suzanne. She’d also been shocked and dismayed by the nasty scene
that had just played out. So had everyone around them.
“Steiner could have easily been the jackhole on that
snowmobile last night,” said Toni. “Because he’s not just a hothead, he’s a mean hothead.
Arguing and snapping at Rapson like that proves it.”
“If you ask me,” said Suzanne, “either one of those guys is crazy enough to be the
killer.”
They shuffled over to the chili booth and got in line.
“Watch it,” said Suzanne, bobbing her head. “Here comes George Draper.”
“What? No Claudia?” said Toni, under her breath.
“I think this lake scene might be a little too folksy for her big-city sensibilities,”
Suzanne murmured back.
“Plus, she’d probably freeze her sweet little tush off,” said Toni.