Murder of a Creped Suzette

by Denise Swanson

  When Skye focused back on the present, Quirk was calling the county crime scene techs. Once he had filled them in, he radioed the Scumble River PD to see if the chief had checked in yet. Skye was relieved when she heard her mother say that Wally was on his way.

  A quick glance at her watch told Skye that it was nearly five. It would take at least three-quarters of an hour, maybe more, for the techs to arrive from Laurel. The county seat, where they were based, was a good forty-five miles away from Scumble River, and the narrow secondary roads were full of twists and turns.

  Taking a deep breath, Skye rose from her seat and said to Quirk, “Unless you need me for something, I’ll wait for the chief in my car.”

  “Good idea,” Quirk agreed. “I’ve called in all our off-duty and part-time officers, and they’ll be keeping the perimeter intact.”

  “Okay.” Skye started to walk away. “You’re sure there’s nothing I can do?”

  “Positive.” The sergeant’s lips twitched. “I don’t want to get in trouble for making the chief’s fiancée catch pneumonia.”

  “Yeah. Like I wasn’t soaked before you got here.” Skye rolled her eyes.

  When Skye reached the Bel Air, Toby was curled up on the backseat. He barked once as she got in, so she dug a honey and oat granola bar from her purse. After he wolfed down the treat, he went back to sleep. She had checked earlier and there was no owner information on the back of his tag, but it was pretty clear that he belonged to whoever was under the steamroller. Shoot! What would she do with a dog?

  As she waited, she dried herself off with a couple more napkins, then rooted through her tote bag until she found her brush and a scrunchie. Taking her hair from the knot on top of her head, she blotted it with the last of her napkin stash, then smoothed it into a ponytail. A dash of lip gloss and a swipe of mascara helped her feel slightly calmer, and when she leaned her head against the seat, she was able to pray for the victim’s soul.

  She must have dozed, because the next thing she knew, the passenger door was being opened and Wally was sliding into the car.

  He gathered her into his arms. “Darlin’, are you okay?”

  “I am now.” She snuggled for a moment, then kissed his cheek and withdrew from his embrace. “I know you have questions. Go ahead.”

  He released her and pointed to the backseat “Whose dog is that?” Before she could reply, Wally added, “Hold that thought. Instead tell me why you’re here.”

  “Don’t you remember? I told you I was meeting Suzette after school today. I was going to let her know I would look into her mother’s death, then get some information from her.”

  “I didn’t realize you were meeting her at the theater site.” Wally gestured to the barn. “What happened when you arrived?”

  “Well . . .” Skye gathered her thoughts. “The first thing I noticed was that there were no cars, so I thought maybe she had stood me up.”

  “But?”

  “But when I approached the Winnebago, Toby”—she pointed to the backseat, where the dog was keeping a wary eye on Wally—“was sitting on the little metal step.”

  “And?”

  “He ran away when I tried to pick him up.” Skye turned a little toward Wally, then continued with her story, ending with, “So, Toby led me to the body.” Skye winced. “I really hate calling someone that, but we still don’t know for sure who she is.”

  “Sorry. I know this is tough.” Wally patted her arm. “The construction foreman got here the same time I did. He should be moving the steamroller right now.”

  “Do you need me to look?” Skye didn’t want to do it, but she understood that the sooner they identified the victim, the better their chances of solving the case. “I can do it if you think it’ll help.”

  “I doubt anyone will be able to make a visual ID.” Wally put an arm around her. “And I’ve got Anthony searching for Rex Taylor.”

  “Of course,” Skye agreed quickly. “He should know anyone who worked here. He’s definitely a better option for an identification than I am and—” She snapped her mouth shut, aware she was babbling.

  “It’s okay, sugar. I wish you hadn’t been the one to find her. Try not to think about it anymore.” Wally squeezed her shoulder.

  “But . . .” Skye struggled to express her thoughts, not wanting to seem weak.

  “I’ve got it now.” He held her for a few more minutes, kissing her temple.

  “You’re right. There’s nothing I can do here.” Skye drew strength from Wally’s touch. “I’d just be a distraction for you.”

  “Only in a good way,” Wally reassured her. “You know I value your insights, and once we start interviewing suspects, I’ll want you there.”

  “And I’ll be ready.”

  “It’ll probably be several hours before we’re finished here, so I’ll call you in the morning before you leave for school.” Wally hesitated, his expression hard to read. “I need to talk to you about something personal, but I guess it can wait until tomorrow.”

  “Can’t you tell me now?” Skye’s stomach clenched. Something personal did not sound like good news. “I can hang around a few minutes longer.” She willed him to say what he had to say, to get it over with before her imagination ran wild.

  “This isn’t a good time.” Wally got out of the car. “Tomorrow is soon enough.”

  “Okay.” Skye recognized that Wally wouldn’t budge on this issue, so why the heck had he even brought it up? “When you talk to Mr. Taylor, please tell him I have Toby, and find out who he belongs to, okay?”

  “Definitely. The last thing you need is a dog.” Before closing the Bel Air’s door, Wally said, “Take it easy. Call my cell if you want me for anything.”

  As Skye drove away, she noted that Simon had arrived. The hearse was parked where the ambulance had been a little while ago. There was something very “circle of life” about that, she thought, but at that moment Skye was too exhausted to figure out what.

  Skye made a quick stop at the police station to prove to her mother that she was alive and well. Although she was tired, five minutes of reassurance beat an entire evening of the whole family descending on her to confirm her well-being.

  Another necessary stop was the grocery store for doggy supplies. She bought the minimum—bowls, food, a leash, and a box of treats, but the bill was still well over fifty dollars.

  Skye finally arrived home a little before seven. Bingo greeted her at the door, hissing in surprise when he spotted Toby in her arms. The black cat skidded backward a couple of feet, then held his ground, looking like a Halloween decoration with his fur standing on end and his spine arched.

  Toby woofed and tried to leap from Skye’s arms. She put him on the floor, having taken the precaution of affixing his new leash before entering the house. She kept a tight hold on the leather loop as his feet hit the hardwood and he tried to lunge at Bingo.

  Bingo’s yowl sounded like a kindergarten orchestra tuning up, and Toby barked excitedly. Cat and dog stared at each other, loathing in both their eyes.

  Skye had hoped that the animals would get along, but clearly that wasn’t about to happen, at least not tonight. Sighing, she scooped Toby back up, carried him to the second floor, filled his bowls with food and water, and locked him in the master bathroom. Once she had dealt with Bingo’s needs, Toby would be getting up close and personal with a tub of soapy water.

  The sound of the top of a can of Fancy Feast being popped drew the angry feline from wherever he had been hiding. Skye petted him and started to explain Toby’s situation. Bingo moved to the other side of his dish, so that his back was toward her, and pretended she didn’t exist.

  Skye sighed. She kept forgetting that, thousands of years ago, cats were worshipped as gods, and they still expected such treatment.

  Just as Skye finished telling Bingo the dog’s sad story, her phone rang. Hoping it was Wally with the name of Toby’s owner, she grabbed the phone without looking at the caller ID.

  A genderless vo
ice said, “Tell your boyfriend to call me at 555-324-4321. And tell him that what he wants doesn’t come cheap.”

  Before Skye could respond, the line disconnected.

  CHAPTER 9

  “He’ll Have to Go”

  Skye was startled awake. Something wasn’t right, but she couldn’t settle on what.

  Woof! Woof! Woof!

  Oh. Yeah. Her canine houseguest. Whatever would she do about him? She hoped his owner would come forward and claim him, but she had a bad feeling that wish wouldn’t be granted unless a genie popped out of her milk carton later that morning during breakfast. Considering how likely that scenario was, she’d better come up with an alternative. Hmm. Nope. No brilliant ideas.

  She’d think about that later. According to the clock, she had more than an hour before the alarm would ring. Closing her eyes, she tried to go back to sleep, but too much occupied her mind.

  Last night, having decided not to bother Wally about the weird message she’d received, she’d given Toby a bath, using that time to consider her interspecies problem. The only solution she could come up with was to lock Bingo in the bedroom with her for the night and keep the little dog in the sunroom. The drawback was that none of the downstairs rooms had doors, and constructing a barricade to keep Toby contained had been a challenge. In the end she had settled for a folded card table, which she had duct taped flat across the sunroom’s entrance.

  As if he knew that his human was thinking about a D-O-G, Bingo meowed from the pillow next to Skye. She turned her head and discovered the cat watching her, but when she extended her hand to pet him, he moved a few inches out of her reach and meowed again.

  “Good morning to you, too.”

  Bingo glared.

  “Hey. You usually sleep with me anyway, and I lugged your litter box, not to mention your food and water bowls, up here, so what’s your problem?”

  Bingo rose, hopped off the bed, and sat facing the closed bedroom door, his tail twitching.

  “Fine.” She swung her legs over the side of the mattress. “But you’re staying in here until I work out what to do with Toby.”

  Which reminded her—she’d better check on the dog. Thank goodness he appeared to be house-trained, but it had been seven hours since his last walk.

  Skye padded barefoot down the staircase and groaned when she stepped into the foyer. Sometime during the night, Toby must have escaped the barrier she had constructed. Up and down the hall, shredded magazines and books made it look like a huge confetti balloon had burst.

  In the parlor, throw pillows had been chewed and tossed around, and the air swirled with their feathery remains. But by far the worst mess was in the kitchen. Whatever had been on the counter or table was now on the floor. Canisters of flour and sugar had been knocked to the tiles and broken open. Torn tea bags were strewn everywhere, and ribbons of cloth chewed from her pale yellow place mats added a decorative touch. How in the world had a dog less than two feet tall jumped so high and done so much damage?

  Following the trail of telltale paw prints, Skye found Toby asleep in the sunroom—right where she had left him the night before. Bits of what might have been her favorite candy-apple-red lace bra adorned his fur. It was obvious that Toby could not be trusted alone while she went to work.

  As Skye leaned against the wall, her head spinning from the extent of the demolition, Toby opened one bright brown eye and gave her his best canine smile. Her shoulders slumped. It wasn’t his fault. Yesterday had been traumatic for him, and last night she’d left him alone too long. A bored doggie was a destructive doggie.

  When she scooped him up, he yipped excitedly. “Do you need to go outside?” she asked.

  He yelped again, and she carried him to the back door. Shoving her feet into a pair of neon orange Crocs, she clipped on his leash and trudged down the back steps. It crossed her mind that if she were to keep Toby, she’d have to have her backyard fenced.

  Once his immediate needs were taken care of, the little dog ate his breakfast and settled down for a nap. Hoping he stayed asleep, Skye cleaned up the mess he had made, then hurried upstairs to get ready for work.

  After a quick shower, Skye walked into her bedroom just as the radio alarm she’d forgotten to shut off clicked on. As she stood looking into her closet, trying to decide if she could stand to wear yet another pair of black slacks to school, she hummed along with Glen Campbell singing “Galveston.”

  The announcer’s voice distracted her from her fashion dilemma. “It’s six o’clock on a beautiful fall Tuesday morning. Today’s temperature will be in the high sixties, with light breezes and sunshine. And all of you will be pleased to hear the high humidity is finally gone.”

  Yes! Yes! Yes! Skye grinned. At last it was sweater weather.

  As she reached for her zebra-print twinset, the DJ said, “Now for some breaking news. Early yesterday evening, the body of a woman was discovered at the old Hutton dairy farm. This property was recently purchased by Rex Taylor, a music promoter from Nashville, for a country music theater. Mr. Taylor hopes to turn our area into the Branson of Illinois.”

  Skye was tempted to cover her ears and sing La la la, but she forced herself to listen to the rest of the report so she’d know exactly what information had been released to the public.

  “The police have verified that the victim was found under a large piece of construction machinery, but they refused to provide any further details.” The announcer’s voice deepened. “Murder has not been ruled out.”

  When the DJ switched to sports, Skye turned off the radio. Sound bites of athletes mangling the English language drove her crazy.

  As she finished dressing, the phone rang. “Morning, darlin’,” Wally greeted her. “Are you feeling better?”

  “Yes. Much. Thank you for persuading me to leave last night.” Skye wedged the handset between her shoulder and neck and sat down at her dressing table to apply her makeup. “What time did you get home?”

  “Close to midnight.”

  “You must be exhausted.” Skye examined the circles under her own eyes and reached for a tube of concealer. “What kept you so long?”

  “First it took the techs forever because it was an outdoor crime scene; then we had a hard time locating Rex Taylor, and when we did find him, his wife demanded that she accompany him to the barn. After watching the guy flirt with the female EMT, I can see why Mrs. Taylor insisted on coming with him.”

  “Yikes.” Skye stroked taupe eye shadow on her lid. “That couldn’t have gone well.”

  “Nope.” Wally’s tone was not amused. “When she saw the body, the idiot woman fainted and her husband made us get the paramedics to take care of her.”

  “Was Rex able to ID the body?” Skye asked, almost not wanting to know.

  “Yes and no,” Wally answered slowly. “He was able to say for certain that the clothes the victim had on were what Suzette had worn to work that day. And Mrs. Taylor identified a necklace on the body as Suzette’s. But to be absolutely certain we’ll have to wait for DNA tests. When the techs went through her room at the motor court, they picked up her toothbrush and razor for comparison DNA samples.”

  “But for investigation purposes, you’re going with Suzette, right?”

  “Yes,” Wally confirmed. “No one else is missing from the staff.”

  “Did you get a chance to ask about Toby?” Skye crossed her fingers. Please, please, please, she begged silently. She really wanted to be able to hand the dog over to his rightful owner on her way to work.

  “Yep. He was Suzette’s all right.” Wally paused, then said, “Did she mention any relatives when she talked to you the other night?”

  “None that are living.”

  “Son of a b—!” Wally cut himself off. “Mr. and Mrs. Taylor have no idea who her next of kin might be, and no emergency contact is listed on her employment records.”

  “What will you do next?” Skye checked her watch. She really needed to get off the phone with Wally so she could s
tart looking for someone to take care of Toby.

  “We’ll talk to her colleagues, do a background check—you know, the usual. What time will you be finished today?”

  “I should be able to leave by three thirty. Why?” Skye asked.

  “Because I need to get your formal statement. Come straight to the station, okay?”

  “Sure.” Skye bit her lip. “Uh, do you think maybe Mr. or Mrs. Taylor would want Suzette’s dog?” She thought fast. “I mean, if she brought Toby to work, they might be attached to him.”

  “Not a chance.” Wally snorted. “Mrs. Taylor called him a disgusting mutt.”

  “Shoot.”

  “What are you going to do with him?”

  “I don’t know.” Skye had counted on someone connected with Suzette claiming him. “I guess, for now, I’ll keep him. At least until the case is closed or we find a member of Suzette’s family.”

  “If we find her next of kin, they may not want him.” Wally’s voice was gentle. “Not everyone is as willing to take in strays as you are.”

  “I’ll deal with that when the time comes.” Skye checked her watch again. “Hey—sorry to cut you off, but I’ve got to get going. I’ll see you this afternoon.”

  “Bye, sugar.”

  As soon as she hung up, she remembered the message from the night before. Should she call Wally back? No. If it was that important, last night’s caller could have phoned Wally directly. Besides, she had to find a dog sitter ASAP.

  Geez! Skye couldn’t believe she wasn’t able to think of anyone to take care of Toby. Her first choices—Trixie, Loretta, and Vince—all worked, as did all of her friends. She briefly considered Frannie Ryan, Justin Boward, and Xenia Craughwell, recent high school grads with whom she had remained close, but they were attending college or film school classes.