Murder of a Smart Cookie: A Scumble River Mystery (18 page)

The animal was ignoring everyone and everything as it ambled down the ditch, stopping occasionally to investigate an intriguing odor or swat at an insect. As Skye watched, he started digging at the mouth of a nearby drainage pipe, growling softly.

Suddenly someone from the crowd shouted, “Look, the lion’s found something.”

Everyone turned to stare as the animal pulled a blue-and-yellow-striped plastic bag from the drainpipe. Skye’s mind raced. Her family had ordered a case of those bags to use at their farm stand. This one bulged interestingly. Could it have something to do with the murder? If it did, and the lion tore into it, whatever evidence it contained might be ruined.

Without thinking, Skye grabbed the net from Earl’s hand and advanced on the lion.

Earl, ever helpful, yelled out, “Careful, Miz Skye. Kitty don’t know you.”

She ignored Earl and stepped closer to the lion, which was now batting the plastic bag around like a toy. Holding the pole at the very end, Skye measured the distance between her and the animal. One more step. She advanced, aimed, and gently lobbed the huge net over him. Bull’s-eye. All those games of lawn darts she’d played as a child had finally paid off.

The lion roared and Skye took off running. He pawed at the mesh once, yawned, and settled down for a nap.

When Skye got back to where the Dooziers were standing with their mouths hanging open, she asked, “So, now how do we get him back into his cage?”

Earl’s slack expression became even blanker. “Uh, the owner never told me that part.”

Before Skye could throttle the little man, the sheriff’s squad car arrived, and since she thought it would be a bad idea to be caught in the middle of an assault, she once again restrained herself.
Shit!
She had forgotten that this section of the yard sale was in part of Buck Peterson’s new territory, too. The whole rezoning thing was starting to get really annoying.

“
A
nd then the sheriff shot the lion in the rump with a tranquilizer dart and posed for the cameras like a great white hunter who had single-handedly saved the native village from being destroyed by a savage beast.” Skye finished telling Trixie about her morning as they sat on the front porch of Trixie’s house, eating tuna sandwiches and potato chips. She took a sip of her Diet Coke. “It was just plain disgusting to watch him put on his good-old-boy act.”

There was no sign of Owen, and Skye hadn’t gotten up the nerve to ask about him yet. It had been easier to face the lion.

“Buck Peterson reminds me of an old tire—bald and overinflated,” Trixie said, shaking her head in disgust. “What did he do when you showed him the plastic bag?”

“After I pointed out to him that the bags were a special order for my family’s booth, and would have only been given out since Saturday, which meant that since the lion had dug it out from beneath a pile of dirt, someone had to have deliberately buried it, he said”—here Skye deepened her voice to sound like the sheriff—”Well, young lady, I doubt that old bag has anything to do with the murder, but don’t you worry your pretty head. My men will look it over real close.”’ She returned to her own tone. “The only reason he was even that polite was because of the TV cameras.”

“So, what was in the bag?”

“That was the most frustrating part. They took it away without opening it.”

“How rude.” Trixie crunched a potato chip, swallowed, and then got down to the business at hand. “Where are we going to look for Justin?”

“I wish I knew. Any ideas?”

“He’s on foot, unless someone picked him up. Would he take a ride from a stranger?”

“I don’t think so. But maybe we should talk to his friends. They all have driver’s licenses. Maybe they took him somewhere.”

“I thought Frannie already spoke to that group.”

Skye smiled grimly. “If he’s hiding out because of her, the boys would never tell her. The question is, will they tell us?”

It took them the rest of the afternoon, but Trixie and Skye finally managed to find all the boys on the school newspaper staff. Rusty was the only one who admitted to seeing Justin since the concert in the park Sunday evening. When pressed, he reluctantly told the women he had seen Justin on Monday morning and that he had been looking for Skye and seemed upset.

“Why would he have been looking for me?” Skye asked Trixie from the passenger seat of the golf cart, as they made the day’s final yard sale inspection.

“From what Rusty said, it sounds as if Justin had the fight with Frannie and wanted to talk to you about what to do.” Trixie was having fun driving—darting in and out of the crowd.

“So, why didn’t he?”

“Maybe he changed his mind, figured you’d take Frannie’s side, you being a girl and all.”

Skye considered Trixie’s explanation, but she was soon distracted by a group of middle-aged women walking down the middle of the road four abreast, quarrelling about lunch.

One of the ladies, who looked as if she was wearing a poodle on the top of her head, was saying, “When I go to a yard sale I shop. I don’t eat. I shop.”

The others argued that they were starving, but Mrs. Poodle Hair kept repeating, “When I go to a yard sale I shop. I don’t eat. I shop.”

Skye snickered and wondered who would win—the shopper or the lunchers.

As Trixie and Skye zoomed by, narrowly missing them, the women shrieked and scattered, only to reassemble into a solid wall as soon as the cart had whizzed past. Trixie giggled and waved to them.

Skye shook her head at her friend’s antics, then resumed their prior conversation. “But even if Justin changed his mind about speaking to me, why would he suddenly decide to run away?”

“Have you talked to his parents recently?”

“I’ve tried, but his mother’s coping with her own chronic depression, and his father’s in such poor physical health he doesn’t seem to have the energy to deal with anything else. They’re both pretty absorbed in their own needs.” Skye put her hands over her eyes as Trixie nearly ran down a guy who was too busy balancing three huge wands of bright pink cotton candy to notice the golf cart speeding toward him.

“Where haven’t we looked?” Trixie asked.

“We’ve checked the places Frannie knew about, talked to his friends, asked the campers at the Recreation Club to keep an eye out for him.” Skye rubbed her temples, trying to stimulate a brainstorm. “I’m out of ideas.”

Trixie turned the golf cart into the city hall parking lot and hopped out. “The problem is, with all these people in town, I don’t even know where we should start.”

“Me either.” Skye followed her toward the Bel Air. “But Justin’s mom did promise to call the police if he doesn’t come home by nine tonight, so at five after, I’m going over to the Bowards’ and make sure she keeps her word.”

Skye dropped Trixie off at her house and headed toward May and Jed’s. Trixie hadn’t brought up her quarrel with Owen, and Skye had been too chicken to ask how things were going, especially since she had to face her parents’ bickering once she got home.

It was close to six by the time Skye walked into the utility room. To gauge the atmosphere, she paused at the swinging doors that led to the kitchen, then blew out a breath of relief. Things seemed normal. May was bustling around making supper, and Skye could hear the TV coming from the living room, tuned to her dad’s favorite news program.

For just a moment, Skye allowed herself the luxury of imagining that her parents had made up.

Then her mother turned to her and said, “Tell your father that supper will be ready in five minutes, and he’d better be washed up and at the table, or I’m giving it to that precious dog of his.”

Skye passed on an edited version of her mother’s message before escaping to her bedroom to feed Bingo and clean his litter. She shook her head as she scooped. Things were pretty bad when litter box duty was preferable to time spent with her parents.

She washed her hands and returned to the kitchen to help put the food on the table.

Her father was sitting at his usual place, a frown on his face. He muttered something about supper being late, and things went downhill from there.

Skye made the mistake of attempting conversation during the meal, but any topic she chose turned into a missile that her parents lobbed at each other, using her as their grenade launcher.

While Skye and her mother did the dishes, Skye made her second error by asking, “Exactly why are you so darn mad at Dad?”

“Let me see. Where should I start? He’s never home. He goes missing so much I should put his picture on a beer can.” May sighed and wiped her hands on the green terry-cloth towel hanging from the handle of the silverware drawer. “He fixes stuff for everyone but me. And instead of talking to me, or taking me somewhere at night, he falls asleep watching
Weakest Link
, and only wakes up in time to catch a few minutes of the ten o’clock news before he goes to bed.”

“But that’s how he’s been for as long as I can remember. I don’t understand what he’s done lately that he hasn’t always done.”

May gave her a dark look. “Why do you always take his side? He’s not the one who changed your dirty diapers, fed you, and kept your clothes clean.”

“I know. I’m not taking his side.” Skye tried to put her arm around her mother, but May shrugged it off. “Really, I’m just trying to understand.”

“Then figure out why he’s spending so much time with that tramp.” For a moment May let her mask slip, and Skye could see the pain and confusion her mother was feeling.

“Bunny?”

“How many middle-aged trollops do we have in town?”

Skye wasn’t touching that question with a ten-foot mascara wand.

May went on. “Why did Simon ever buy that bowling alley for her? She’s nothing but trouble.”

“Bunny’s not the problem.” Skye mentally crossed her fingers, hoping she was telling the truth. “She just bought an old car, and Dad is having a good time fixing it up. Remember how much time he spent restoring my Bel Air?”

“If that hussy isn’t the problem, then find out what is.” May paused at the entrance to the den. “He could have built her a new Cadillac by now.”

“You need to tell Dad how you feel.”

“As if he’d care.” May slammed the den door behind her.

Her mother’s deep unhappiness had shaken Skye, and she decided it was time to talk to Jed. But as May had predicted, he was fast asleep in
front of the TV. She tried to wake him by gently shaking his shoulder, but that only succeeded in increasing the volume of his snores.

After several unsuccessful attempts, and in fear for her eardrums, Skye retreated to her bedroom. An evening of petting Bingo and reading a good mystery sounded like just what she needed.

At five after nine, Skye called Justin’s parents to see if he had returned. He hadn’t. Mrs. Boward had called the police, and they were going to look for him.

Feeling as if she had finally accomplished at least one task, Skye decided to go to bed. She had telephoned Simon earlier, and when he hadn’t answered, she’d left a message saying she would talk to him the next day.

Before washing her face and changing into her nightgown, Skye opened the den door and stuck her head in. “I’m going to sleep, Mom. Good night.”

May looked up from the newspaper she was reading. “Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

Skye smiled. “You too, Mom.” As if any insect would dare to invade her mother’s spotless house.

She had already started to close the door when May said, “Shoot. I forgot to tell you that Mrs. Griggs called around four. She wanted you to call her back as soon as you got home.”

“Did she say why?”

“No, just that it was urgent that she talk to you, and she wouldn’t leave her house till you called.” May’s expression was sheepish. “I can’t believe I forgot to tell you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll call her right now.”

“Her number’s on the pad by the kitchen phone.”

Skye dialed and let it ring until the telephone company’s computer voice told her there was no one answering, and for seventy-five cents they would call her when her party was available.

May had followed her and stood wringing her hands. “Isn’t she there?”

“All I got was the recording saying to try later.” Skye checked the clock. It was nine-thirty. Could Mrs. Griggs be asleep? “I guess she doesn’t have an answering machine.” Skye had a bad feeling about the whole situation.

“What are you going to do?”

“Telephone the sheriff’s department and see if she was arrested. You heard it was her pin that killed Cookie?”

May nodded.

Skye made the call and was told no arrests had been made. She passed that information on to her mother.

“Now what?”

“Guess I’ll take a ride over to Mrs. Griggs’s house and see if she’s okay.”

“I’ll come along.”

Skye couldn’t think of a good reason to tell her mother no, so the two women piled into the Bel Air. They drove over in silence, each lost in her own thoughts.

Mrs. Griggs’s house was north of town, along the west branch of the Scumble River on Brook Lane. There were no streetlights and no other homes along the narrow, twisting road. Skye hadn’t realized how isolated Mrs. Griggs was from the rest of town.