Murder of a Smart Cookie: A Scumble River Mystery (5 page)

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.

The sale started in the north at Scumble River Road and followed Route 66, which became Maryland Street as it wound its way through the business district. Then it passed Up A Lazy River Motor Court, Brown Bag Liquor Store, and Great Expectations Hair Salon before exiting onto Rolling Water Road and heading into Brooklyn, the next small town along the legendary highway.

As Skye drove to work down Basin Street, Scumble River’s business district glowed watercolor bright in the morning sun. The old redbrick and wood-framed buildings with their snapping banners and just-swept sidewalks glistened, ready for the guests that would arrive the next day.

She noted the preparations for the Yard Sale. The police had already placed sawhorses across the intersection at Adams Street. Merchants were
setting up tables in front of newly painted storefronts, and city crews were stringing WELCOME posters from one side of the freshly cleaned road to the other. Scumble River was putting its best foot forward. Skye just hoped the town wouldn’t trip and fall on its face.

When she reached the city hall, she exchanged her Bel Air for one of half a dozen golf carts that the town had rented when Mayor Leofanti had realized that Scumble River’s downtown would have to be closed off to vehicular traffic for the duration of the event.

As she transferred her supplies to the basket behind her seat, she caught sight of a tall, lean woman dressed in jeans and a short-sleeve chambray work shirt crossing the small parking lot. Her nut-brown hair was cut sensibly short, and her hazel eyes sparkled with intelligence.

Skye was supposed to meet the health inspector at eight-thirty and drive him around to the various food booths, toilets, and trash facilities so he could give them his final approval. Could he be a she? Was the twenty-first century catching up to Stanley County?

Skye straightened and asked, “Inspector Pantaleone?”

“Yes. Call me Andrea.” The woman held out a tanned hand. “You must be Skye.”

“That’s me. Nice to meet you.” They shook. “Where would you like to start?”

The inspector checked her clipboard. “The Lemonade ShakeUp stand.”

“Great. I know that one’s in good shape.” Skye smiled. The lemonade stand was sponsored by the high school’s
Scumble River Scoop
newspaper; in her real life as a school psychologist, Skye was one of the faculty sponsors. Her best friend, Trixie, the school librarian, was the other. She and Trixie had spent several evenings the past week helping the student staff assemble the booth and prepare for today’s inspection. “Hop in. It’s on the corner of Maryland and Basin.” Which was, not coincidentally since Skye had assigned the sites, a prime location in the heart of downtown.

Once Andrea was settled, Skye put the cart in motion and said conversationally, “Have you been a health inspector long?”

“No. I started out as a math teacher, but quit to raise my kids. The youngest started school last year and I was bored, so I began looking around for a teaching job. Before I found one, my uncle mentioned this opening. I took the test and here I am.”

“I’m working for my uncle, too.” Skye and Andrea exchanged a mutually knowing glance.

Skye stopped the cart a little way back from a hot pink and bright yellow booth. As the women walked toward it, an argument could be
heard coming from behind the canvas walls. Skye winced. She recognized the voices as belonging to Frannie Ryan and Justin Boward, the school newspaper’s star reporters and coeditors.

When they were a few steps from the booth a tall, sturdily built teenage girl burst through the screen door in the back of the stand and raced past them with tears streaming down her face.

Skye turned to Andrea, “Excuse me a minute. I need to see if she’s okay.”

Without waiting for a response, Skye hurried off. She caught up to the girl around the corner. Frannie was sitting on a concrete bench staring at the river.

Skye sat next to her and asked, “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

The girl shrugged. “Can you make someone be different?”

“Probably not.” Frannie sniffed and Skye dug a tissue from her pocket and handed it to the distraught teen. “But I could talk to him. Sometimes a neutral third party can help two people hear each other better.”

Frannie gave her a sharp look. “How do you know it’s a ‘him’?”

“Just a good guess.” Skye smiled. “What was the argument about?”

“Justin’s taking Bitsy to the concert in the park Sunday night.”

Skye made a face. She was afraid something like that might be the problem. Frannie and Justin were best friends, and although Skye suspected that they had deeper feelings for each other, neither of them seemed ready to take the risk and explore those emotions. Unfortunately, one of the other girls on the
Scoop’s
staff had set her cap for Justin, and either he liked her or he was too oblivious to realize that she was reeling him in like a fisherman with a prize trout.

“He asked her out?” Skye questioned cautiously.

Frannie brushed back a strand of long, wavy brown hair. “Not exactly.”

“She asked him and he said yes?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then how?”

“Justin is going with Brandon and his girlfriend. I can’t go because I have to go with my dad to my great-aunt’s birthday party.” Frannie stood and yanked up her jeans. The current low-riding style was a challenge for the teen’s rounded shape. Having a similar curvaceous figure, Skye understood Frannie’s urge to fit in with the size twos and fours of the rest of the high school class, so she resisted the temptation to suggest that Frannie buy more flattering pants.

“Okay. But how does Bitsy fit into the picture?”

“Brandon’s girlfriend invited Bitsy to go along and make it a foursome.” Frannie’s brown eyes narrowed. “Or so Justin says.”

“Don’t assume treachery for what stupidity can explain.”

A twist of Frannie’s lips expressed her skepticism.

Skye was at a loss for what else to say. She couldn’t suggest that Frannie skip the family party and tag along with the kids to the concert, although that would probably be the best advice. She couldn’t suggest that Frannie ask Justin to miss the concert or go with some other friends, although that, too, would be a solution. She was stuck with option number three, the one that would make her look like a stupid grownup who didn’t understand anything. “It sounds like this isn’t his idea, so maybe the best thing would be to let it go. If you make it seem important, it might become more significant than it really is.”

“Whatever.” Frannie blew out an exasperated breath. “It’s just that Bitsy is such a Slinky.”

“A what?” Skye hadn’t heard that expression before.

“A Slinky is someone who’s not really good for anything, but you still can’t help smiling when you see one tumble down the stairs.”

Skye struggled not to grin. Not that she agreed with the sentiment, but it was darn funny.

“Anyway, it’s not like I care what Justin does.”

Skye patted the girl’s arm. “Of course not.”

“But some of his new friends make me feel like I’m less than nothing.”

“No one can make you feel inferior without your permission. So don’t give it to them.”

Frannie’s brow furrowed while she considered what Skye had said. Then she nodded. “Got ya.”

Skye glanced at her watch. Shoot! They had been gone nearly thirty minutes. “Ready to go back?” She hoped the inspector wasn’t too upset at the delay.

Frannie nodded again and led the way.

When Frannie and Skye returned to the lemonade stand, they found Justin, Andrea, and Trixie sipping from paper cups and laughing.

Justin was saying, “So, uh, then would it be okay for me to follow you around sometime and do a story about being a safety inspector?”

Skye smiled. Justin was interested in everything and a keen observer of what went on around him. That, paired with the ability to blend into the woodwork and the tenacity of a mule, made him an excellent reporter.

“Sure. Here’s my card. Give me a call,” Andrea answered, then caught sight of Skye. “But right now we have to get going.”

Skye hurried over. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.” She lowered her voice. “A teen emergency.”

“I understand. I have one of my own.”

Before leaving, Skye pulled Trixie aside and asked, “Where were you?”