Stake & Eggs by Laura Childs

doesn’t make any sense.” She shook her head. “There has to be a mistake.”
    Ducovny shook his head. “Sheriff says the wire that killed Ben Busacker was the same
     kind of wire that’s in my fences! And now that he knows this, he says he can’t ignore
     it. He says it puts me under suspicion. That it’s…what did he call it? Damning evidence.”
    But Suzanne, who owned the land and only leased it to Ducovny, was already thinking,
Actually, that would mean it’s the same kind of wire from
my
fences.
    Ducovny paced back and forth, practically in hysterics now. “Suzanne,” he pleaded,
     “you’ve got to help me!”
    “Me?” said Suzanne.
Why do I have to help him? If the wire’s really from my fence, I might have to help
me
!
    “You’ve got a big in with Doogie,” said Ducovny. “He likes you. He trusts you. You’ve
     known each other for a long time.”
    “I don’t really have an in with him,” Suzanne said slowly, mulling over everything
     Ducovny had just lobbed her way. Why would wire samples suddenly put Ducovny under
     suspicion, she wondered. Weren’t there miles of wire out there that just happened
     to be the same make and model, so to speak? Everyone around the county could have
     the same kind of wire, for all she knew. This part of the state was filled with great
     stretches of farms, fields, and pastures that were wired off and divided by ownership
     rights, landsurveys, and whatnot. And all of that wire had to come from somewhere, and it probably
     all came from the same factory. Exactly what had Doogie and his deputy discovered
     when it came to this particular wire?
    Suzanne realized she needed some inside information, courtesy of Sheriff Doogie. And
     quick.
    Yes, Doogie was a friend of sorts. But Suzanne also figured the real reason he hung
     around the Cackleberry Club was because she never charged him for all the platefuls
     of food he snarfed down on a regular basis. Did the man ever pay for anything? No.
     Did she ask him to pay? No. And neither did any other local café.
    Talk about a job with excellent benefits. No wonder some folks kept running for office.
     And not just in Kindred, Suzanne thought, but across the entire country!
    Still, it was comforting to have Doogie’s bulky, familiar presence around the Cackleberry
     Club, just in case some crazy tweaker or 7-Eleven rip-off artist got it in his fool
     head to try to grab fistfuls of money from their cash register. After all, a Saturday
     night special worked just as well on a busy Monday morning.
    “I came to you, Suzanne,” Ducovny continued, “because you’re smart. Last fall, you
     figured out who killed that guy Peebler. And I know you worked on a couple of other
     crimes before that, too. Seems to me you’ve been investigating murders ever since
     you opened this place.”
    “I got lucky with the Peebler case,” said Suzanne.
    “No,” said Ducovny, “you got good.” He strode a few paces, whirled around, and knocked
     a couple of books off the shelf.
Blue’s Clues
went tumbling. So did two new thrillers by David Baldacci and John Sandford that
     Suzanne had just unpacked a few minutes ago.
    “Calm down,” said Suzanne, bending to pick up the books. “This is just a case of simple
     misunderstanding. I’m sure we can get everything straightened out.”
    “Oh yeah? Tell that to the other fellow who was withDoogie. The guy who kept egging him on and wanted me arrested right on the spot! Before
     I even had a chance to defend myself!”
    Suzanne frowned. “You’re talking about Doogie’s deputy? Um…Driscoll?”
    “No, I am not,” said Ducovny. “This was some pretty-boy bank manager. Some out-of-towner
     who seemed proud of the fact that he didn’t hail from Kindred, by the way.”
    “Oh crap,” said Suzanne. “Was it a guy by the name of Rapson?”
    Ducovny bobbed his head. “That’s it. You know him?”
    “I ran into him briefly,” said Suzanne. “Rapson stopped here this morning to