Scorched Eggs Read Free Page A

modified Smokey Bear hat barely quivered. A muscle twitched in his tightly clenched jaw.
    â€œIs she . . . ?” Suzanne was about to say
okay.
    Doogie turned to her, his eyes sorrowful, his hangdog face registering total dismay. And uttered the two fateful words that Suzanne had not expected to hear: “She’s dead.”

CHAPTER 2
    B Y the time Suzanne got back to the Cackleberry Club on Friday afternoon, Toni and Petra had heard the news about the fire. They were standing in the kitchen, listening to the latest report on the radio, looking bewildered and shaken.
    â€œThe whole thing’s been on the radio,” Toni cried out. “Tom Wick, one of WLGN’s DJs, was downtown when the fire started. So he called in to the
Afternoon Farm Report
and the station broadcast a kind of play-by-play.” Toni was wild-eyed and skittish. Her roaring metabolism kept her sleek as a cat and today her frizzled blond hair was piled atop her head making her look like a show pony. Except that show ponies didn’t wear scrunchies, false eyelashes, and coral lip gloss.
    â€œHearing the whole thing pretty much killed us,” said Petra. She was big-boned and sorrowful in a pink shirt, khaki slacks, and bright green Crocs, clutching and twisting her red-checked apron in her hands as if it were a lifeline. “It was like watching one of those wars in the Middle East broadcast live on CNN.”
    â€œDid they say anything about Hannah?” said Suzanne.
    Toni nodded solemnly and Petra, even with her natural stoicism, looked like she was about to cry. None of them were used to having a major disaster like this intrude into their daily lives. Kindred was a sleepy little Midwestern town where you shared coffee and sticky buns with your next-door neighbor, sang hymns in church on Sunday, grew bushel baskets of zucchini, and watched life chug along on a nice even keel.
    Nestled in a river valley next to Catawba Creek, their town was, Suzanne often thought, reminiscent of Brigadoon, that wonderful, mythical Scottish village that disappeared into the Highland mist only to emerge every hundred years.
    Petra continued to be dazed and more than a little angry. “How could this happen?” she choked out. “Hannah was a member of our
church.
She has grown children.” Her placid, square-boned Scandinavian face shone with outrage.
    Suzanne noticed that Petra was already speaking about poor Hannah Venable in the past tense.
    â€œMaybe we should say a prayer or something,” Toni mumbled. A self-proclaimed wild child who favored skintight cowboy shirts, she wasn’t a regular churchgoer like Petra, but this occasion seemed to call for a certain degree of solemnity.
    â€œYes, let’s,” urged Petra.
    Suzanne quickly glanced through the pass-through. There were three customers still sitting in the café. Two at a table, one at the marble counter. They were all working on their afternoon coffee and apple pie, looking perfectly content.
    â€œOkay,” said Suzanne. “Let’s take a few minutes right now. But do it fast.”
    â€œPrayer should never be rushed,” said Petra.
    â€œI think she meant for us to keep it short but sweet,” said Toni. “Really, I’m sure it will be heard.”
    â€œDear Lord,” said Petra as she bowed her head, “please accept dear Hannah Venable into your Kingdom. Please know that she was a truly good person, kind and gentle, and that she . . .” Petra halted abruptly as tears welled up in her eyes and streamed down her face. She bit her lip and shook her head, unable to go on.
    â€œAnd know that Hannah made the best cherry pie in town,” Toni finished.
    â€œAmen,” said Suzanne. She figured they really did have to wrap this up, since old Mr. Henderson was suddenly standing at the cash register, looking around, waiting to pay his bill. Not only that, she’d just caught a glint of