Scorched Eggs Read Online Free Page A

what?” said Suzanne. “There
is
something we can do.”
    â€œThank you, Suzanne,” said Petra.
    â€œWhatcha got in mind?” said Toni.
    Suzanne held up a finger. “We can wait patiently until Doogie and Fire Chief Finley bring a professional arson investigator into town. An expert who can analyze the ashes and cinders and everything else and tell us what really happened. After all, it could have been an accident. We don’t know for sure that it was arson. Doogie was really just . . . speculating.”
    â€œSo we do nothing?” Petra sounded shocked. “But . . .”
    â€œArson just sounds awfully drastic,” said Suzanne. “Especially for the County Services Bureau.” She was suddenly pinning all her hopes on a logical explanation for today’s fire.
    â€œI don’t know,” said Toni. “Arson’s not all that tricky to pull off. Any dunce can do it. Heck, Junior once stuffed some greasy old car rags in a coffee can and then lit up a Lucky Strike.” Junior was Toni’s estranged husband and not the brightest bulb in the box.
    â€œGood heavens,” said Petra. “What happened?”
    â€œThe dang rags pretty much exploded right in his face and the flames singed his eyebrows off is what happened,” said Toni. “Burned those furry little caterpillars right off his face.”
    â€œI remember that particular mishap,” said Suzanne. “Junior had to use an eyebrow pencil for months just to look normal.”
    â€œBut he always used too much,” said Toni. “And ended up looking like a Groucho Marx impersonator.”
    â€œSometimes I think that husband of yours isn’t quite right in the head,” said Petra. She was sitting in a rocking chair, slowly picking nonexistent fuzz off her slacks.
    â€œWhat do you expect?” said Toni. “The poor guy suffers from DDT.”
    â€œDon’t you mean ADD?” said Suzanne.
    â€œYeah, that, too,” said Toni.
    â€œPetra,” said Suzanne, glancing at her friend, who was slouching even deeper in her chair, “you look like you’re headed into a deep blue funk.”
    â€œI think I am,” said Petra. “Because I . . .” She seemed to want to say more, but stopped herself by tightly clenching her jaw.
    Toni jumped up from her chair and scurried over to fling her arms around Petra. “Don’t funk out on us, honey. Please try to think of something upbeat or happy.”
    â€œLike what?” said Petra. “When all I really want . . .”
    â€œFor one thing,” said Toni, “tomorrow is Kit’s big wedding day. I know you’ve been looking forward to that. We all have.”
    Kit Kaslik was a sometime Cackleberry Club employee that Suzanne and Petra had rescued from her former job as an exotic dancer at Hoobly’s Roadhouse, a disreputable bar out on County Road 18. Kit, now pregnant, was marrying her fiancé, Ricky Wilcox, tomorrow in an outdoor ceremony at Founder’s Park. They’d all been looking forward to the wedding and, to celebrate the joyful event, Petra had even promised to bake a truly spectacular wedding cake.
    â€œYes,” said Petra, still looking perturbed, “there is that.”
    â€œAnd remember,” Toni went on, “Kit’s having a
vintage
wedding. So the wedding party is going to be all duded up in vintage clothes from that funky little shop, Second Time Around, over in Jessup.” She grinned. “I got a sneak peek at Kit’s dress. It’s all ruffled and romantic, very ’60s earth mother.”
    â€œIt sounds lovely,” said Suzanne, chiming in.
    â€œAnd it’s nice and flowy,” said Toni. “So you can’t really tell that Kit’s got a bun in the oven.”
    â€œOh dear,” said Petra, her brow furrowing. “I wish you hadn’t brought
that
up.” Petra wasn’t