Murder of a Small-Town Honey

by Denise Swanson

  “When the mines played out in the late sixties, most of the initial settlers were ready to retire. Their offspring, having served in World War II and the Korean conflict, had gained other skills and worked in the factories springing up in nearby towns. Thus the closing of the mines had little effect on the local economy.

  “Children of those coal miners built their fifties-style ranch houses both north and south of Scumble River’s core, surrounding it like the egg white.

  “On the extreme west there is still farmland, owned chiefly by the descendants of the first farmers, who arrived from Sweden at approximately the same time that Italians were pouring into the area. Most acreage is still being worked by the original families. But with fewer and fewer children and less interest in agriculture, this too is beginning to change.

  “Two groups of people live in an uneasy alliance along the river. A few years ago, people from the city discovered Scumble River and decided to build summer cottages or retirement homes along its south bank. While this ‘outside’ interest served to line the pockets of some citizens, it invaded the privacy of others. Here is the shell of the egg, and it’s starting to crack.

  “The original group of people who have always lived along the river are known as Red Raggers to the locals. No one seems sure how this term came into being, but it is definitely disparaging.”

  It had been more than twelve years since Skye heard that speech, but she remembered every word. She was thinking about the way the talk had ended as she slowly steered her Impala down Cattail Path, deep in Red Ragger territory.

  The man had said, “These are not folks who appreciate uninvited guests.”

  Skye squinted at the faded names on rusty mailboxes. When she saw a redheaded boy who looked vaguely familiar, she stopped the car and leaned out the window. “Hi. Do you know where the Dooziers live?”

  “Yep.” The boy continued bouncing his ball.

  “Great. Where?”

  “Said I knew, didn’t say I’d tell you.”

  She thought quickly. “It’s really important that I find them. I could offer a reward.”

  He stopped playing and moved closer to her car. “What kinda reward?”

  Her eyes swept the front seat. A foil-wrapped packet glittered in the sunlight. She had found it in her cereal that morning and stuck it in the car to bring to school to use as a prize. Skye held it up for his inspection. “How about a set of Bulls basketball cards?”

  “Depends who’s on them,” he hedged.

  Skye shrugged. “It’s an unopened package, so it’s kind of like the lottery. You take your chances. How about it?”

  The boy hesitated, then grabbed the cards from her hand, and pointed to the house in back of him. “Dooziers live there. Don’t tell Daddy I told ya.”

  It suddenly came to Skye. Junior Doozier. The boy who was throwing rocks at Vince’s sign, the same child she had negotiated with for a chair in the elementary school’s special ed room.

  Scumble River is way too small. What if his mother recognizes me from the beauty shop? She’ll never sign anything for me after the confrontation we had. Here I go again, getting myself into trouble by opening my big mouth.

  Skye pulled her car into the dirt driveway and scanned the lot. Weeds lined the cracked sidewalk and choked what little grass showed between the junked cars and old appliances littering the yard. The house had been white at one time, but now was an ashen shade from long years of neglect. It looked about as stable as a house of cards. A dog’s barking echoed in the motionless air, and flies buzzed over the evidence of his recent visit to the front lawn.

  She stuffed a clipboard with the consent form attached and a pen in her canvas tote bag before opening the car door. She had taken only a few steps when a heavily tattooed man sauntered out of the house’s side door. He was very thin, except for a small pot belly that hung over his boxer shorts, which were the only garment he wore.

  At least it’s not Mrs. Doozier, Skye comforted herself. “Hi, I’m from the junior high. My name’s Skye Denison.”

  “Funny name, Skye.”

  “It was my grandmother’s maiden name,” Skye explained, and then felt foolish for doing so.

  “What ya want?”

  Skye worded the next question carefully, well aware of the reputation of the people in this area—often fathers, brothers, and uncles were all the same people. “Are you Earl Doozier’s father?”

  “Maybe. What’s he done?”

  “He hasn’t done anything that I’m aware of, but it is time for his reevaluation.”

  “His what?”

  “Every three years we need to take a look at kids that receive special help and see if they still need it,” Skye explained.

  “Oh, you wanna see if he’s still dumb. Don’t waste your time. He is.”

  “I don’t think he’s dumb at all. In order to be classified as Learning Disabled you have to have at least average intelligence.” Skye felt she had to try to explain, even knowing it was futile. “The school just wants to see how he’s doing and if he still needs help. We just want to make sure he’s getting all the services he’s entitled to have.”

  “Okay. So, whadda ya want from me?” The man was busy investigating a substance he had extracted from his ear.

  “We need your written consent.”

  “I don’t like signin’ things. Last time I signed somethin’ I ended up owin’ money for magazines I couldn’t make head nor tails of.” He finally gave up his analysis of the ear-wax and wiped it on his already filthy shorts.

  Skye took the form from her purse and handed it to Mr. Doozier. “I promise this won’t cost you a thing. Just sign here and check these two boxes.”

  He took the form and the pen she offered and scrawled his name. “Is ’at all? I got chores to do.”

  “One more thing. Is there a telephone number you can be reached at?”

  “Don’t got no phone.”

  “What’s your mailing address, then?” Skye asked, desperately envisioning future trips to obtain consents.

  He shrugged. “Jus’ put Cattail Path. It’ll get ’ere.”

  It was almost noon when Skye pulled up to the police station. Before setting out for the Dooziers’, she had phoned her mother to ask what shift she was working that day. When Skye found out May was working seven-to-three, she decided to stop by as close to lunch as possible. By arriving then, she hoped the policeman on duty would be safely tucked away at McDonald’s or the local restaurant, and the P.D. would be clear of walk-in patrons.

  Pushing the door open, she was greeted with a refreshing blast of cool air. The temperature had been lingering in the high eighties with humidity to match.

  Wearing black walking shorts and a black-and-white-striped shirt, Skye had felt underdressed for a home visit. She had considered wearing something more businesslike, but the heat and the knowledge of the area’s standards had quickly changed her mind.

  When she’d glanced into the open garage on the way in, she’d seen that both cruisers were gone. The chief always drove one, and the officer of the day had the other. The waiting area was also empty.

  Skye pushed the buzzer, and after a few minutes May came hurrying out of the back room. “I was in the bathroom.”

  When the latch was released, Skye came around the counter. “What happens if the phone rings or you have radio traffic while you’re away?”

  “They call back. Or if it’s more than a few minutes, County picks up.”

  Sitting in the visitor’s chair, Skye took a yellow legal pad from her tote and looked around furtively. “Are we alone?”

  May nodded and settled behind the dispatcher’s desk. “Yes. Roy just went to lunch and Wally had some personal business.”

  “Good. Did you get the information I wanted?”

  May withdrew a copy of Better Homes and Gardens from her purse and put it on the counter. “Yes, the reports are between the pages of this magazine. There’s not much to them. The Adairs’ accident was nothin
g more than that, and you already know Mike was convicted of selling drugs.”

  “Yeah, I figured as much, but I like to be thorough. I’ll take a look myself when I get some time.” Skye reached for the publication.

  “Not so fast.” May whisked the periodical out of Skye’s grasp. “Tell me what you’ve found out so far.”

  “You don’t have to treat me like a child. You could just ask.” Skye’s tone was petulant.

  May folded her arms across her chest and stared at Skye.

  Skye gave in. “Fine. I wanted to get it all down on paper anyway.”

  “That’s a good idea, dear. I’ll take notes while you talk.”

  “No, I’d rather write it out myself.” Clinging to the legal pad, Skye grabbed a pen.

  “Whatever you say.” May got up and went into the next room. “I’m getting a Diet Pepsi. Do you want one?”

  She followed her mother and looked at the machine. “Yeah, I guess so. I prefer Diet Coke.”

  “Yes, dear, but we only have Pepsi products.” May smiled with false patience.

  They settled back into their chairs, and Skye picked up the pen again. “Okay, first there’s Abby. She has no alibi and is very jealous of Vince’s attentions.

  “Next, we have Darleen and Chief Boyd. I haven’t been able to find out where she was at the time of the murder, but he certainly had opportunity. I’m also not sure what the motive is for her, but she overreacted when I brought up Honey’s name, and it certainly seems funny that he’s not investigating anyone but Vince.”

  Leaning forward, May seemed as if she were going to say something, but Skye held up her hand. “Let me finish.”

  May sat back.

  “Okay, Lloyd definitely has something to hide. He was really ticked off that I called the police after his office was ransacked, and he threatened to have me fired when I asked about his past relationship with Honey.

  “It would have been awkward for me to ask him directly about his whereabouts, so I called his wife and pretended to be Barb, from the paper. As Barb, I told her the Star was planning on running a picture taken while the parade was being set up, and I was trying to identify the people in the photo. I said I thought one of them was Lloyd but couldn’t tell for sure. She told me Lloyd wasn’t feeling well that day and stayed home while she and the kids went to the parade.”

  May got up to throw away her empty soda can. “Is there anyone in town you don’t suspect?”

  “Vince. I know he’s innocent, and I’m going to prove it,” Skye answered seriously. Her voice softened as she continued, “I do wonder about Charlie. After all, he does inherit a lot of money, and Vince said that Charlie has been short of cash lately. Maybe you could find out where he was before I found the body.”

  May put her hands on her hips. “Come on. That’s going too far. Charlie would never do anything to hurt Vince or you.”

  “True, but he couldn’t have known Vince would be implicated.”

  “How about the fact that the shears had the name of the shop on them? That definitely makes it look like whoever did it was trying to point to Vince.”

  Skye paused. “Well, that could be the case, but it could also be that whoever plunged those scissors into Honey did it on the spur of the moment and didn’t know they were engraved. The question is how they were removed from Vince’s shop—and if the police lab found any fingerprints on them.”

  “No prints. They were wiped clean.” May began straightening papers and putting files away. “So, is there anyone else on your list?”

  “Mike Young. He was roaming around taking pictures for the paper that day, so he has no alibi. Maybe she knew something about his past—when they were in high school together.”

  “How was your date with him last night?” May looked at Skye with hope in her eyes.

  “Okay. He is nice-looking, but he’s pretty chauvinistic and he quotes the Bible all the time. Abby sure didn’t seem to like him.”

  “Are you going to see him again?”

  “I don’t think so. He asked me to attend the Tuesday night service at his church, but I’m going to pass. In fact, I think I’ll stop at his studio on my way home. I can thank him for taking me out and at the same time tell him I’m busy Tuesday. Also, I seem to have misplaced my sunglasses. Maybe he remembers where I left them.” Skye stood up and started walking toward the door.

  May asked plaintively, “Am I ever going to hear wedding bells?”

  “Only if you start to have auditory hallucinations,” Skye shot back.

  At that moment the chime over the front door jingled. Skye and May looked at each other and burst out laughing.

  Chief Boyd rounded the counter and stopped dead. “What’s going on with you two?”

  Glancing guiltily at Skye, May couldn’t meet his eyes. “Nothing. We were just, ah . . . ah.”

  Skye interrupted, “I just stopped in to say hi. I’ve got to be going now.”

  She was nearly through the gate when May rushed over. “You forgot this.” She was waving the magazine with the reports still hidden inside.

  “Oh, right. Thanks, Mom. I’ll get it back to you as soon as possible.” Skye showed the cover to Chief Boyd. “I’m trying to get some decorating ideas for the new place. You know, rugs, drapes, flowers . . . that sort of thing. ’Bye, Mom. I’ll call you later at home. ’Bye, Chief.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Make Believe

  Skye sat in her car for a few minutes, trying to slow her heartbeat and catch her breath. Clearly she was not cut out for a life of crime.

  Driving carefully to Mike’s studio, she was half afraid Chief Boyd would tail her. After parking, she combed her hair, powdered her nose, and put on lipstick before approaching the door. Just because she didn’t want to go out with the guy didn’t mean that she didn’t want him to want to go out with her.

  There was no one in the waiting room, so she tapped on the closed connecting door.

  Mike’s voice yelled, “I’m in the darkroom. Have a seat. I’ll be out in a couple of minutes.”

  She yelled back. “It’s only me, Skye Denison. Don’t rush.”

  For a moment Skye wondered if she smelled smoke but decided she was just overwrought. As she sat on the sofa and leaned toward the table of magazines, she noticed an ashtray with the Red Lobster logo. She turned to the end tables and spotted two other ashtrays, also with restaurant names on them.

  Gee, I wonder which Bible verse says it’s okay to steal?

  It was only two o’clock, and Skye had already tried watching TV and reading. Nothing seemed to hold her interest. Finally she gave in and decided to go visit Charlie. She still had a lot of unanswered questions.

  When she pulled into the motor court’s parking lot, the first thing she saw was a white Lexus with gold trim, the same one she had encountered at the grocery store. She considered turning around and going home, but curiosity won out and she climbed the steps.

  Charlie had cleaned up after Wednesday’s vandalism. The carpeting had been tacked back down, the furniture righted, and the books replaced on their shelves. The only evidence of that night’s destruction was the squares of lighter-colored paint on the walls where pictures had hung.

  Simon and Charlie were sitting on the sofa, paging through what at first looked like a book of wallpaper samples. When Charlie saw Skye at the screen door, he motioned her inside. Not knowing what to expect, she reluctantly pushed the door open and headed for a chair.

  “Come sit over here, sweetheart. I need you to help me pick things out for Honey’s funeral.”

  Reluctantly, Skye went to the couch and sat in the only space available, next to Simon. “What’s going on, Uncle Charlie?”

  “When Simon called this afternoon to let me know they were finished with the autopsy and were going to release Honey’s body tomorrow, I asked if his funeral parlor could handle the arrangements. He said yes and offered to bring me these books tonight so I wouldn’t have to find a ride over to him. Wasn’t that obligin
g?”

  “Very,” said Skye, thinking to herself, So, Mr. Simon Reid, you’ve heard about Charlie’s inheritance. She looked at Simon and said aloud, “How kind of you, but Charlie knows my parents or I would be glad to drive him anywhere he wants to go.”

  Simon sat back, looking totally at ease. “Oh, it’s nothing. I often go to people’s houses to make the arrangements. It’s so hard for older people to get around. That’s why I got these books made up. It makes the whole process somewhat easier.”

  “I’ve got the cemetery plot already,” Charlie said. “I bought it when her folks died. There’s plenty of room for Honey, and me too when it’s my time.” He pointed to a picture of a casket on the open page in Simon’s lap. “I thought this white one would be nice, with pink satin lining. Do you think it’s okay?”

  Skye noticed that it was one of the most expensive on the page. “Did Simon suggest that one?”

  Simon shot her a look before answering smoothly, “I try not to influence people’s selections. It’s such a personal matter.”

  She wondered if he was intimating that she had no business helping Charlie choose. “It’s kind of expensive. I’m sure Mr. Reid could show you something a little simpler.”

  Before Simon could speak Charlie said, “I didn’t like the cheap ones he showed me first. After all, she was a TV star. We don’t want the Chicago people who come to her funeral to think we’re hicks.”

  Skye noticed that Charlie’s eyes were tearing up. “That one would be perfect.”

  Simon put the catalog he was holding on the coffee table and took another from the briefcase at his feet. Skye noticed that the attaché was made of expensive Italian leather.

  He opened the new volume. “Now for the headstone.”

  Skye and Charlie looked closely as he turned the pages. Coming to the last page, Simon gazed at them expectantly.

  “Skye, which did you like?” Charlie asked.

  “Well, Simon is right. It’s a very personal decision,” hedged Skye.