Murder of a Creped Suzette

by Denise Swanson

  Skye noticed Wally’s expression soften, so she quickly said, “Her boyfriend mentioned she’s been using cocaine, marijuana, and some form of pills.”

  “You bitch!” Darleen screamed, tears running down her cheeks. “You’ve got my husband—isn’t that enough? His father’s a fricking millionaire. All I want is what’s rightfully mine. What I would have gotten if I hadn’t been so damn naive and signed that prenup.”

  “Your ex-husband,” Skye reminded her. “I’m not trying to take anything from you, but we can’t give you money to buy drugs.”

  “On the other hand,” Wally said, “if you write a letter telling what really happened in our marriage, not the false account you tried to use to blackmail me, I will pay for you to go to rehab and I won’t charge you as an accomplice.”

  “Rehab is for quitters.”

  “Darleen.” Wally’s voice had a steel edge.

  “You win,” Darleen bleated, laying her head down on the floor. “You always win.”

  After Darleen and her boyfriend were picked up by Sergeant Quirk and taken to the Scumble River jail, Skye rescued Toby, who was indeed waiting on the back step. Then she and Wally took their food to the sunroom and ate their long-delayed supper. Toby was sitting at Skye’s feet and Bingo at Wally’s. Both animals were on red alert, watching for any scraps that might fall.

  “How did you know I was in trouble?” Skye asked. “Was it the strange car in my driveway?”

  “There’s no vehicle out there.” Wally shook his head. “They must have hiked in. My officers found a stolen SUV parked a few feet down the road.” He smiled at her. “It was the open door that tipped me off. You’re a creature of habit and you always keep it shut.”

  “Oh.” Skye pursed her lips. She was happy Wally had rescued her, but she hated being so predictable. Tomorrow she would definitely come up with a plan to be spontaneous. “Is it really a felony to assault a police employee?”

  “A police officer, yes, but your position is unique, so I’m not sure.” Wally shrugged. “Anyway, I have no problem lying to the bad guys if it means putting them behind bars or saving you from harm.”

  “Thank you.” Skye smiled. “I’d do the same for you, even though I’m not a great liar.”

  “I know. You’re better at avoiding the truth.” Wally took the last bite of his sandwich, swallowed, then asked, “Does drug rehab really work?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “What do you think Darleen’s chances are?” Furrows appeared in Wally’s forehead.

  “Not great.” Skye slumped back in her seat. “But it’s probably her only hope.”

  “Yeah. I guess I owe her that much.” Wally put his arm around Skye. “Even if she was the one to leave me for another man, in reality I was never a good husband because I couldn’t fully love her. My heart always belonged to you and I think she sensed that.”

  “You really are a special kind of guy—to not only admit you might have been at fault, but to recognize it in the first place. That’s why I love you so much.” Although Skye felt a warm glow at Wally’s words, she felt more sympathy for Darleen than she ever had before. Knowing you were second best had to be a horrible way to live your married life. “But why me?”

  “Darlin’”—Wally tilted her chin up—“that’s hard to put into words.”

  “I know you’re the silent cowboy type,” Skye teased him, “but try.”

  “Okay.” Wally grinned. “You remind me of a good wine. Full bodied with just the right amount of nuttiness.”

  “Very funny.” Skye whacked his biceps, then sobered. “You know, until tonight, it never dawned on me that as the fiancée or wife of a potentially wealthy man, I could be a target.” Shuddering, she nestled closer. “If I’m ever kidnapped, I don’t want you to pay the ransom.”

  “I appreciate that.” Wally stroked her hair. “And even though the odds aren’t in favor of a kidnap victim, I would still have to try. You are my whole world and I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t do everything in my power to save you.”

  “Aww. You are the sweetest man.”

  Some moments later, Skye was almost asleep when she remembered what she had found out. “I have some info about Suzette’s father. He was having an affair.” Skye explained what she’d learned from Jenny Vanda, finishing with, “So, do you think the mystery woman killed Paulette?”

  “Anything is possible.”

  Skye nodded. “I just remembered. Hank Vanda mentioned a drug house in his neighborhood.”

  “I’ll put Quirk on that in the morning.” Wally grabbed the bottle of Sam Adams from the coffee table. “Too bad Mrs. Vanda didn’t know the name of Neal’s lover.” He took a slug of beer, then mused, “I wonder how many sophisticated-looking blondes driving Cadillacs were around here back in 1978.”

  “At least one.”

  CHAPTER 22

  “When I Call Your Name”

  The next day, Wally left right after breakfast. He usually had the weekends off, but this Saturday morning Darleen and her boyfriend were being transported from the Scumble River jail to the county facility, which meant Wally had to meet with the Stanley County state’s attorney to discuss the two desperadoes’ crimes.

  Once Wally was gone, Skye started in on the housecleaning. While she worked, she pondered the identity of Quentin Neal’s lover. Where would he have met her? Most places he’d go, he’d be accompanied by his wife and children, and the woman Jenny Vanda had described didn’t sound like someone who would hang out at the local gin joints.

  So where else would Quentin and his girlfriend have had the opportunity to meet and form an intimate relationship?

  Skye was putting away the vacuum cleaner when it struck her. The most obvious places were school and the church choir. Could his lover be Noreen Iverson? No. The music teacher was neither blond nor sophisticated.

  Furthermore, Skye seriously doubted an affair conducted at the high school could have been hidden from Pru Cormorant. That woman was better at sniffing out scandal than Bingo was at inhaling cat treats.

  That left the church choir, which had practiced every Wednesday night for as long as Skye could remember. And since Paulette didn’t participate, it was the perfect place for Quentin to make a love connection.

  Skye finished the housework by ten thirty, and after showering and dressing in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, she settled in to make some calls. Several of her aunts and cousins currently sang in the choir, so she just had to find a relative who had been a member twenty-seven years ago and remembered an elegant blonde who drove a Caddy. Easy peasy, right?

  Although Aunt Minnie hadn’t been able to think of any sophisticated fair-haired women in the choir around 1978, she had promised to keep trying. Skye had just said good-bye to her aunt when the phone rang again, and hoping Minnie had thought of a name, she scooped up the receiver without checking the caller ID.

  “Skye,” Simon’s voice surprised her. “I may have figured out why Suzette looked familiar. Who she reminded me of.”

  “Great.” Skye reached for her pen and a legal pad. “Who is it?”

  “I’d rather not say until I’m certain.” Simon’s tone was cautious.

  “So why did you call me?” Skye tried not to sound impatient.

  “I want to see if you agree that this person resembles Suzette.”

  “Then I need to know who we’re talking about.” What was up? Simon wasn’t usually this unsure of himself.

  Simon paused for a couple of seconds, then said, “Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll pick you up and we’ll go over to the Brown Bag. You look at everyone there and tell me if any of them reminds you of Suzette.”

  “You want me to go to a bar with you? At noon on a Saturday? Here in Scumble River?” Skye’s voice grew more incredulous with each question. This excursion sounded suspiciously like a date, albeit not a typical one for Simon to plan, but still a date. Wally would have a fit if word got back to him. “I can’t do that. Just tell me who you think
it is.”

  “No,” Simon argued. “I’m sure this person will be there. And I want to see if you can pick him or her out.”

  “I don’t have anyone to watch Toby.” Which was true, but also a good excuse.

  “It’s a nice day. We can leave him in the car. We’ll roll down the window a little, make sure he has water, and give him a rawhide chew.” Simon’s voice was firm. “He’ll be okay for the ten or so minutes we’ll be inside the bar.”

  Skye felt backed into a corner. Simon was right—the weather had warmed up since yesterday, and a high of seventy was predicted. Toby would be fine. Not to mention that Simon was incredibly stubborn and would never give her a name unless he was sure of what he was saying.

  “Okay.” Skye hoped that as long as she told Wally beforehand, it would be all right.

  “Good. I’ll be over in ten minutes.”

  As soon as Simon disconnected, Skye punched in the number of Wally’s cell. When she got his voice mail, she hesitated, wondering if she should try his house or his private line at the police station, then realized that leaving a message was the perfect solution. She could inform Wally of what she was about to do, thus not keeping secrets from him, but he couldn’t tell her not to accompany Simon. Skye told herself that getting a lead on Suzette’s killer was too important to allow petty jealousy to get in her way.

  After all, Wally had no reason to be upset. She was just doing her job.

  When Skye and Simon arrived at the Brown Bag, half a dozen guys were lined up on barstools watching a football game. The enormous wall-mounted flat-screen TV showed every grain of dirt and drop of sweat in full high-definition detail, and the men at the bar cheered when blood shot out of a tight end’s nose.

  The tavern’s only other occupants were a group of women wearing elaborate hats. They were seated across the room around two tables that had been pushed together. Half-empty pitchers of margaritas and strawberry daiquiris were within easy reach, and the ladies were sipping from brimming glasses.

  The guys’ attention was glued to the screen, but the women began whispering the moment Skye and Simon entered. Skye knew most of the ladies, and almost all of them were friends of her mother and aunts. Yikes! If she didn’t do something fast, they’d be on the phone to May before their next drink was poured.

  After telling Simon to go ahead and sit down, Skye stopped at the women’s table and said, “Good afternoon, ladies.” She needed to do damage control right now, before the gossip grapevine was harvested. “Are you having a meeting?”

  “Why, yes,” answered Hilda Quinn, wearing what looked like a birdcage on the top of her head. “The Mad Hatters come here once a month.”

  “Right.” Skye tilted her head. “I remember Aunt Minnie mentioning your club.”

  “I’m trying to get her and your mom to join, but both of them say they’re too busy.” Hilda tsked. “The women in your family seem to be always working. Is that true of you, too, dear?” She darted a glance at Simon, who had taken a seat at the far end of the bar.

  “Actually, it is.” Skye met the eyes of each club member sitting around the table, making sure they understood her message. “Simon and I are here on official police business, and I’d really appreciate it if you kept that info under your wonderful chapeaus.”

  “Of course, dear.” Hilda pantomimed zipping her lips and the others followed suit. “We won’t tell a soul.”

  “Thank you.” Skye didn’t believe any of them for a minute, but she hoped she had at least postponed the rumorfest until she could present Wally with a solid lead on Suzette’s murder. “Have fun, ladies.”

  When Skye joined Simon, he slanted an unreadable look at her, and asked, “Everything okay?”

  “Peachy.”

  He ignored Skye’s sarcasm and asked, “So, do you see anyone who reminds you of Suzette?”

  Skye scanned the bar’s occupants, then shook her head. “Nope.”

  “Take a look at this.” He took the photo of Suzette from his pocket and placed it on the bar. “Does this help?” He had kept the picture as Skye had left it, with the paper frame blocking all but the facial features.

  Skye was studying the image when Jess Larson, the owner of the Brown Bag, walked over and said, “Can I get you two something to drink?”

  “Diet Coke, slice of lime,” Skye ordered, barely looking up.

  There was a moment of dead silence; then Jess tapped the altered photo and asked in a puzzled tone, “Why do you have my picture? And how did you get that makeup on my face?”

  Skye lifted her head and stared at him. Now she understood. The resemblance between Jess and the dead singer was uncanny. After assuring the bar owner that he would get an explanation, Skye dragged Simon outside. She immediately called Wally and sketched out the situation.

  Wally’s cruiser pulled into the parking lot less than two minutes later. He dismissed Simon, who had agreed to keep Toby until Skye was free, told Skye to wait in the squad car, and went inside.

  A quarter of an hour later, Wally and Skye sat across from Jess Larson in the PD’s interrogation-coffee room.

  “Thanks for coming down here.” Wally smiled easily at Jess. “As I said back at the Brown Bag, we have a few questions that we hope you can help us answer.”

  “I’m always glad to cooperate with the police, and since Abe was available to take over behind the bar for me, it’s no problem.” Jess leaned back in his chair. “But I can’t imagine what I can help you with.”

  Skye glanced at Wally, and when he gave her a slight nod, she said, “Jess, I believe when I first met you, you told me you were from Los Angeles. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you said your father was in the military and you moved around a lot.”

  “That’s right.” Jess gave Skye a crooked grin. “Why are you and the chief suddenly so interested in my background?”

  “I promise we’ll explain,” Skye reassured him. “Just a couple more questions. I also recall that you said you bought the Brown Bag from its previous owner, Fayanne Emerick, and that Fayanne was your cousin.”

  “Yep. Cousin Fayanne’s letters made Scumble River seem like a cross between Mayberry R.F.D. and Leave It to Beaver. It sounded like the kind of place I had been trying to find for a long time. And then when I came to check out the business, I almost felt like I had lived here in some other life.”

  Wally and Skye exchanged looks, and he said, “Well, see, that’s the thing. We think it’s possible you did live here before, back when you were three years old, but that doesn’t jibe with your story of growing up.”

  “Oh?” Jess wrinkled his brow. “Would it help to know that I was adopted shortly before I turned four?”

  “That would certainly make things a little clearer,” Skye said, half to herself. “And your adoptive parents were named Larson?”

  “Yes.” Jess’s voice was low and sad. “I never knew my real last name.”

  “Do you remember a sister?” Suzette had told Skye that she had been raised by an elderly aunt in California. Had the twins been separated?

  “I used to pretend I had a sister called Suzie.” Jess scratched his head. “But the couple who adopted me didn’t have any other children.”

  “Were you told why you were put up for adoption?” Skye asked gently.

  “My parents were killed in an accident. My biological father had been in the same army unit as my adoptive father.” Jess leaned forward, his eyes fierce. “Are you saying that’s not true?”

  Skye started to answer, but Wally beat her to it. “We don’t know. We suspect that may not have been entirely factual.”

  “Because of that photo of me with the makeup on?” Jess guessed.

  “Yes.” Wally spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. “Did you ever meet Suzette Neal, the singer from the Country Roads theater?”

  “No.” Jess shook his head. “I didn’t go to the concert because I couldn’t get anyone to tend bar that night. I thought about cl
osing since they were serving free booze, but I knew a few of my regulars would show up, so I didn’t.”

  Skye murmured to Wally, “Her picture wasn’t on the flyer and Jess wasn’t at the Sunday morning meeting at the mayor’s office.”

  Wally took a head shot out of the folder he had in front of him and passed it to Jess. “This is Suzette.”

  “Suzie!” Jess stared at the image, his face ashen. “I kept telling my adoptive parents that I dreamed of having a sister named Suzie, but they told me I was an only child.”

  “If Suzette was indeed your sister, you were twins,” Skye explained. “She was raised by an elderly aunt after her mother died in an accident and her father joined the military.” Skye mused, “I’m presuming she was told she was an only child as well.”

  “But why would my adoptive parents lie to me and Suzette’s aunt lie to her?” Jess was so upset he was nearly crying.

  “They probably thought a clean break would be easier for everyone concerned,” Skye soothed. “My guess is the aunt could handle only one child, and you were too energetic for her, so you were the one put up for adoption.”

  “I was nearly kicked out of kindergarten for my behavior.” Jess gave a ragged laugh. “That’s when my mom decided to call me Jess instead of Jesse. The psychologist suggested I might be trying to live up to the Jesse James image.”

  Ah, Skye thought to herself. That’s what Pru was trying to remember. Jesse James was an outlaw—or hellion, as Pru had so quaintly put it. Aloud, Skye asked, “When’s your birthday?”

  “September first, 1974.”

  “That means that even if we eventually searched the birth records in all fifty states, we would have never found your birth certificate.” Wally tapped his chin with his index finger. “Suzette’s DOB was August thirty-first, 1974. You must have been born shortly after midnight.”

  “That’s right—at twelve oh two a.m. So I did have a sister.” Jess’s tone was bitter. “All those years that we could have known each other were stolen from us, and now it’s too late.”