Murder of a Creped Suzette

by Denise Swanson

  “I’m all ears,” Wally encouraged. “Since this case isn’t a priority—no imminent danger suspected—the federal database has informed me that they won’t have any information for at least two weeks.”

  “How about those genealogy sites online? Couldn’t you use those to track down Suzette’s brother?”

  “That’s not a bad idea.” Wally thought for a moment. “I’ll have Martinez check out a couple sites tomorrow.”

  Skye hated to bring up the subject of Wally’s ex-wife, but she had to know the status of that situation. “Anything new with Darleen?”

  “Around noon today I tried that number you gave me again. This time, a guy answered on the first ring.” Wally pulled the car next to the silver trailer but made no move to get out. Instead, he turned to Skye and took her hands. “He said basically the same thing he said to you.”

  “Basically?”

  Wally sighed. “I told him that if Darleen wouldn’t provide a truthful account of our married life without being paid, I’d just wait for the annulment process to continue without her input. He said in that case Darleen would write a letter disputing my claims about the marriage and I’d never get an annulment.”

  “Is that possible?”

  “I’m guessing that if such a document surfaced, it would be my word against hers.” Wally wrinkled his brow. “The guy said to call him tomorrow night at seven and have the money ready to hand over to him.”

  “I’ll call Father Burns in the morning and make an appointment for after school. We need to check what he has to say about the situation.” When Wally was silent, Skye asked, “Right?”

  “Yeah.” Wally frowned. “I guess that’s the logical next step. We’ll decide what to do after we talk to him.”

  “Okay.” Skye kissed Wally’s cheek; then as she was getting out of the T-bird, she said over her shoulder, “One thing at a time.”

  It was nearly six o’clock when Skye and Wally climbed the trailer’s steps. Skye lifted her fist to knock, still thinking about what Wally had just told her, when Wally’s hand closed over hers and gently pushed it down to her side.

  She turned and saw that he had his finger to his lips and his head inclined toward the door. Once she moved closer and concentrated, she could hear an argument coming from inside the RV.

  The sound was muffled by the trailer’s walls, but Skye heard a man shout, “All I’m saying is that we need to cool it for a while.”

  “Fine. If you’re going to be a jerk about it, maybe we should cool it for good.”

  Skye figured the second voice had to be Kallista’s. She mouthed the name to Wally, who nodded.

  “Baby, you know I don’t want that,” Mr. Jerk wheedled. “I love you.”

  “You sure aren’t showing it,” Kallista screeched. “You’ve got your eye on that sound-and-lights chick, don’t you?”

  “Of course not, sweetie pie.” Mr. Jerk’s baritone dropped into bass range. “You’re my one and only. You know I want to marry you as soon as all the papers with the music theater deal are signed and we can both get shed of Rex. You can get a divorce and I can get free of my contract.”

  “Then why don’t you want to see me anymore?” Kallista sobbed.

  “Baby doll, I’m just trying to protect you,” Mr. Jerk sweet-talked. “Rex is acting suspicious and I don’t want you to get into trouble. We both know he’s got a temper.”

  “Yeah.” Kallista’s voice faltered. “But he’s mostly just a lot of hot air, and he doesn’t care if I have my little flings, as long as the guy isn’t any threat to his ego.” Her tone brightened. “Which is why I let him think I was messing around with one of the boys in the band. And since he doesn’t know which one, nobody gets hurt.”

  There was a lengthy silence, and just as Wally raised his hand to knock, Kallista said, “It would have been so much better if Rex was the one under that steamroller instead of that bitch. If he was dead, I’d inherit it all and we wouldn’t have to wait anymore.”

  Another lengthy silence, then Kallista said, “You’d better go. Rex might come back any minute.”

  Before Skye could react, the door swung open and Flint James nearly plowed her down in his haste to exit the Airstream.

  He stopped abruptly, stared at Skye and Wally, then blurted, “Excuse me. I was . . . uh . . . just checking to see if Rex wanted to ride with me to tonight’s meeting.” He pushed past them and disappeared in the direction of the footbridge that led from the park to the motor court.

  Kallista moved out of the shadows, took in the situation, and fluttered her lashes at Wally. “Why, Sheriff, I almost didn’t recognize you out of uniform. I mean, in regular clothes.” She giggled. “Although I bet you’d look mighty fine out of them, too.”

  “It’s ‘Chief,’ ma’am.” Wally tipped an imaginary hat. “But thank you.”

  “What can I do for you, Chief?” Kallista moistened her glossy pink lips.

  “Well, I was hoping you’d have a few minutes to talk with me.”

  “I surely do, Chief.” Kallista wiggled past Skye, entwined her arm with Wally’s, and drew him inside. “Can I get you a beer?”

  “No, but don’t let me stop you.” Wally beckoned for Skye to join them.

  Skye obliged, noting that the door opened directly into the living room. She chose a straight chair that was nearly hidden behind a red-lacquered three-panel screen stenciled with black dragons.

  Kallista tugged Wally to a black leather sofa and playfully pushed him onto the cushions, joining him after fetching a Corona for herself. She continued to act as if Skye were invisible, petting Wally’s biceps with one hand and slugging back the beer with the other.

  Skye gritted her teeth, but remained quiet. While Kallista manhandled Wally, Skye glanced around the Airstream’s interior. It was much roomier than she had expected, and all the furniture looked expensive.

  Kallista gave a high-pitched laugh, and Skye focused back on the woman pawing her fiancé. The blonde was running her tongue along the neck of the beer bottle while caressing the bottom half.

  While Kallista flirted, Wally went over the same questions with her that he had with Flint. What were her activities on Monday afternoon and where had she been at the time of the murder?

  And like Flint’s, Kallista’s answers matched her previous ones. She had spent Monday afternoon in Joliet and was at the movies at the time of the murder.

  “Did you ever find that ticket stub we talked about?” Wally asked.

  “No.” Kallista shook her head. “I probably threw it away.”

  “If we show your picture, would the theater employees remember you?” Wally persisted. “Maybe the ones at the candy counter.”

  “Do I look like I eat candy?” Kallista ran her hands down her flat stomach. “I save my calories for this.” She held up the Corona.

  “Good choice.” Wally smiled, then said, “Pardon me for asking, but when we got here it sounded as if you were having some marriage trouble. Isn’t Mr. Taylor a good husband?”

  “He could be.” Kallista finished off her beer. “But he stinks at doing impressions.”

  “I see.” Wally laughed politely. “What was your relationship with Suzette like?”

  “She was my husband’s gofer. We didn’t have a relationship.” The blonde hiccupped. “She did what she was told and that was that.”

  “I understand she kept to herself, but was there anyone she was close to?”

  Kallista narrowed her unbelievably violet eyes. “You mean besides my husband?”

  “She and Mr. Taylor were friendly?” Wally encouraged the woman to continue. “In what way?”

  “She wanted him to make her a star and he wanted into her pants.”

  “Do you believe what Kallista said about Rex wanting to sleep with Suzette?” Skye asked the minute she and Wally were back in the car. “Or that Suzette might have had sex with him to get ahead?”

  “No one but Kallista has suggested anything like that regarding Suzette.” Wall
y put the T-bird in gear. “But I think Taylor’s the kind of guy who tries with every woman he meets.”

  “Really tries or just sort of tries?” Skye fastened her seat belt. “I mean, from what little I know about Rex, he does appear to be the type, and I did see him attempt to hug Suzette at the meeting in the mayor’s office last Sunday.”

  “He’s like the guys you see in a casino. They put a quarter in nearly every slot machine they walk past. If it hits, great, and if it doesn’t, they go on to the next one.”

  “You might be right, because he didn’t appear upset when Suzette shrugged off his arm.”

  “Exactly.” Wally made a U-turn and headed out of the park. “Each time I’ve seen Taylor, he’s coming on to one woman or another, but it seems more of a habit than a serious effort.”

  “How about Kallista and Flint? Their affair certainly complicates matters.” Skye paused, thinking. “What if Suzette found out about Flint and Kallista’s plans to run away together, and they killed her to stop her from telling Rex?”

  “Except for the lovers’ quarrel or rape scenario, that’s the best motive I’ve heard so far.” Wally tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “On the other hand, why would Flint have sex with her first?”

  “He’s a jerk?” Skye closed her eyes. “Or Flint was having an affair with both women.” Her lids popped open. “And Kallista discovered them in the act. In a rage, she killed Suzette—whom she considered her competition for both men in her life.”

  “I suppose that’s possible, but did she act alone or did James help her?”

  “My money’s on Kallista.” Skye wrinkled her nose. “Obviously she didn’t like Suzette.”

  “Judging from the way she treated you, I don’t think Kallista likes any other women.” Wally squeezed Skye’s hand. “And by the way, thank you for going along with that whole production.”

  “No problem.”

  “Because Kallista is just a screen saver, not the real deal like you.”

  “Screen saver?” Skye’s expression showed her confusion.

  “Yeah.” Wally winked. “She looks good, but she’s useless.”

  Skye smiled. “Anyway, I trust you and I appreciate you trusting me when I told you about having Simon take care of Toby.”

  “Speaking of Toby, since he’s not an issue, and you stopped and fed Bingo before we went to see Flint, how about spending the night at my place?”

  “Well . . . I think that’s a fine idea.” Skye stroked Wally’s thigh. “Especially since there was one thing missing from our picnic.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Dessert.”

  CHAPTER 19

  “I Can’t Stop Loving You”

  Friday afternoon Skye felt as if her good luck might be back. So far, there had been no emergency parent conferences and no inconvenient student absences. If the next hour went well, she would be able to leave work at quitting time and make her four thirty appointment with Father Burns with time to spare. And since the priest had said he didn’t mind if she brought a dog along to the meeting, she didn’t need to ask Simon to keep Toby for another night.

  Glancing at the clock, Skye saw she had fifteen minutes to grab a cup of coffee before she needed to fetch the boys for her group. She locked the file she’d been working on in the cabinet, gathered up the material she needed for the session, and headed for the staff room.

  The lounge was located in the back half of the basement, and Skye wound her way through a warren of construction paper rolls hung on huge cylinders, a massive cage containing balls of various sizes, and several racks of cleaning supplies. The scent of dust, sweat, and ammonia mingled in her sinuses, and she sneezed three times in rapid succession.

  From somewhere in the labyrinth a male voice yelled, “God bless you!”

  “Thank you, Cameron,” Skye shouted back. The young custodian was often heard but not seen.

  When Skye pushed open the door to the teachers’ lounge, she saw Yvonne Smith facing a bulletin board at the rear of the empty room. The plump middle-aged woman with a halo of brown and gray curls, half-glasses, and baby blue eyes was the epitome of everyone’s favorite teacher. The fact that she taught special education was a true bonus for children with special needs.

  “Hi, Yvonne,” Skye said cheerfully. “How are you this afternoon?”

  “Oh, my!” The teacher spun around, clutching her chest. “You startled me.”

  “Sorry.” Skye wrinkled her brow. What was up with Yvonne? She was usually one of the most unflappable teachers Skye dealt with. “Is anything wrong?”

  “No.” The older woman’s voice was sheepish. “I’ve just received a strange call.”

  “Really?” Skye walked over to the coffee machine, put down the equipment she was carrying, and poured the dark brew into a cup. “What happened?”

  “A parent was upset because her eight-year-old came home and told her he’d learned how to make babies in my class yesterday.”

  “Okay—I know you aren’t teaching sex ed, especially to third graders.” Skye opened two packs of Sweet’N Low and shook them along with some powdered creamer into her coffee. “So why would her son say that?”

  Yvonne shook her head. “Yesterday I taught a lesson on plurals, and told them that to make the word babies from baby you change the y to an i and add es. My question is, why didn’t the mom ask her son what he meant?”

  “Because that would have been too easy.” Skye stirred her coffee.

  “True,” Yvonne agreed, then added, “I’d better get going.” She strode toward the exit, pausing to say, “I’ll send my aide down with the boys for your group as soon as we finish our after-recess quiet time minutes.”

  “I’d appreciate that.” Skye snapped a lid on the cup and gathered up her supplies. “I’ll be waiting for them in the usual spot.”

  “You’re more than welcome.” Yvonne smiled. “I’m grateful that you’re seeing them. Those three are a handful. It will be nice to have a little uninterrupted time to devote to the others.” She waved and hurried away.

  Skye followed at a slightly slower pace. Not having to fetch the kids from the far end of the building gave her a few extra minutes.

  Emerging from the basement stairway, Skye balanced three game boxes, a bag of rewards, and her cup, then hiked down the main hall. Near the office she noticed a handmade poster that read:

  The fifth graders will be presenting

  Shakespeare’s Macbeth in the gym Friday at 7:30 p.m.

  The staff is encouraged to attend this tragedy.

  Wondering if whoever made the sign had actually read it before putting it up, Skye giggled to herself as she headed into the elementary school’s oldest section. The smell of mildew hit her full force as she turned into the corridor, making her eyes water.

  Previously this wing had been rented out to a church group, but they had found a better facility and moved. Three years later, the school board was still trying to figure out whether to bring it up to code for classroom use or to tear it down and start over.

  It was not the best location for a group session—stifling in the spring and fall and freezing in the winter. What’s more, it was isolated and dreary. However, the principal had assured Skye that this was the only space available, and since there was no way she could squeeze three lively eight-year-old boys into her tiny office, she had to make-do. Conditions were rarely ideal when one worked in public education.

  Here, at least, she was able to use a room that was the correct size. She had learned the hard way that when dealing with active children, a space that was too big was just as bad as one that was too small. When she had started the group, she had cleared out the pastor’s old office and brought in a low table and four chairs. The walls were bare and there were no windows. Another lesson she had quickly learned was that it was best to have an area without many visual stimulants.

  Skye set up the first game—one designed to encourage cooperation—then took a sip of her coffee as she waited
for her group to arrive. After a couple of swallows, she became aware of an unsettling silence. Usually schools were full of noise, but she was totally on her own here.

  The isolation made her think of Suzette’s mother—supposedly alone in the house, with a three-year-old as the sole witness to her accident. What had really happened to Mrs. Neal all those years ago? And what had happened to her daughter a few days ago? Skye hastily scribbled down thoughts as they occurred to her.

  1. Did Mrs. Neal’s death have anything to do with Suzette’s murder?

  2. Did Suzette’s brother have anything to do with either death?

  3. Why use a steamroller to kill Suzette?

  Before she could come up with more questions, her clients burst into the room. The teacher’s aide hurried after them, a harried expression on her face. She nodded at Skye, then turned on her heels and fled.

  The boys were definitely unusual. Clifford, the brightest of the three, handed Skye a white square of paper.

  She thanked him, unfolded it, and read: The opinions expressed by this child are not necessarily those of his parents. Fighting to keep a straight face, Skye stuffed the paper into her pocket.

  Glaring at Skye, Clifford sat down and slammed a thick hardcover Harry Potter into the middle of the game board. Playing pieces scattered everywhere.

  Skye silently looked at him until he dropped his gaze; then she checked on the other boys. Alvin, who was tall for his age and built like a mini-linebacker, immediately got down on all fours. He crawled after the tokens, making excited yipping noises.

  For an unprofessional moment, Skye wondered why Alvin insisted he was a dog named Spot instead of a singing chipmunk. At least the cartoon Alvin talked; her Alvin communicated only by barking.

  The third boy had his back pressed to the door and was waving a can of Lysol in the others’ direction, as if warding off mosquitoes. Duncan—or, as the kids called him, Mr. Clean—liked everything to be perfectly orderly and hygienic. So much so that he had insisted on having his head shaved so no hair would ever be out of place. Skye still couldn’t believe his mother had gone along with that.