Murder of a Creped Suzette

by Denise Swanson

  “No one at the moment.” Skye forced a smile. Pru thought everyone should be treated equally—that is, everyone but the two or three students she selected as her pets every year. “However, I always appreciate your cooperation when I do have a request.”

  The English teacher narrowed her wintry blue eyes and twitched her pointy nose. “Then to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

  Skye held on to her smile. “I understand you knew Quentin Neal. He was a music teacher who worked here quite a while ago.”

  “He was here only for a year, so I wouldn’t exactly say I knew him,” Pru quibbled. “Especially since he taught a fluff subject.”

  “I understand. But is there anything at all you can recall about him?” Skye was fairly sure that Pru, who acted as gossip central for the school, kept track of all the new teachers, even the ones she dismissed for teaching superfluities like music and art. “Maybe who his friends were?”

  “I do remember he was a handsome man.” Pru gave a small shrug, her expression contemptuous. “All the young females on the staff, and several of the older ones who should have known better, were atwitter.”

  “Did he chirp back?” Skye asked, wondering if Pru had been one of the cheeping flock. “I imagine that kind of adulation would be tempting to him.”

  “No.” Pru smoothed her stringy dun-colored hair back into its chignon. “He was pleasant, but he kept his distance.”

  “Did you ever meet his family?” Skye asked. “I understand he had twins.”

  “Yes to both your questions. And since the girl was just murdered here in town a couple of days ago”— Pru’s smile was superior—“I imagine she is why you’re so interested in Quentin.”

  “That’s true,” Skye admitted, not allowing herself to be baited. “Do you remember his son’s name?”

  “Let me think.” Pru tapped a bony finger on her receding chin and pursed her thin lips. “It wasn’t an S name like Stephen or Scott, as you’d expect with twins.”

  “Did it rhyme with Suzette?” Skye asked, realizing the absurdity of the suggestion before the last word slipped from her lips.

  “What boy’s name ends with ette?” The English teacher glared in contempt at Skye’s stupidity.

  “Oh.” Skye ground her teeth, angry she had given Pru an opening to ridicule her. The woman had done enough of that when Skye had been in her class twenty years ago. “Right.”

  “Let’s see.” Pru tsked. “I almost had it when you interrupted me.”

  “Sorry.” Uh-oh. Being interrupted was one of Pru’s major pet peeves.

  “I remember thinking the name was appropriate.” Pru’s pause was indisputably for effect. “The little boy was such a hellion.”

  Skye held her breath, waiting for the big revelation to which Pru was building up.

  After several seconds, Pru shook her head. “No.” She rubbed her temples. “I’m afraid it’s flown out of my head.”

  Sheesh! What a letdown. “Well, thanks for trying.” Skye barely refrained from shaking Pru until the teacher came up with the name. “If you think of it, let me know or call Chief Boyd. The police would be grateful for your cooperation in this matter.”

  “Of course.” Pru looked meaningfully at the wall clock, then glowered at Skye. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to use the few minutes left of my planning period for my own work, instead of yours.”

  As Skye walked back to her office, she processed what Pru had told her. What boy’s name could be associated with the word hellion?

  “Adolph?” Wally guessed. It was four thirty and they were in his Thunderbird on the way to the Up A Lazy River Motor Court to talk to Flint James. “Damian?”

  “That’s a good one.” Skye had been thinking of names since she’d left Pru. “Attila?”

  “Fidel?” Wally parked the Ford in an empty slot next to a red Maserati.

  “I’ve got it.” Wally exited the T-bird, walked around the hood, and held out his hand to Skye. “Cain. Wasn’t he the ultimate hellion?”

  “Yes. I’d have to say killing your brother qualifies you for that title.” Skye marched up the sidewalk to cabin number two and knocked, paused, then knocked again when there was no response. “That’s odd. He should be here. When I called Uncle Charlie just before we drove over here, he said that Flint James was in his room. He’d pulled in a few minutes before I phoned.”

  Wally moved Skye out of the way, stepped closer, and pounded on the door.

  This time they heard a muffled voice yell, “Be right there!”

  While they waited, Skye spotted the bass player from Flint’s backup band peering out his cottage’s window. She waved and he let the curtain drop. Turing to Wally, she said, “Speaking of Cain, do you think Suzette’s brother might have killed her? After all, the media has been all over this murder and he hasn’t come forward. Maybe that’s why.”

  Before he could respond, the door was flung open and Flint James in all his nearly naked glory stood on the other side of the threshold.

  Skye swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. The small bath towel that Flint wore wrapped low on his hips didn’t leave much to the imagination. She caught herself hoping for a strong gust of wind.

  “Sorry.” The singer grinned and hitched the terry cloth rectangle a little higher. “I wasn’t expecting company. Rex had me on the dog and pony show circuit all day and I needed to wash off the sleaze.”

  “No problem, partner.” Wally got his Texas on and he slung his arm around Skye. “We were on our way to dinner, but I saw your car and thought this might be a good time to clear up a few things.”

  Skye hid a smile. So that’s why Wally was dressed in jeans and cowboy boots and they were using his private car. He had said they would try to keep this laid-back to throw the suspects off, but she hadn’t realized they were going in disguise.

  “If you don’t mind, could we come in and talk for a minute?” Wally asked.

  “Sure.” Flint stepped back. “Make yourself to home.” He headed toward the bathroom. “Let me throw on some clothes.”

  While the star was dressing, Skye whispered to Wally, “I take it my role in this little performance is as the dumb girlfriend.”

  “Not necessarily dumb.” Wally leaned his backside against the desk. “Just not as smart as you really are, at least at first.”

  “Gotcha.” Skye sat on the only available chair and studied the room. It contained a double bed, a dresser with a TV on top, and two nightstands. She noted that Flint’s belongings were all neatly arranged.

  A few seconds later Flint returned, toweling his hair. “What can I do you for?”

  Wally asked routine questions about the singer’s activities on Monday afternoon, where he’d been at the time of the murder, and what his relationship with Suzette had been like.

  Flint’s answers were exactly the same as in his first interview. He’d been alone in his room from two until five, and he and Suzette were friendly colleagues.

  Finally Flint said, “Man, I answered all these questions before. If you don’t have anything new, I need to get ready for an evening gig and I’d like to rest for a couple of hours before then.”

  “Right. Of course.” Wally straightened but subtly put pressure on Skye’s shoulder, indicating she should stay seated and that it was her turn to take over the interrogation. “We surely don’t want to keep you from that. Thanks for your patience.”

  “I’m happy to cooperate with the police.” Flint held out his hand.

  “Mr. James,” Skye spoke from behind Wally. She could see the singer, but he could only glimpse her. “Before we go, I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your concert last Saturday night.”

  “Why thank you, little lady.” Flint’s baritone was as smooth as twelve-year-old scotch. “I truly love singing to a live audience.”

  “You know”—Skye let her voice drop as if imparting a secret—“for a while there I was afraid the concert wasn’t going to happen.”

  �
��Oh?” Flint’s expression was neutral. “Why is that?”

  “Folks here in Scumble River are pretty impatient and I thought they’d leave when it didn’t start on time.” Skye giggled. “Good thing there was all that free booze available.” She put her hand over her mouth, pretending to be embarrassed. “No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  “But the concert was nearly half an hour late.” Skye shook her head. “Some people thought that was downright rude of you all.”

  “I agree.” Flint’s ears were red. “I hate speaking ill of the dead, but the delay was entirely Suzette’s fault. I was there early.”

  “I know.” Skye stood and moved around Wally until she was facing the singer. “I overheard you talking to Mr. Taylor before she arrived.”

  “How did you—?” The beautiful bronze skin of Flint’s face became a jaundiced yellow. “Where were you? I mean—what did you hear?”

  “I heard you say that you didn’t trust Suzette. That she was a schemer and had sweet-talked Mr. Taylor into giving her one of your best songs.” Skye moved closer to the singer. “Is that what you call being friendly colleagues ?”

  CHAPTER 18

  “Your Cheatin’ Heart”

  Flint stuttered for a moment or two, then took a breath, smoothed his hair, and pulled his celebrity persona around him like Superman’s cape. His trademark sexy grin appeared, and in a sensuous drawl he said, “You must have misunderstood me, darlin’.”

  “I don’t think so.” Skye stared coolly into his molten toffee eyes and crossed her arms. “I was only a few feet from an open window.”

  “Have you been around many performers?” Flint intensified his smile.

  “That depends on what you mean by performer.” Skye allowed her lips to curve slightly. “I’m a school psychologist and deal daily with teenagers, parents, teachers, and administrators—many of whom are putting on an act for my benefit.”

  Flint’s chuckle was forced. “Real artists usually blow off steam before a live gig.” His expression was now little-boy earnest. “Everyone knows it’s just nerves and we don’t mean anything by it.”

  “Really?” Skye persisted, not swayed by Flint’s attempt to charm her. “Does that include Mrs. Taylor? She seemed to share your opinion of Suzette.”

  “Kallista is a singer, too. As soon as her throat is better, she’ll be back onstage.”

  “Maybe sooner rather than later, now that Suzette’s gone,” Skye suggested, testing to see if Flint would offer up Kallista as an alternative suspect.

  He seemed to think about it for a couple of seconds, but straightened his shoulders and said, “You’re not even close.” His charisma slipping, he sneered, “Suzette was far from the sweet young thing she pretended to be. As my grandpa used to say, she had honey on the lips, but vinegar in the heart.”

  “Yet only you and Kallista have spoken badly of her,” Wally said, the Texas twang now gone from his voice.

  “No one who wants to make it in show business is as nice as she pretended to be.” Flint gave a hard, bitter laugh. “And I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who had a problem with her.”

  “Fair enough.” Wally moved into Flint’s personal space. “But when I asked you that the first time we spoke, you said Suzette kept to herself. Were you lying then or are you lying now?”

  “Neither. She kept to herself, but she was ambitious, so she had to have made enemies.”

  “Right.” Wally flicked the singer a scornful glance. “You need to wipe the corner of your mouth. Some BS is stuck there.”

  “I’m telling you the truth.”

  “Name someone.”

  “Figure it out for yourself.” Abruptly Flint’s manner changed from cajoling to confrontational and he thrust his face close to Wally’s. “I’m looking out for number one, and that doesn’t include doing your job for you.”

  “My job requires the public’s assistance.” Wally held his ground. “We’re asking all the men connected with the Country Roads tour and the construction crew to give us DNA samples. Can we count on your cooperation?”

  “Will it get you out of here?”

  “You bet.”

  “Then, sure.” Flint shrugged. “Whatever.”

  “I’m shocked Flint is willing to give us his DNA,” Skye whispered as they left the cabin. “Have the others agreed so easily?”

  “He’s the first one I asked. And I’m contacting the county tech to come get it now before he changes his mind.” Wally grinned. “Tomorrow I’ll see if I can parlay James’s cooperation into making the other men look bad if they aren’t prepared to follow his lead.”

  “I’m a little surprised you didn’t try to get everyone’s specimens after the semen was discovered,” Skye commented as they reached the car.

  “I wish I could just check them all, but there’s a huge backlog at the lab. I have to pick and choose whose DNA I request expedited, and I’ve been saving one spot for Owen’s.” Wally’s expression was frustrated. “On the other hand, now that I have a good pretext for requesting the samples, I’d rather get them while the getting is good, even if they never get tested.”

  After Wally finished phoning the techs, Skye asked, “What do you think he meant when he said that Suzette wasn’t the innocent she seemed to be and that other people had problems with her?”

  “It’s hard to say.”

  “Was that his way of pointing the finger at Kallista without getting in trouble with her husband?” Skye slid into the T-bird. Earlier, she’d asked Simon to keep Toby overnight, and now she was glad she had. It was a mighty tight fit when both she and the dog had to share the passenger seat of the tiny sports car.

  “Maybe.” Wally started the Ford’s engine and put it into reverse. “I’ve got Anthony keeping an eye on Kallista’s RV. As soon as she gets home, he’ll call me. Then we can go talk to her and find out.”

  “What will we do until then?” Skye asked. Wally hadn’t mentioned interviewing another suspect.

  “Until then, we’ll have some supper.” Wally trailed a caressing finger from her shoulder down her side and onto her thigh. “I feel like a jerk for starving you yesterday, so tonight I’m prepared.”

  A couple of minutes later, Wally stopped the car next to the riverbank. He popped the trunk and lifted out a gingham-covered basket. Walking with one arm around Skye, he guided her toward a picnic table. From there they could see the cerulean blue water and the tiny waves lapping the rocky shore.

  Wally spread the cloth on the table, arranged the food, and waved his hand toward the meal. “Your feast awaits, my love.”

  “Thank you.” Skye took a bite of her sandwich—both the bread and the roast beef were obviously homemade—and mumbled, “Dorothy?”

  Dorothy Snyder was Wally’s part-time housekeeper and a fantastic cook.

  “Of course.” Wally scooped a mound of creamy yellow potato salad onto his paper plate. “I asked her to drop the chow off at the PD.”

  “Yum.” Skye gestured at the surrounding trees whose leaves were beginning to change to the gold and red colors that were the very essence of autumn. “This is perfect.”

  “Yep.” Wally took her hand. “When I heard the temperature was going to be in the sixties today, I realized this might be our last chance for a picnic.”

  “You are so thoughtful.” Skye squeezed his fingers. “Even in the middle of an investigation you think of us.”

  “You’re always on my mind,” Wally said.

  “But if Anthony calls, we can pack up and leave immediately.” Skye’s gaze was shrewd. She knew Wally was too good a cop to let even her interfere with a case.

  “Yes, but in the meantime”—Wally opened a can of caffeine-free Diet Coke for Skye and a Dr Pepper for himself—“we can have a nice dinner in a romantic setting. Maybe we can even pretend we’re on a regular date rather than hunting down a stone-cold killer.”

  “That sounds wonderful. I’ll try my best.” Skye managed to forget the murder and everythin
g else for the next half hour as they ate and talked, but when Anthony’s call came in alerting them to Kallista’s presence at the trailer, Skye knew the fun was over—at least for a while.

  While they were repacking the basket, throwing away their trash, and loading the T-bird, Skye asked, “Did you get any info today from the Nashville police or on Owen’s Red Cross blood or about the victim’s DNA or the fingerprints from the self-storage?”

  “No, no, no, and no.” Wally started the sports car and headed toward Kallista’s RV, which was still at the park. “The ME promised me the victim’s DNA results tomorrow. The city attorney is still looking into the legality of your suggestion about Owen’s donated blood. There have been no hits on the fingerprints. And the Nashville police haven’t found anybody who knows anything about Suzette’s past.”

  “Darn.”

  “That’s putting it mildly,” Wally agreed. “Except for reinterviewing the Country Roads and construction employees, which yielded zilch, the only thing I accomplished today was talking to Owen and rechecking where he was during the murder.”

  “Is he aware yet that he’s a suspect?” Skye asked.

  “I don’t think so. I told him that a black pickup had been involved in another accident during that time period, but this time someone got a partial plate and it fit his license number.”

  “Did Owen believe you? Did he come up with an alibi?”

  “Maybe and no. Since he was alone working at the farm that Monday afternoon, he couldn’t think of anyone who’d seen him.” Wally turned onto the gravel road leading to the Country Roads Tour Airstream. “Too bad the animals can’t talk.”

  “That’s for sure. Toby could solve the case for us.” Skye chuckled. “I take it Owen continues to refuse to say who he was with last Saturday.”

  “Yep. He’s maintaining that we have no right to ask him for that information.”

  Skye was silent for a few seconds, then offered tentatively, “I have an idea about finding Suzette’s twin. But I don’t know how good it is.”