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Suzanne told him.
    “Huh?” Doogie was already eyeing her with suspicion.
    “I’m going to pour you a lovely cup of tea.”
    Doogie blinked in disbelief. “My pinky finger won’t fit through those dinky little
     teacup handles,” he complained.
    Suzanne grabbed a sturdy ceramic mug and splashed in a helping of Assam tea. “No problem.”
    Doogie sniffed his mug of tea as if she were a wicked witch offering him a lethal
     dose of strychnine. “What kind is this? Like Lipton’s?”
    “It’s Assam, and it’s fresh brewed from tea leaves grown in India. Go ahead, try it.
     It’s good for you,” Suzanne told him, as Toni cut a slice of apple pie for Doogie.
    “Smells funny,” said Doogie.
    “Malty,” said Suzanne. “That’s a good thing. Tea should broaden your horizon as well
     as your taste buds.”
    “Doogie’s horizon is already plenty broad,” Toni chortled as she set his pie in front
     of him.
    “Hey, smart mouth,” said Doogie. “Watch it!” He took a sip of tea, considered it for
     a few moments, then said, “Not bad.”
    “I’ll make a convert out of you yet,” said Suzanne.
    “The Methodist preacher’s been saying that to me for years,” said Doogie.
    “Well, this might be a somewhat easier task,” said Suzanne. She hesitated, then said,
     “I want to talk to you about Reed Ducovny.”
    Doogie nodded. “I suspected you did.”
    Suzanne spread her hands wide and said, “Why. On. Earth?”
    “Evidence,” said Doogie.
    “A little piece of wire?” Suzanne snorted. “That’s not evidence, that’s a coincidence.”
    “No,” said Doogie, “the wire was cut directly from his fence. We even found the place
     where it had been cut. It’s a
fresh
cut.”
    “Even so,” said Suzanne, “if it was cut from his fence, anybody could have done it.
     You can’t come down hard on Ducovny just because he’s convenient. Because the fence
     was convenient.”
    Doogie held up an index finger. “Don’t lecture me, Suzanne.”
    “I have to,” said Suzanne, realizing she might be pushing it a little, but not caring.
     “Because Ducovny had no
motive
. He’s a guy who cares about corn, not about offing some full-of-himself banker. The
     two men didn’t even
know
each other, for gosh sakes, except to maybe exchange a polite nod on the street.”
    “I gotta look at all the angles, Suzanne.”
    “I understand that,” said Suzanne. “But Ducovny? Jeez.”
    “It’s what I got,” said Doogie.
    “Please don’t let Ed Rapson drive you in the wrong direction,” Suzanne cautioned.
     “He wants Busacker’s murder wrapped up in a nice, neat package so he can go back to
     the home office and deliver it as a trophy.”
    “I get it, Suzanne,” said Doogie. Now there was a definite edge to his voice.
    “I’m not finished,” said Suzanne firmly. “That darned Charlie Steiner was in here
     for lunch, running his yap about what a non-tragedy Ben Busacker’s death was. Apparently,
     Busacker was about to foreclose on his farm?”
    Doogie nodded. “Got the whole story, blow by blow, from Gene Gandle.”
    “I figured as much,” said Suzanne. “So you’re going to talk to him?”
    “To Steiner? Yes,” said Doogie. “He’s next on my list.”
    “Okay, then,” said Suzanne.
    “That make you happy?” asked Doogie, with a frown.
    “For now, yes,” she said.
    “I’ M gonna blow this pop stand, okay?” called Petra. She was standing at the front door,
     her camel hair coat pulled around her, a white knit cap stuck like a poufy marshmallow
     atop her head.
    “Have a great night!” called Toni. She was poking a broom underneath one table, trying
     to hook an errant French fry.
    “Give Donny a hug for me,” called Suzanne. Donny was Petra’s husband, who lived in
     the Center City Nursing Home.
    “I will,” said Petra. A cold breeze swooped in, and then she was gone.
    “Got any special plans for tonight?” Toni asked Suzanne.
    Suzanne smiled. “Sam’s dropping by for