Murder of a Small-Town Honey
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
CHAPTER 1 - It’s Like We Never Said Goodbye
CHAPTER 2 - Don’t Rain on My Parade
CHAPTER 3 - Send in the Clowns
CHAPTER 4 - Call Me Up
CHAPTER 5 - The Sounds of Silence
CHAPTER 6 - Suspicious Minds
CHAPTER 7 - If You Could Read My Mind
CHAPTER 8 - You’ve Got a Friend
CHAPTER 9 - Maybe Baby
CHAPTER 10 - Money Makes the World Go ’Round
CHAPTER 11 - Somewhere in the Night
CHAPTER 12 - A Taste of Honey
CHAPTER 13 - All Shook Up
CHAPTER 14 - As Time Goes By
CHAPTER 15 - That’ll Be the Day
CHAPTER 16 - It’s Impossible
CHAPTER 17 - Lonely Street
CHAPTER 18 - Make Believe
CHAPTER 19 - It’s My Party
CHAPTER 20 - Monday, Monday
CHAPTER 21 - Luck Be a Lady
CHAPTER 22 - Jailhouse Rock
CHAPTER 23 - Time in a Bottle
CHAPTER 24 - Photographs and Memories
CHAPTER 25 - Bridge Over Troubled Water
CHAPTER 26 - On a Clear Day
Teaser chapter
Her hand was covered with blood. . . .
Suitcases and a garment bag were turned inside out, their linings slashed. A makeup case, its contents oozing into the green carpet, lay on its side, the hinges broken. Peeking out from under the bench were feet shod in pointy rolled-up-toe shoes. It looked as if the remains of the Wicked Witch from The Wizard of Oz were crumpled on the trailer floor.
Skye ran over and pushed the bench aside. “Mrs. Gumtree, are you all right?”
There was no answer or movement, but she still couldn’t see the whole person, as the head and torso were in the knee-well of the dressing table. She crouched down and reached into the recess, trying to find a pulse, and felt something sticky instead. When she withdrew her hand, it was covered with blood.
“In Murder of a Small-Town Honey, Denise Swanson has written a delightful mystery that bounces along with gently wry humor and jaunty twists and turns. School psychologist Skye Denison is the quintessential amateur sleuth: bright, curious, and more than a little nervy. She is an engaging, liberated everywoman who is sure to garner her rightful share of mystery fans.”
—Earlene Fowler, author of the Benni Harper mysteries
“School psychologist Skye Denison finds her old hometown brimming with anger, discontent, and murder, forcing her to nose into all kinds of danger to save her brother from a murder charge.”
—Carolyn Hart, author of the Death on Demand and Henrie O mysteries
SIGNET
Published by New American Library, a division of
Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.
Penguin Books Ltd, 27 Wrights Lane, London W8 5TZ, England
Penguin Books Australia Ltd, Ringwood, Victoria, Australia
Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 10 Alcorn Avenue, Toronto, Ontario,
Canada M4V 3B2
Penguin Books (N.Z.) Ltd, 182-190 Wairau Road, Auckland 10, New Zealand
Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: Harmondsworth, Middlesex, England
First published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library,
a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.
First Printing, July 2000
Copyright © Denise Swanson Stybr, 2000
All rights reserved
REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
BOOKS ARE AVAILABLE AT QUANTITY DISCOUNTS WHEN USED TO PROMOTE PRODUCTS OR SERVICES. FOR INFORMATION PLEASE WRITE TO PREMIUM MARKETING DIVISION, PENGUIN PUTNAM INC., 375 HUDSON STREET, NEW YORK, NEW YORK 10014.
eISBN : 978-1-101-10030-1
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To my parents, who always thought I could do anything;
and to my husband, Dave, who convinced me.
Scumble River is not a real town. The characters
and events portrayed in these pages are entirely
fictional, and any resemblance to living persons
is pure coincidence.
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank the following people: Joyce Flaherty for her unflagging belief in my talent; Ellen Edwards for editorial expertise and understanding; Lucille DeGulie for being the finest English teacher on the planet; Jan Fellers, Nancy Carleton, Alex Matthews, and Carol Houswald for their efforts as the best critique group in the world; Linda Baty for help with those pesky commas and dashes; Lynn Bradley, Kathy Person, Jane Isenberg, and Aileen Schu macher, fellow writers who shared the ups and downs; Monika and Joe Bradley, Robert and Nancy Chidel, Helen Valentinas, Donna Stefan, and Sandy Kral, friends who let me talk endlessly about my ideas and aspirations; Marie and Ernie Swanson, who although surprised to find the book had been written, were supportive; and, finally, my husband, Dave Stybr, who always said yes when I asked him to read just one more revision.
CHAPTER 1
It’s Like We Never Said Goodbye
When Skye Denison was forced to return to Scumble River, Illinois, she knew it would be humiliating, but she never dreamed it would be murder. It was embarrassing enough to have been fired from her first full-time position as a school psychologist, but then she’d had to beg for a job in a place she had described as a small town, full of small-minded people, with even smaller intellects. Skye only wished she hadn’t said it to the entire population of Scumble River via her high school valedictorian address. Granted, the speech took place twelve years ago, but she had a feeling people would remember.
Nonetheless, she was back, and nothing had changed. Skye had arrived in Scumble River last Sunday afternoon, barely in time for the start of school on Monday. Her plan had been to slip into town unnoticed and remain that way for as long as possible. But it was only Saturday, and she’d already been suckered into participating in one of the community’s most hokey events, the Chokeberry Days Festival.
Skye stood behind a huge table made from sawhorses and sheets of plywood. Spread across its surface was a red-and-white-checked cloth on which were lined up hundreds of bright pink bottles of chokeberry jelly. The clashing colors made Skye dizzy, and the idea of actually tasting the contents of all those jars made her nauseous. How had she ever let herself be talked into judging the chokeberry jelly contest?
Before she could make a bolt for freedom, a woman dressed in a magenta-colored polyester pantsuit descended on the booth. “Skye, it’s good to see you back home where you belong. Though I do remember you saying something when you left about Scumble River being too small for you.”
“Aunt Minnie, what can I say?” She could think of lots of things, but none that wouldn’t get her in trouble. Minnie was her mother’s middle sister, and she would be on the phone griping to Skye’s mom in a minute if she felt Skye had been rude.
“Did you hear about what happ
ened Thursday night at the high school band contest?” Minnie was also gossip central for their family. She was better at getting the news out than Dan Rather.
“No, what?” Skye asked warily. Her aunt reminded her of a Venus-flytrap, and Skye was always afraid she was about to become the bug.
“Well, I thought you would’ve been there, since you got that fancy job working for the schools.” Minnie smiled sweetly.
Swallowing the words she wanted to say—fancy job and Scumble River School District did not belong in the same sentence—Skye matched her aunt’s smile and said, “Gee, I didn’t know you all were impressed by my little job.”
After a few moments of silence, Minnie went on as if Skye hadn’t spoken. “The problems started when half the kids discovered their music had disappeared and the other half claimed their instruments were missing. Both were later found stashed in the shower stall next to the boys’ locker room, but by then it was too late to go on with the contest.”
Skye said, “Oh, my, I did hear some teachers talking about that yesterday in the teachers’ lounge. There was a fight too, right?”
“Right. The rival band members blamed each other for the missing items, and Scumble River’s tuba player ended up with a broken nose. A drummer from Clay Center took home two black eyes.”
“How awful. The poor kids had probably practiced for months for the competition.” Skye narrowed her eyes. “A prank like that is just plain mean. Do you know if they found out who did it?”
Minnie shook her head.
“I wonder if the band director kicked any kids out of the band recently.”
“Not that I heard of. But that’s not all that’s been happening,” Minnie said and fanned herself with her handkerchief. “Yesterday at the catfish dinner, someone replaced all the salt in the kitchen with sugar. Seventy pounds of catfish, potato salad, and baked beans were ruined. The Feedbag was sponsoring the supper, so they’re out a pretty penny.”
Skye frowned. The Feedbag was Scumble River’s only restaurant, other than the fast-food places along the road heading out of town. Like any small business, the Feedbag operated on a shoestring and couldn’t afford a big hit in the cash register. “Why would someone do that?” she asked.
Minnie’s face grew angelic. “Why, honey, you’re the one with the degree in psychology. I’m just one of those people with small intellects you told us about in your graduation speech.”
Skye felt her face turn the same color as her aunt’s suit, and decided the better part of valor lay in switching subjects—quickly. “Chokeberry Days has certainly changed a lot.”
“This year is different,” Minnie said quietly. “There’s a bad feeling in town. Half the people want the festival to grow bigger and bigger.”
Skye hazarded a guess. “The ones in town who stand to profit from the crowds, no doubt.”
“Yes. And on the other side are all the folks that just see it for a nuisance.”
“Who’s that?” Skye wrinkled her brow.
Minnie held up her hand and counted on her fingers. “The junior high principal, Lloyd Stark, is the prime instigator of the anti-festival campaign. He hates how it ruins the beginning of school. There are classes for three days, and then Chokeberry Days starts, and half the kids play hooky for the rest of the week.”
“I wondered why things were so quiet on Thursday and Friday.”
Bending down a second finger, Minnie continued. “The people who live along Basin Street also hate the festival. Their windows get broken, garbage gets thrown in their front yards, and the noise is awful. Mike Young is the head of that group.”
“Vince’s friend from high school?”
“Yes. At the time we worried when your brother stuck by him, but Mike seems to have straightened up quite a bit since his teenage years.”
“Oh, yeah. I remember now. He went to prison for a while for dealing drugs.”
“Seems okay now. He owns the local photography shop.”
“Nice to hear someone made good.” Skye closed her eyes briefly and visualized what her life had been like last year at this time. Living in New Orleans had been a dream come true. Everything was exotic and slightly forbidden. She loved nosing out the mysteries of the city. That is, until one of the secrets turned on her and caused her to be fired . . . and jilted. She shook her head. She had vowed not to think of her ex-fiancé and the pain he had caused her.
“Skye, sweetheart, come give me a kiss.”
Skye looked up from her reflections into the faded green eyes of her grandmother, Antonia Leofanti. “Grandma!”
The two women hugged fiercely. Skye noticed how frail her grandmother had become in the eight months since she had last seen her. Antonia’s pink scalp peeked through her white hair, and her head barely made it to Skye’s chest. It felt as if she was embracing a skeleton.
Antonia backed away first and looked confused for a moment. “Oh, Skye . . . ah, Minnie.” Her gaze cleared as she turned toward her daughter. “I almost forgot. They’ve got a problem at the Altar and Rosary Society’s craft tent. Someone switched all the price tags around. Iona Clapp’s handmade quilt is now marked twenty-five cents, and little Iris’s potholder is going for four hundred dollars.”
Minnie gave a shriek and took off at a trot.
Antonia spoke over her shoulder to Skye as she slowly followed Minnie. “Now that you’re back in town, you make sure you come visit me. It’s time I told someone the family history, and I think you’re the best one to hear it.”
Skye hurried toward the Port-A-Pots. One of the other judges had finally showed up to take over watching the jellies, and Skye was free for half an hour. When she arrived at the toilets she swore under her breath. The line snaked back past both the Lions’ lemonade stand and the Knights of Columbus fishpond grab bag game. As she took her place at the end, she heard a high saccharine voice attempting to tell a children’s story while a small child screamed in the background.
By standing with her back to the line, Skye was able to observe the performance currently unfolding on the festival’s center stage. A tiny old lady, dressed in a loose white dress over a red-and-white-striped long-sleeved turtleneck and matching tights, was trying to ignore two little boys who were fighting over a stuffed animal. After one particularly loud screech, the woman finally stopped her storytelling and crouched next to the unhappy children. Her dress was so long and she was so tiny, the only thing that showed in this position was the rolled-up tips of her pointy-toed shoes.
The old lady’s amplified voice could be heard throughout the food and games area. “Sweetie pies, could you do Mrs. Gumtree a big, big favor? If you stop fighting over that itty-bitty teddy bear, Mrs. Gumtree will get each of you one of her dolls when she finishes the story.”
The children were quiet for less than a heartbeat, then a reedy young voice piped up, “Boys don’t play with dolls.”
Skye watched as the two kids, now united against the enemy, an adult, stood and raced off the stage. It was hard to tell from such a distance, but it looked to Skye as if a fleeting expression of irritation crossed Mrs. Gumtree’s features before she turned back and pasted a smile on her face.
As Skye used the facilities, smelly as they were, she shook her head over the way Mrs. Gumtree had handled the children. If she ever ran into the woman, maybe she’d give her a few tips on behavior management.
She still had some time before she was due back to judge the chokeberry jellies, so she decided to walk to the pasture where Cow Chip Bingo was being held.
To play Cow Chip Bingo, a flat piece of ground was divided into square-yard plats that were sold for twenty dollars each. On the specified day, plat-holders were provided with a barbecue dinner, which they consumed picnic-style on their section of grass. One well-fed cow was allowed to wander the field. The winner was the holder of the plat in which the cow dropped its chips.
Skye heard screams and laughter as she approached the playing area. Hurrying forward, she saw people running in every
direction. She was just in time to watch a father, holding his daughter over his head, step in a cow pie and go down as if he were sliding into home base.
Skye asked a man leaning against the gate, “What’s going on here?”
He half turned to her, but kept an eye on the field. “Somebody must’ve slipped something into the cow’s feed. It’s dropping a load every few feet. They called for the vet.” The man tsked. “Worse part is, no winner can be declared, and all the money has to be refunded. This is really going to hurt the 4-H club.”
As he was talking, a middle-aged woman in a go-to-meeting dress and high-heeled pumps ran directly into a large pile of cow chips and went down. When she yelled, “Shit!” the crowd roared and agreed that was what she had stepped in.
Skye watched for a moment longer before turning back to her duties. With all the pranks being played, she didn’t want to leave the jellies unguarded.
The crowd inside the corrugated-metal building where all the domestic goods were to be judged was buzzing when Skye returned.
Her fellow jelly judge was bursting with news. “Did you hear what happened at the go-cart races?”
“No.” Skye felt her stomach tighten. She had always been afraid someone would kill themselves on the Go-Kart track. “What happened?”
“Someone poured water in all the gas tanks. All the karts are ruined.” The woman’s face was so red from the excitement, Skye was afraid she was going to have a stroke.
“How awful. I just came from Cow Chip Bingo and it was spoiled too.”
After Skye gave her the details, the woman excused herself. “It’s only quarter to. I’ll be back by three and we can get the judging going. I’ve got to find my sister and tell her the latest.”