Read Eggs in a Casket (A Cackleberry Club Mystery) for Free Online Page A

Fritos.
    “Missy’s no killer,” said Suzanne with exasperation. “I bet if we put our heads together we could figure out some
real
suspects. People who sincerely hated Drummond and wished him ill.”
    “That might be half the town,” Doogie mused as he stuffed a handful of chips into his mouth and chomped noisily. “Since Drummond wasn’t exactly Mr. Popularity.” His gaze softened then as he looked at Suzanne. “I know Missy’s a friend of yours . . .”
    “What about Larry Chamberlain?” Suzanne proposed. “The deputy mayor? He sits on the board of directors for the prison. Didn’t he pretty much spearhead the charge to get Drummond fired? Maybe he had it in for Drummond.”
    Doogie shook his head, totally unconvinced. “Chamberlain and some of the others got their way and Drummond
was
fired. So he had no beef with him anymore. There’d be no good reason for Chamberlain to kill him.”
    Suzanne racked her brain. “Maybe one of the prisoners? Drummond was the warden there for quite a while.”
    “Last time I looked,” said Doogie, “all the prisoners were locked up in their cells or working in the foundry hammering out license plates. I doubt they were gallivanting through Memorial Cemetery early this morning.”
    “I meant an ex-prisoner,” said Suzanne. “One who’s out on parole or has been recently released.”
    “I’m already on that,” said Doogie. “Warden Fiedler is drawing up a list for me.”
    “Well, that’s good,” said Suzanne. “Because it certainly could have been one of them. Someone who hated or despised Lester Drummond for whatever reason and wanted to get revenge. Maybe Drummond punished him harshly or . . . I don’t know . . . sent him to the hole.”
    “I don’t think they send prisoners to the hole,” said Doogie, chuckling a little. “That’s only in Clint Eastwood movies. This prison’s not that hard-core.”
    “Then what do they do for punishment?” said Suzanne.
    “I don’t know,” said Doogie. “Probably . . . take away their computer privileges?”
    “What we need are a couple of good clues,” said Suzanne.
    Doogie leaned back and scratched his ample belly. “Oh, we got a clue or two.”
    “But you’re still waiting for the autopsy,” said Suzanne, mystified. “So what on earth did you turn up? Was there something else on Drummond’s body besides the markings? Some strange hair or fibers?”
What have you
got that you’re not sharing with me, Doogie?
    “You’ve been watching too many episodes of
CSI
,” said Doogie. “No, what we got is Drummond’s cell phone.”
    Suzanne stared at him. “What? Where did you find it?”
    “In Drummond’s back pocket.” Doogie’s eyes flicked toward his rearview mirror then back at Suzanne. “We scrolled through his recent call list and emails. It seems that someone
invited
him to that cemetery.”
    “Just like that? There was an email invitation?”
    “Well,” said Doogie, “it was one of those short texty-type messages written as an email.”
    “What’d it say exactly?”
    “It said, CU Memorial 0500.” Doogie looked pleased with himself, as if he’d taken a giant stride into texting and technology. “See you at Memorial at five o’clock this morning,” he said, deciphering it for her.
    “I get it,” said Suzanne. “But who invited him? That’s the critical question.”
    “We don’t know that yet. The sender’s name was blocked.”
    “But you can get around that, right?” said Suzanne. “You can get some tech guy to figure it out for you?”
    “Possibly,” said Doogie. “I called a fellow who does technical forensics for the state police. He says it can be a complicated process. Sometimes an email even goes through a re-sender that’s offshore.”
    “Offshore? What are we talking about—Europe?”
    “More like the Caribbean,” said Doogie. “Apparently it’s a hotbed for resending and Internet scans.”
    “Kind of like Nigeria,” said Suzanne. There