Skye blew out a puff of air. This was worse than she’d thought. Bunny had been a Las Vegas showgirl for twenty years before moving back to Scumble River, and her taste in clothing reflected her past career. “Mom, I’m positive that Bunny was just thanking Dad. He would never look at another woman. And despite what you think of Bunny, she’s all flirt and no fu … uh … fulfillment.”
May brooded in silence for a while, then said, “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
“But what are you going to do?”
“Nothing, for the moment. I’ve got to think about it some.” May took a deep breath. “And I said I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
Skye knew that when her mother put up that emotional shield even a photon torpedo couldn’t break through it. She just hoped her parents could patch things up and she wouldn’t have to get involved.
Without warning, May demanded, “Why were you sitting in the car rather than inside working?”
For a split second Skye considered lying, but what would be the use? The whole story would be all over town by supper that night. “I was fired.”
“Why?” The expression on May’s face was hard to read.
Skye explained the day’s events, leaving out the part where she was whacked on the rear end with a sword and concluding with, “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything to Mrs. Griggs. Maybe I should have just closed my eyes to what Cookie was doing and minded my own business for once.”
“Right.” May’s lips twisted skeptically. “I can almost picture you doing mat. That would be the same day you got your nose pierced and a tattoo of a snake on your butt.” She shook her head. “Cookie Caldwell is a fool for trying to cheat someone like that in a small town.”
“I’m sure she thought no one would ever find out.”
“She was wrong.” May punctuated her statement by pulling down the visor and smoothing her hair away from her face. The short salt-and-pepper waves immediately sprang back. She scowled at her reflection. “Vince isn’t cutting my hair short enough again.” Vince was Skye’s older brother and the owner of Great Expectations Hair Salon.
Skye shook her head. “Never mind your hair, Mom.” It was hard to keep her mother’s attention on any one issue. “Do you know of any other job openings in the area?”
May paused in reapplying her lipstick. “Sure. I have just the thing for you. And you’d be doing the town and the family a favor.”
“No.” Skye felt a bubble of panic in her throat. “Tell me it’s not what I think it is.”
“I’m sure I can’t read your mind, Missy.” May’s false huffiness cinched Skye’s hunch.
“I can’t work for Uncle Dante. He doesn’t like me. He blames me for exposing his fiddling with the Leofanti trust.” A couple of years ago May’s older brother had had his hand slapped by the rest of the family when Skye discovered he’d been using some creative accounting to buy his personal vehicles and farm equipment.
“He’s in a real bind. Dante’d hire the devil himself, if he thought Satan could help him out of his predicament.”
Skye wished she didn’t, but she knew what her mother was talking about. “What happened to the last one?”
“Phyllis quit Friday.”
“Why? He didn’t make a pass at her, did he?”
“Of course not. He’s a married man,” May protested, then muttered under her breath, “Besides, she was older than I am.” May was fifty-nine.
“So’s Uncle Dante.”
May arched a brow at Skye, who shrugged. Everyone knew, although no one would say it out loud, that Dante liked ‘em young. He considered Skye at thirty-three to be over the hill.
Skye persisted. “So why did Phyllis quit?”
May suddenly found the aqua and white leather seat fascinating, staring at it as if she had never seen it before. “She said she wasn’t being paid enough to be yelled at and humiliated.”
“Uncle Dante lost his temper.”
May nodded.
“And threw a tantrum.”
May nodded again.
“Did he break anything?”
“His middle finger.” The corner of May’s mouth lifted, but she swiftly suppressed the smile.
“I won’t ask how he managed that.”
“Something to do with a file drawer and a statue of Napoleon.”
“Sounds creative,” Skye commented. “Let me get this straight. Uncle Dante’s big moneymaking scheme for the town, the Route 66 Yard Sale, is less than eight weeks away and the project coordinator has quit?”
“Yep.”
“So, he has no one to attend to the thousand and one problems that will pop up between now and opening day?”
“Yep.”
“How many coordinators has he run through?” Skye asked.
“Phyllis was the fifth one.”
Skye thought it over. It would be hell working for her uncle, and she wasn’t even sure she could do the job. The Route 66 Yard Sale was a much bigger undertaking than the Greek Olympics Fund-raiser she had organized for her sorority, Alpha Sigma Alpha, back in college, and that had nearly killed her.
“Dante’s already spent more than half of the money Gabriel Scumble gave us,” May explained. “The townspeople will lynch him if the Route 66 Yard Sale is a failure.” The previous fall Gabriel Scumble, the last living descendant of the town’s founder, Pierre Scumble, had given the community a check for one hundred thousand dollars in order to make up for his ancestor’s having cheated the people of Scumble River two hundred years ago.
“Is Uncle Charlie still against the yard sale?” Skye’s godfather, Charlie Patukas, owned the Up A Lazy River Motor Court, was president of the school board, and was one of the town’s most influential citizens. He had made it clear that he thought Dante, and Dante’s idea, were both idiotic.
“Yesterday Charlie said the only difference between a yard sale and a trash pickup is how close to the road you put your junk.”
Skye snickered. “So, I take it he hasn’t changed his mind?”
May’s expression was unhappy. “He doesn’t think it’s a wise use of the money. However, since the yard sale is going to happen, with or without his approval, he’s agreed to stay in the background and not do anything to ruin it. But he won’t help, either.”
Great. If Skye took the job, she’d end up in the middle of Charlie and Dante’s feud. “You know I have no experience or training to coordinate an event as huge as the yard sale.”
May ignored Skye’s statement. “Our family will never live down the humiliation if Dante blows the town’s money.”
“Are you even sure he’ll hire me?” Skye asked. “How about his son or daughter-in-law?”
“Oh, he’ll hire you, all right. Your aunt Minnie and I will see to that.” May opened the car door. “Hugo has said he’s busy with the used-car lot, and even Dante knows Victoria’s too much of a twit to handle the job.”
Skye nodded, agreeing with her mother’s assessment of her cousin’s wife.
“Besides, where else can you get a job that pays anything like this one?” May got out of the Bel Air and stood leaning into the open doorway. “Dante will give you ten thousand dollars for nine weeks’ work.”
Skye sucked in her breath. More than a thousand dollars a week! She could feel her resistance slipping.
“Plus he’s offered a bonus of five thousand if the yard sale is successful,” May coaxed.
Wow! With that kind of money, Skye would have enough for a down payment on the cottage. She knew she would be sorry, but greed won out and she nodded. “Okay. Tell Uncle Dante I’ll start tomorrow.” She paused, then asked meekly, “One other thing. Could you run in and get my purse from Cookie? I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to go back in there right now.”
Skye figured May was more than a match for the shop owner, even if Cookie was still armed.
CHAPTER 4
Beat the Clock
“No. I’m sorry. It’s impossible.” Skye cradled th
e receiver between her ear and shoulder while she frantically flipped through a pile of papers. “Look, there’s no room at the inn. I couldn’t find a vacancy for Mary and Joseph at this late date. Even the manger has been rented.”
She slammed the handset down, blew the hair from her eyes, and went back to searching for the entertainment folder. Who in their right mind thought they could call two days before an event and get a place to stay? The answer was simple—no one who was sane. They were all crazy.
Just as she found the elusive file, she heard a bellow, a thump, and a string of curses. Great. Uncle Dante was back from lunch. No doubt he had discovered the boxes of Charmin stacked in the middle of his office.
“Skye!”
She sighed and got up. Edging between the maze of cartons that took up all the floor space between her desk and the door, she made it to the hall just as Dante roared out her name again.
Seven and a half weeks had passed since she had reluctantly taken the job as the Route 66 Yard Sale coordinator, and she had regretted her decision every hour of every day.
Dante wasn’t a bad mayor, but he was a lousy boss. And who knew that a simple yard sale would result in so many details that had to be sorted out? Well, okay, it wasn’t a simple yard sale—it covered a hundred miles and would last nine days—but still, who would have thought Skye would need a master’s degree in public safety to make it all happen?
The list had been endless. They needed everything from liquid soap for the Port-A-Potties to wooden pallets that kept food items at least six inches off the ground. Not to mention the logistics of running water, trash collection, and traffic. It was almost as if Skye had been put in charge of establishing a miniature city within the town.
Now, two days before the sale started, she could almost see the light at the end of the tunnel; she just hoped it wasn’t a train about to run her over.
As she stepped into the mayor’s office, Skye said, “Yes, Uncle Dante?”
“Get these goddamned boxes out of here!” Dante was less than five-six, and he carried all of his considerable weight in the chest and stomach regions. With his thick gray hair slicked back, red nose, and black suit, he looked like a penguin, only not as cute.
“Where shall I put them?”
“How should I know? Move them to the storage closet or the garage or your office. I don’t give a flying fart. Just get them out of here.”
Skye shook her head. “The closet’s been full for the past two weeks, Wally has said if I put another thing in the police garage he’ll arrest me, and I already can’t move in my office.”
Dante narrowed his eyes. “Tell Wally that as chief of police he works for me and I said we are commandeering the garage until further notice.”
“Okay, but he won’t like it.”
“Who gives a shit what he likes? Just do it. Then have the custodian get these boxes out of here.”
“He’s in the hospital. Gallstones. Remember, you signed the card for the flowers I sent?”
Dante’s face turned maroon and he started to wave his arms around, shouting, “They’re all against me.” He took a step backward. “But once they see how successful the Route 66 Yard Sale is, they’ll be singing a different tune.”
He took another step backward and Skye watched in horrified fascination as his foot hit the bottom corner of the precariously stacked brown cartons.
Just as he yelled, “Then they’ll all realize how great I am,” the first box came tumbling down on his head, followed by the rest of the tower. The cartons burst open and the contents went flying.
Skye’s first instinct was to go to his assistance, but the crazed look in his eyes convinced her that self-preservation was more important than politeness. It was clear from the sheer volume of his voice and the energetic flapping of his arms that he wasn’t hurt.
Her last view of her uncle as she hurried away was of the mayor sitting in the middle of the floor covered with sheets of toilet paper. He looked like a tree that had been TP’ed on Halloween night. His cussing followed her down the hall, and she could still faintly hear him even after shutting her door. She had to admit he had a real talent for coming up with new and inventive swear words.
Giggling, she went back to work. Her amusement was cut short when she answered the next telephone call. It was Faith Easton, the star of Faith’s Finds, a popular TV show on the Heartland cable channel. In every episode Faith went to flea markets and garage sales to discover the hidden treasures buried amid the junk.
The Route 66 Yard Sale had drawn her attention like a hog to mud, and she had been calling Skye with outrageous requests ever since she decided to film a Faith’s Finds Special that would cover the entire nine-day event.
Today’s call was a repeat of the last thirty calls, and Skye forced herself to answer in an even tone. “No, Miss Easton, I’m afraid it still isn’t possible to let you have a ‘little peek’ before the public is allowed into the sale.” She listened to the honey-coated voice on the other end. “Yes, I understand it’s for TV, but it wouldn’t be fair to the others to let you have first crack at the goodies.” Skye put her feet up on the desk and counted the ceiling tiles as Faith droned on. “No, I still can’t get you more than one cabin at the Up A Lazy River Motor Court, either. The others are all reserved. No, I’m sorry, but no other motels have been built since we talked yesterday.” Skye resumed her perusal of the ceiling as the star ranted. Suddenly she straightened, nearly falling off her chair. “Could you repeat that, please?”
Faith’s self-satisfied voice with its slight British accent oozed from the receiver. “I said, if that’s the case, then I shall take the mayor up on his suggestion and lease your cottage from you. He told me I could have it all nine nights for five thousand. I’ll be arriving tomorrow afternoon. My assistant will call you for directions and to arrange a time for you to meet us there.”
Skye yelped, “Wait!” but Faith had already hung up. Skye slammed down the handset and marched into her uncle’s office.
He had extricated himself from the toilet paper, but the mess remained in the middle of the floor, looking a little like a deflated wedding cake.
As she entered, Dante glanced up, his expression sour. “Why haven’t these boxes been removed?”
“Why did you tell Faith Easton she could rent my cottage?”
“You need money to buy the place. I checked your lease and you have the right to sublet. Between what I’m paying you—provided you get the bonus—and the amount of rent Miss Easton is willing to shell out, you’ll have enough for the down payment and all the fees and points that go along with a mortgage.” Dante sat back in his chair and laced his fingers over his stomach. “You don’t have to thank me.”
Skye bit her lip. She hadn’t thought of the extra costs of getting a mortgage. Dante was right. She needed the money that renting the cottage would bring. “So, uh, I guess that means I’ll stay in the cabin at the motor court?”
Her uncle shook his head. “No, Miss Easton is keeping that, too. She said she needed it for her producer/director. She made a big deal about him not being able to stay in the cabin with her because they’re ‘secretly engaged.’ And since the Heartland Channel is a Christian-owned network, she can’t afford the suggestion of impropriety.” Dante scratched his head. “I guess the cameraman, writer, and Miss Easton’s assistant don’t count, since they’ll be sleeping on the floor in the living room.”
Skye let her uncle’s words wash over her. She didn’t really care about the sleeping arrangements for Faith Easton’s crew. Her main concern was where she would stay. As she had been pointing out for the past month, all the rooms in the area had been rented.
As if reading her thoughts, Dante said, “You can stay at your folks’ house. I already talked to your mother.”
Skye quickly considered the options. Staying at Simon’s was impossible, even though he’d be out of town. While he was gone, he was having all new copper pipes put in, so there’d be no running water. Her brother
Vince’s studio apartment was barely big enough for him and his drum set. That left her best friend, Trixie Frayne, but Trixie and her husband, Owen, were renting all their empty bedrooms to people coming for the yard sale.
She sagged against the door. She loved her parents, but her mom and dad hadn’t been getting along with each other this summer, and the prospect of living with them for nine days, listening to them bicker, made her want to slit her throat. Was five thousand dollars really worth it?
Skye jerked upright in bed and saw Bingo, her black cat, jump off the mattress and race out of the room. What’s that awful noise? She sank back down and pulled the covers over her head, trying to block out the high-pitched squeal. Why is someone using a dentist’s drill in my bedroom? Shit! It’s that stupid alarm clock from Simon.
He had bought it for her after she had slept through her old one once too often. He had proudly told her that it was guaranteed to wake up even the deepest sleeper. She hadn’t had the heart to tell him how much she hated it. Maybe it would have a terrible accident in the move from her cottage to her parents’ house.
Skye swatted the loathsome object until it shut up. The snooze alarm would allow her ten extra minutes of much-needed sleep, though now that she was awake, her mind had started to race like a gerbil on an exercise wheel.
Her head emerged from under her pillow and she groaned. She had been up until three in the morning frantically cleaning the cottage, doing laundry, and packing for her eviction. Slowly she eased out of bed.
Fumbling her way to the kitchen, she switched on the flame under the teapot, then emptied a can of Fancy Feast into Bingo’s bowl. As she sipped a cup of Earl Grey, she wrote a list of what she had to accomplish before moving in with her parents that afternoon. At the bottom of the paper she wrote: “Figure out how to buy Xanax without a prescription.” She would need strong drugs to make it through the next ten days.
After a quick shower, she threw on a pair of denim shorts and an orange University of Illinois T-shirt, then scraped her hair into a ponytail. There was no use bothering with makeup; the weather was supposed to be hot and windy, and she’d be outdoors most of the day checking on the various booths and tables along the five-mile stretch of Scumble River’s portion of the Route 66 Yard Sale.
Murder of a Smart Cookie: A Scumble River Mystery Page 3
