Eggs in a Casket (A Cackleberry Club Mystery) by Laura Childs Page B

desk, Suzanne opened her laptop computer and, after a moment’s thought, pecked in the words “stun gun.”
    A whole world of companies offering self-defense and personal safety devices was suddenly revealed to her.
    Is protection that big a business?
    She decided it certainly must be, judging by all the stun guns, Tasers, stun batons, canisters of Mace, and pepper sprays that were readily available to wary, security-minded individuals. There were even voice changers, listening devices, tap detectors, and (who would seriously use this?) invisible ink! The ad copy on all the websites seemed to have the same fear-mongering message: Times are getting tough! You’d better be prepared!
    As Suzanne started clicking around, trying to find a local dealer, she came upon Billy’s Gun Shop in neighboring Jessup. Turns out they carried Tasers and stun guns. And wasn’t this interesting. You didn’t even need a carry permit. Really, just cash-and-carry, Suzanne thought.
    Suzanne ate her soup thoughtfully as she perused a few more websites filled with so-called protection devices as well as amateur spy paraphernalia that even included wraparound camcorder sunglasses.
    Trying to shake off a growing sense of unease, Suzanne finished her soup and decided to take her dogs out for a long walk. A little physical exercise was always helpful in relaxing the brain and dissipating negative energy.
    After much wagging of tails and spinning in circles, leashes were clipped onto Baxter and Scruff and they all headed out into the misty evening. Suzanne, wearing leggings, a Windbreaker, and Reeboks, kept up a steady, fast walk-jog pace. The three of them splashed across nearly deserted streets, spun past homes that all seemed to be battened down for the night, and brushed down alleyways where rain dripped off giant lilac bushes. After a spin through Founder’s Park, which was also deserted, the swing sets and slides looking a little forlorn, Suzanne slowed her pace and turned for home.
    Now that Baxter and Scruff had sufficiently blown out the carbon, they padded along slowly, sniffing and snuffling at every little patch and parcel of wet grass. And, as Suzanne approached her home, she saw that someone was waiting on her front steps. Sitting there, hunched over, as rain continued to patter down.
    Was it Toni? Had she had a fight with Junior and was in need of a little gentle commiseration? Along with a glass or two of pinot grigio?
    But when Suzanne got closer, she saw that it was Missy.
    “Hi there,” Suzanne said, as she turned up her walk.
    “Hi,” said Missy. She was dressed in jeans, short boots, and an olive drab anorak that was cinched at the waist with a wide black leather belt. She looked, Suzanne thought, like a stylish commando.
    “You’re sitting in the drizzle,” said Suzanne, diplomatically. “So whatever you want to talk about, it must be pretty important.” She stepped past Missy, stuck her key in the lock, and pushed open her front door. Then she dropped the leashes and let the dogs wander in themselves. “Come on in,” she called to Missy.
    “You’re being very nice about this,” said Missy. She ducked her head, looking a little embarrassed.
    “You’re my friend,” said Suzanne. She gave a lopsided smile. “I have to be nice. It’s the law.”
    “At least you haven’t lost your sense of humor,” said Missy.
    “Believe me,” said Suzanne, as she hung up her jacket and stepped out of her damp shoes, “I try not to.”
    Once they’d grabbed drinks, orange juice for Suzanne and white wine for Missy, they settled on the sofa in Suzanne’s living room. Suzanne, who was burning with curiosity now, didn’t waste any time. She asked Missy point-blank if she owned a stun gun.
    “No!” Missy cried in a strangled voice. “And I wouldn’t even know where to buy one.” She grabbed a pink and white pillow that had the words Keep Calm and Carry On stenciled on it and hugged it to her chest. “Why do people keep