Murder of a Smart Cookie: A Scumble River Mystery (8 page)

Skye curled up on the couch and read her book to the music of her parents’ snores. At ten o’clock she pried the TV control from her father’s fingers and turned to ABC for the news. She had just settled back into the sofa when the phone rang. Neither of her parents stirred, so after the third ring Skye answered it.

Her Uncle Dante’s voice boomed from the receiver, “Get your ass down to the police station right this minute. Wally just arrested Faith Easton.”

“I’ve told this cretin numerous times that I was not trespassing.” Faith Easton paced up and down the interrogation room at the Scumble River police station, her mauve high-heeled sandals clicking on the worn linoleum. “I just popped into a few booths to establish the best place to begin filming in the morning. I’m warning you, if I’m not released immediately, I may decide not to do the program after all.”

Skye turned to Walter Boyd, the police chief, who stood aloof, ignoring Faith’s complaints. Skye and Wally had an unsettled relationship. Due to circumstances beyond their control, they had never dated, but there was a strong underlying attraction between them that influenced their interactions. Since Skye had helped to solve some of Scumble River’s most notorious crimes, their relationship had turned downright volatile.

She chose her words carefully. “Wally, what exactly happened?”

He moved closer to her and lightly pushed a stray curl from her cheek to behind her ear. “You requested that I assign extra personnel to the yard sale area, so I had Officer Quirk in the cruiser and borrowed Deputy McCabe from the sheriff’s department to patrol on foot.”

“Yes, I was afraid that there might be some petty thievery or vandalism.” Skye moved back, just out of his reach. She didn’t like the way her heart raced at his touch.

For a moment, Wally’s shoulder sagged beneath his crisp uniform, but he continued, “About half an hour ago, McCabe radioed dispatch that he was about to investigate a suspicious person skulking around the booths on Basin.”

Faith wheeled around. “I was not skulking.” Her slight British accent became thicker. “Are you all daft?”

Wally disregarded her. “He found Ms. Easton with the tarp off several tables, taking pictures of the items.”

“There. You see.” Faith’s face glowed with righteous indignation. “That proves I wasn’t stealing anything. Now discharge me immediately or I shan’t be responsible for the repercussions.”

Skye made a scornful noise and asked Wally, “So what happened?”

“McCabe cuffed her and brought her in. Then he called me and I called the mayor.”

Skye was tempted to dump this mess back in her uncle’s lap, but the thought of the money he was paying her and the chance of owning her own cottage stopped her. Instead she said, “And Uncle Dante called me because he didn’t want to be bothered at this time of night.”

“Looks that way.” Wally’s warm brown eyes crinkled in amusement. He had turned forty the previous winter, but if anything he was more handsome than the day he had arrived in Scumble River as a twenty-three-year-old rookie. He radiated a vitality that drew Skye like the powdered sugar on a donut to a black sweater. “We have her on trespassing, but I leave it up to you whether we charge her or not, since the yard sale is your baby.”

“Gee, thanks.” Skye ignored the flare of attraction, focusing on the matter at hand and considering her options. Dante would kill her if she screwed up the televising of the sale. They couldn’t afford to buy advertising like that. On the other hand, she hated to let the insufferable Faith Easton get away with breaking the rules just because of her fame and influence. “Who owned the booths that she was caught messing with?”

Wally consulted his notebook. “Ye Olde Junque Emporium and Cookie’s Collectibles.”

“Were the owners contacted?”

“Yes. Neither wants to press charges.” Wally grinned. “I think they were both thrilled to be singled out by the famous
Faith’s Finds
and hope to get on TV.”

“Fine. If they don’t care, I don’t care.” Skye made a washing motion with her hands. “Let her go.”

“It’s about time.” Faith looked around. “Someone will need to fetch my car.”

“I’ll give you a ride.” Skye picked up her purse and turned toward Faith. “You should thank Chief Boyd for handling this matter so diplomatically.”

Faith was halfway through the front door but turned back, smiled sweetly, and said, “Bugger off!”

Wally’s face froze and Skye wondered what he’d do, but before she could say anything he burst out laughing and said to Skye, “I don’t know what her problem is, but I bet it’s hard to pronounce.”

While Skye giggled at Wally’s wisecrack, she examined him closely. The brief return of his ex-wife in February and his milestone birthday in March had been hard on him. There was more silver in his black hair than before, and the lines around his eyes had become permanent. He was still
recuperating emotionally from those incidents, but he seemed to have regained his sense of humor, so Skye was hoping for a full recovery.

“Guess I’d better go drive the queen to her carriage.” Skye walked to the door and pushed it open.

“Good luck. She probably turns into a pumpkin or maybe a vampire bat at midnight,” Wally cautioned.

“Thanks.” She looked back and saw the heartrending tenderness of his gaze. Something intense flared through her, but she cleared her throat and pretended not to be affected. “Uh … bye. See you later.”

“You are so lucky to be out of town this week. Talk about excellent timing.” Skye wound the telephone cord around her finger. Thank goodness for the two-hour time difference between California and Illinois. She had nearly forgotten her promise to call Simon, but it was only nine-thirty in Sacramento.

“What’s been going on?” Simon’s soothing voice washed over her. “We didn’t get a chance to talk much last night, since you had to get your cottage ready for that TV star. Are you having a hard time?”

“Oh, no more than usual.” Skye tried to sound amusing rather than whiny. “Let’s see. So far the mayor’s been buried in toilet paper, the TV star has been arrested for trespassing, and I think Mom and Dad may be getting a divorce.”

“Boy. You could probably pitch that as a sitcom out here.” Simon chuckled. “So tell me how all that has happened in the twelve or so hours I’ve been gone.”

Skye launched into a detailed explanation, ending with, “I forgot to mention that Frannie and Justin are fighting, and I have my suspicions about Trixie and Owen, too.”

“Wow. Not a good time for couples in Scumble River. Glad you and I are okay.”

“Thank goodness. I couldn’t take another crisis right now,” Skye declared. She felt comfortable with Simon. Maybe some of the highs had ebbed from their relationship, but there weren’t any emotionally draining lows, either, and that was the kind of relationship she wanted. Wasn’t it? Her thoughts strayed briefly to the attraction she still felt for Wally, but she firmly shut that door and concentrated on Simon.

“Speaking of a crisis, I think Bunny may be up to something,” Simon said. “I hate to ask since I know you’re so busy, but if you get a chance, could you drop by the bowling alley and check up on her?”

“Sure. Any idea what she might be doing?” Skye rolled her eyes. Simon always thought his mother was up to something, and of course, he was usually right. She had reentered his life in November after a
twenty-year absence and had already managed to become involved in several adventures.

“No.” Simon paused. “She just seemed unusually wound up the last time I spoke to her, and there doesn’t seem to be a reason for her to be that excited.”

“Okay. I’ll stop by when I get a chance, and since Dad’s been working on her car, I’ll see if he’s noticed anything.” Skye added “check on Bunny” to her mental to-do list. “So, how’s the convention?”

“Okay. I spent most of this afternoon at the customized casket show.”

“Huh?”

“It’s the newest thing in California. Everyone is ordering caskets that reflect their ‘essence.”’

“You’re kidding.”

“No, they have ones that are shaped like various cars—the VW Beetle is very popular, I understand. I also saw ones that looked like swimming pools, pianos, and canopy beds.”

“I can just imagine what the people in Scumble River would request.” Skye giggled. “They’d want a John Deere tractor, an accordion, and a La-Z-Boy recliner.”

Simon chuckled just as the doorbell rang. Who would be ringing her parents’ bell at midnight? Scumble River officially closed at ten p.m.

Skye said a quick good-bye to Simon and went to find out.

“
I
‘m so sorry to bother you at this time of night, but I didn’t know who else to turn to and you remind me so much of my daughter, Sterling.” Alma Griggs stood on the front steps, wearing a faded rose-print housedress and, despite the heat, a white cotton sweater.

Her face was pale, and when Skye took her hand to guide her inside, her skin was clammy. What in the world had happened? “Don’t worry about the time. Please, come in and sit down.” Skye settled the old woman on one of the living room chairs. “Let me get you a glass of water.”

“That might be a good idea.” Mrs. Griggs rested her head on her hands. “I am feeling a bit dizzy.”

“Put your head between your knees,” Skye suggested as she ran into the kitchen.

When she returned with the drink, Mrs. Griggs had rested her head on the back of the chair and her eyes were closed. It looked like she was sleeping, or … Skye’s heart thudded. Surely Mrs. Griggs hadn’t died during the minute or so she’d been gone. She cleared her throat. “Uh, here’s that water.”

The older woman’s eyelids fluttered and she straightened, reaching for the glass. “Thank you.” After taking a healthy swallow, she said, “I really am sorry to bother you. Did I wake you up?”

“No, not at all. I’m a night owl.” Skye pulled up the ottoman and perched at Mrs. Griggs’s side. “Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s that woman. I know it’s her, and the police won’t do anything about it.”

“What woman?”

“Cookie Caldwell.” Mrs. Griggs’s voice grew stronger with each word. “She’s been after me ever since I told everyone about her little scheme to cheat me.”

“Really?” Skye knew Mrs. Griggs had
said
she was going to spread the word but Skye’d been so wrapped up in the yard sale the whole summer she hadn’t heard a thing. “Let’s get back to that later. What happened tonight?”

“Like I do every Friday, I left my house at five on the dot to meet my friends for the KC fish fry, then after that we went to the GUMB Assembly Hall to play bingo. It starts at seven, and we’re usually home around ten, but we were a little earlier tonight because we didn’t stop for ice cream. Peg’s stomach was upset.”

“Okay.” Skye wasn’t sure where Mrs. Griggs was going with the story, but she decided to let her tell it in her own way. “So, you got home early, and …”

“And someone was in my house! I could hear them clomping around upstairs.”

“Oh, my.” Skye hadn’t been expecting that. “What did you do?”

“I know I shouldn’t have, but I went in.” A faint look of embarrassment settled on Mrs. Griggs’s features, but she said defiantly, “I’ve lived in that house for seventy years, and I have to protect it.”

Skye knew that this wasn’t the time to argue that wood and bricks were not worth a life, so instead she asked, “What happened then?”

“I grabbed my rifle from the front closet and yelled that I had a gun and wasn’t afraid to use it—I’ve been hunting since I was ten years old, bagged my first deer at twelve.” Mrs. Griggs paused to take a sip of water. “Well, whoever was in the house must have gone out the second-story balcony and climbed down the trellis—it’s wrought iron and was installed to be used as a way out in case of fire. Anyway I heard more footsteps, then the balcony door squeak—I keep meaning to oil it—then some rustling, and a thud.”

“Then you called the police?”

“Well, first I went around back to see who it was.”

Skye made a sound of dismay in her throat at the older woman’s foolhardiness, realizing at some level that she might have done the same thing herself given the circumstances. Mrs. Griggs reminded Skye a lot of herself. “And who was it?”

“I didn’t see her, but it was Cookie Caldwell. I’m sure of it.” Mrs. Griggs leaned forward. “That woman has been pestering me to let her look at my things since June when I showed her my vase.”

Skye didn’t want to get distracted from the chronological events. “Let’s hold on to that thought for a minute.” She was having trouble following the older woman’s story. “After the intruder disappeared, you called the police, right?”

“Right, but it turns out my house is no longer in the city limits, so I had to call the county sheriff’s office.”

“Did they send a deputy?”

“Yes, someone named McCabe. Seemed about as sharp as a bowling ball. I told him what happened and we looked around, but since nothing was vandalized and the only thing missing was a piece of cheap costume jewelry—but my husband had given it to me for our first anniversary—McCabe said there wasn’t much he could do. He filled out a report, but I could tell that it would end up filed under ‘Senile Old Woman.”’