“Mrs. Taylor used to sing, but something happened to her vocal cords.” Suzette knelt on the newly tiled floor and called, “Here, kitty, kitty.”
Bingo, Skye’s black cat, sat next to his empty dish and stared. Clearly he wasn’t budging until he’d been fed. When Skye didn’t immediately pop open a can of Fancy Feast, he nudged the bowl in her direction.
“Eat your dry food.” Skye shook her finger at the feline. “You know the vet said only one container of the mushy stuff per day.”
“Mew.”
Skye ignored Bingo’s attempt to sound like he was starving and asked Suzette, “Can I get you something to drink? How about some of my mom’s famous chocolate chip cookies?” The twenty-pound cat was in no danger of fainting from hunger or expiring from malnourishment, but the tiny singer looked like she might be.
“Coffee would be great.” Suzette perched on a kitchen chair, her feet not quite reaching the floor. “I can’t have anything to eat, though. I wish I could, but I can’t afford to gain a pound or my costumes won’t fit and Rex will call me a fat cow.”
Skye bit her tongue. A cow? Except for her boobs, which had to have been surgically enhanced, Suzette was the size of a ten-year-old.
“I imagine you and Mr. James will be leaving Scumble River tomorrow.” Skye pasted on her best hostess smile. “Where’s your next engagement?”
“Nowhere for a while.” Suzette gaze flicked around the kitchen, resting briefly on the granite counters, then the stainless-steel fridge, and finally the cherry cupboards. “This is real nice.”
“Thank you.” Skye smiled proudly. “I just had it remodeled. They only finished last month,” she explained, then tried to focus on the matter at hand—whatever that was. “You don’t have another gig lined up?”
“No.” Suzette cleared her throat. “Actually, this was my first big concert and I almost missed it.” Her shoulders drooped. “I didn’t get to wear my costume or curl my hair or anything.”
“But you sang really well,” Skye assured her.
“Well, my aunt always said that when you stumble, you should make it part of the dance.” Suzette shrugged. “And Rex is grooming me to be his next breakout star, even if right now I make my living as his administrative assistant.” Her expression brightened. “Rex promised that as soon as the Country Roads Theater opens, I’ll be singing full-time.”
“That sounds wonderful.” Skye turned toward the coffee machine and filled it with water, then measured out the grounds. She was dying to find out why Suzette was there, but she knew from her experience as a school psychologist that it was best to let people tell their stories at their own pace.
“Anyway, we’ll all be in the area for the next week.” Suzette’s tone was cheerful. “Rex is meeting with prominent Scumble Riverites, overseeing the beginning of the theater remodel project, and interviewing people for various jobs.”
“And of course Mrs. Taylor will be here. I can’t imagine her leaving her husband alone,” Skye muttered half to herself as she took mugs off the shelf. “But surely Mr. James has another concert scheduled.”
“Flint is staying a couple of days to do meet and greets.” At Skye’s puzzlement, Suzette clarified. “You know, be charming and butter up sponsors and investors and so on. He’s really good at that. Everyone always likes him.”
“Right.” Skye was surprised at how sweet and down-to-earth Suzette was; except for the boob job, she was not at all what Skye would have expected after overhearing Flint and Kallista’s unflattering comments about the young woman.
“So,” Suzette said as Skye turned her back to reach into a drawer for spoons, “I guess you’re wondering what I’m doing here.”
“Yep.” Skye moved toward the table but kept her gaze on the tray she was carrying. The singer seemed to be able to talk more freely when she didn’t have to maintain eye contact. “I am.”
“Someone told me you’re good at solving mysteries.” Suzette studied her chewed fingernails. “That you figure things out when the cops get stuck.”
“I’ve helped out the police a few times,” Skye answered carefully.
“I heard you’re the small-town Nancy Drew.” Suzette tilted her head. “I didn’t know who she was, but I Googled her after the concert and Wikipedia said she was a girl detective in some old-timey books.”
Skye mentally tsked. How could someone not have heard of one of the best girl series ever written? Suzette had probably never read Trixie Belden mysteries or Cherry Ames novels, either. Granted they weren’t modern, but then neither was Shakespeare.
“Who told you I was the small-town Nancy Drew?” Skye hoped the Star hadn’t run another story about her. The local newspaper tended to exaggerate her part in solving crimes. She’d been relieved that her name hadn’t been mentioned in connection with Scumble River’s past few murder investigations, especially the last one. As far as she knew, there hadn’t been any articles lately; someone, aka her mother, would definitely have mentioned them.
“He . . . she . . . the person asked me not to say.” Suzette took a sip from the cup Skye had placed in front of her.
Skye waited for the singer to continue, and when she didn’t, asked, “So what do you need a detective for?”
“Before we get to that, I need for you to promise you won’t tell anyone anything I say.” Suzette stared imploringly at Skye.
“I’ll keep the information confidential.” Skye sat opposite the young woman. “Except from my fiancé, who’s the chief of police and very discreet.” Once Suzette nodded, Skye added, “And if there comes a time when I think that not revealing the information will cause someone physical harm. Then I’ll have no choice but to break confidentiality, because I won’t let someone get hurt.”
“I guess I can live with that.” Suzette bit her thumbnail. “I need for you to help me look into the circumstances surrounding a death that occurred in Scumble River twenty-seven years ago.”
“Why are you interested in something that happened before you were born?”
“Well, that’s one of the most crucial secrets.” Suzette licked her lips. “I’m actually not twenty-two. I’m nearly thirty.” She took a breath. “Which is why I had to slip away this afternoon. There was someone I needed to talk to about this death, but I can’t let Rex know I’m interested or he’ll figure out how old I am.”
“Oh.” Skye didn’t have to ask why the singer was lying about her age. Youth was an important currency in the entertainment business. “Still, what connection to the deceased do you have?”
“The woman was my mother.”
“I’m so sorry.” Skye patted Suzette’s hand. The sadness in the singer’s voice brought a lump to Skye’s throat. “How did she die?”
“The official report says she slipped in the bathtub and hit her head.”
“But you don’t believe that.” Skye studied the young woman. She was deeply touched by Suzette’s air of vulnerability.
“No, I don’t.” Suzette’s puppylike brown eyes hardened. “I was there when it happened, playing in my bedroom. And I have this vague memory of a lot of screaming and then a door slamming.”
“I take it no one believed you?” Skye could just picture the adults discounting a three-year-old’s account of events.
“My dad always said I was too young to remember anything.”
“Does he still feel that way?” Skye wondered if perhaps Suzette’s dad had been the one she heard screaming at her mom, and that’s why he had tried to convince his daughter it was all in her imagination.
“He was killed in a car crash a couple of years ago.” Suzette swallowed hard, then continued. “After Mom died, he quit his job and joined the army. He was completely overwhelmed by the idea of taking care of me. I was raised by his aunt in California and I rarely saw or heard from my father.” Suzette’s voice was low. “My aunt said that Dad seemed to feel as if he didn’t deserve to have any love or happiness in his life.”
“Your aunt sounds like a special l
ady.”
“She was.” Suzette smiled tearfully. “In every way that mattered, she was both a father and mother to me. She passed away when I was in college.”
“You’ve had a lot of losses in your life, two of them from accidents.” Skye paused to form her next question carefully. “Do you think that might be why you want to believe your mom’s death wasn’t some random occurrence? That there was meaning to it? Someone besides God to blame?”
“No.” Suzette shook her head so vigorously that her hair, which she had piled on top of her head, slipped free from the large tortoiseshell clip securing it. “I know what I heard. Someone else was at the house that day, and I want to find out if that’s who murdered my mom.”
CHAPTER 5
“Sunday Morning Coming Down”
As Skye got ready for church the next morning, she thought about Suzette’s plea for help. The singer had seemed so alone in the world. It wouldn’t be that difficult for Skye to read over the police file and chat with a few of the locals who might remember Mr. and Mrs. Neal, especially Mrs. Neal’s fatal accident. But, for once, Skye would seriously consider getting involved before she rushed to someone’s assistance.
If she agreed to help Suzette, she didn’t want to regret that decision. And truth be told, Skye didn’t hold high hopes that anyone would recall much about the couple. They had lived in Scumble River for less than a year, a long time ago. However, Skye knew good and well that if the townsfolk did have any knowledge of the incident, they would talk to her a lot more easily than they would to a stranger.
Skye had agreed to consider looking into Mrs. Neal’s death, and promised Suzette an answer by Monday afternoon. The singer had suggested Skye pick her up at the barn-to-theater remodel site, where Rex had set up a mobile office, as Suzette would be spending most of her time there.
After Mass, Skye sat in the parking lot and pressed the various buttons required to listen to the message on her cell phone.
Finally, she heard Wally’s voice say, “Hi, darlin’. With all the drunk and disorderly arrests last night, I need to do a heap of paperwork this morning, so instead of coming to the house, meet me at the police station after Mass. We’ll go to brunch from there.”
She smiled. Wally was such a hard worker. Scumble River was lucky to have him. He could easily get a job in a bigger, better-paying, and more prestigious department. Thank goodness, money clearly wasn’t his number one priority or he’d be in Texas working for his father, the owner of a multimillion-dollar oil company.
When Skye arrived at the police station shortly after eleven a.m., she was surprised to find the parking lot nearly full. Scumble River’s PD occupied one side of a two-story redbrick edifice. A tiny lobby, the dispatcher’s work space, an interrogation room, and a couple of cubicles equipped with built-in desks, computers, and phones were located on the main level, a rarely used holding cell occupied part of the basement, and Wally’s office was on the second floor. The other half of the building held the city hall, town library, and mayor’s office.
There was no one behind the counter when Skye pushed through the frosted-glass door. The Scumble River police, fire, and emergency departments shared a common dispatcher who covered the phones and radios and handled paperwork for the officers. During the week, three women, including Skye’s mother, May, worked thirty hours each, rotating between the afternoon and midnight shifts. A fourth woman worked straight days. Two additional younger women worked the weekend shifts, but Skye could never remember their names. They were part-timers in a position where people rarely lasted more than a year before finding a better-paying, less stressful job.
Skye used her key to let herself into the back of the station. Where was everyone? She walked down a narrow hall toward the combination coffee-interrogation room and peered through the window. The dispatcher was sitting with a female suspect as an officer interviewed the woman. Ah. That explained the deserted reception counter.
Figuring that Wally was probably in his office, Skye mounted the steep steps to the second floor. As she neared the top, she heard voices. She’d paused, not wanting to interrupt Wally if he was with someone, when a round of clapping rang out. Hmm. The police chief seldom received applause.
Skye tilted her head, listening. Ah. The sound was coming from the mayor’s new office, not Wally’s. A couple of weeks ago, Dante had had an opening cut between the city hall and the police department, taking a part of the library in order to construct a larger office for himself. Her uncle must be holding a meeting, which was why there were so many cars in the parking lot.
Curious, Skye stepped into the city hall’s half of the upstairs and walked quietly to the open door. When she peeked inside, she saw Rex Taylor in front of Dante’s desk facing a semicircle of chairs occupied by some of Scumble River’s most influential citizens. These people were not the sort to give up their Sunday morning lightly. They’d be present only if there were momentous issues to discuss or serious money to be made.
As Skye watched, Suzette, wearing denim short shorts and a sleeveless pink gingham blouse with the shirttails tied between her breasts, poured champagne for the bigwigs. The singer filled Rex’s flute last, and he put his arm around her. She shifted her shoulders and shrugged off his embrace.
Rex smiled benevolently, as if dealing with a temperamental child, and allowed her to move away. As he raised his flute, his expression was instantly transformed. Now he radiated warmth and sincerity. “Sit back, ladies and gentlemen, sip your bubbly, and behold the future of Scumble River.”
Right on cue, a screen behind Rex descended from the ceiling. Dante hit the light switch and moved to a projector set up on a tripod in the rear. He fumbled for a moment; then blurry gray snow appeared.
Rex hit a few keys on his laptop and a computer-enhanced image of Scumble River materialized. The recorded voice of Flint James said, “Welcome to the Branson of Illinois. Thousands of tourists attracted to the Country Roads Theater will flock to the area, spending their money and turning this sleepy town into a thriving metropolis.”
Skye stared in appalled silence. From the Elvis Encounter Wax Museum and Haunted House, to the Scumble River Dinner Cruise aboard a coal barge, to the Hoedown Saloon Review with barely dressed girls performing a dance routine, each highlighted attraction was tackier than the last. The pièce de résistance was Rex’s vision for the surrounding farms. He wanted to turn them into “farmcation” resorts, where the guests could experience a taste of farm life—without any of the unpleasant chores or odors, of course.
By the time the promotional presentation ended, Skye’s head was throbbing and she leaned weakly against the wall. If Rex Taylor had his way, Scumble River would become nothing more than a hokey tourist trap with vacationers clogging the streets and crowding the stores. The laid-back small-town feeling that she had come to appreciate would be gone forever, and in its place would be her idea of a nightmare.
Skye glanced around the room, gauging the reaction of the attendees. They seemed to be split into two factions—some frowning, shaking their heads, and whispering furiously to their neighbors, and the others smiling and taking notes. She prayed fervently that the negative group would be the more influential.
Rex rose from the seat he had taken during the program. “You have probably been wondering why you were invited here today. What do I want from you? Nothing. I’m here to give you something. The once-in-a-lifetime chance to make a fortune.” He pointed to Dante. “Your mayor and city council took the first step in guiding this town to financial security when they approved the country music theater complex I’m building. Now it’s up to you to follow their lead and invest in Scumble River’s future.”
Dante beamed and folded his hands over his considerable stomach.
“This is your opportunity to cash in on all the tourists I’ll be bringing into the area with my theater,” Rex continued. “I’ve already arranged for several country music stars to perform here, and for numerous travel companies to schedule the
ir buses to stop here during the summer vacation season.”
Skye flinched. Oh, oh! Now even some of the frown-ers looked interested.
“I’ll be making appointments to talk to each and every one of you privately in order to advise you about the types of businesses you might want to open that would attract sightseers.” Rex made eye contact with everyone present before saying, “The first ones on the gravy train will make the most money. Make sure you’re not one of the people who only catches the caboose.”
All around the room, voices were raised and arguments erupted. Two men were already on their feet, fists clenched. Skye started to go into the office, but stopped in her tracks. There was nothing she could do or say to influence anyone’s opinion. Her uncle was obviously in full cahoots with Rex. The outcome of the music promoter’s plans was completely out of her hands. Skye’s only hope was that the people in the room who hadn’t drunk Rex’s Kool-Aid would continue to abstain.
Discouraged, she went to find Wally. The brunch he had in mind had better offer something stronger than champagne.
For once, I-55 wasn’t under construction, and it was a pleasant drive north to the restaurant Wally had chosen. He entertained Skye with stories about some of the funnier arrests from the previous night’s drunken revelries, and she, in turn, filled him in on the scenes she had witnessed on the way to the parking lot.
When they reached I-355 and the more intense traffic, Wally grew quiet, fully focused on the highway. He handled his car, a sky blue Thunderbird convertible that had been a fortieth-birthday gift from his wealthy father, with calm confidence.
Skye gazed at Wally’s handsome profile, lost in her own thoughts. She needed to talk to him about Suzette and the meeting she had witnessed in Dante’s office, but didn’t want to distract Wally from the road, so she remained quiet until they arrived at the restaurant.
The Clubhouse was located next to Oak Brook Mall, a fashionable shopping area on the outskirts of Chicago. The two-story redbrick building sported a bright green roof and black-and-beige-striped awnings.
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