Murder Of A Snake In The Grass (15 page)

“Needing someone like him is like needing a parachute. If he isn’t there the first time, chances are you won’t be needing him again.”

“I know that. Truly, I do. I’m a different person now. When that girl came to me in New Orleans and told me her father was sexually abusing her, I knew that no matter what, I had to keep trying to make the world a better place. And even if I never got to see that I made a difference, I would have to trust God that I was helping someone.”

“And the good life isn’t important to you anymore?”

“Well, I still like the occasional taste, but like cotton candy, too much leaves you empty and feeling sick.”

“Did you tell St. Amant this?” Simon cupped her face, and his gaze searched her face.

“I will. Tomorrow we’ll take him to Mass, dinner at my parents, and then I’ll tell him good-bye forever.”

“Because your values have changed?”

“Yes.” Skye frowned, hearing a little voice say,
Maybe Luc’s values have changed too
. Before she could figure out where that little voice was coming from, she felt Simon’s lips on hers. The touch started as a whisper but quickly grew into something hard and searching. She shivered as his hands slipped into the open back of her dress.

Suddenly he stopped. Skye could feel his fingers investigating the swimsuit she was wearing underneath her clothes. Soon he would ask what it was. Trixie had been right; the suit was as good as a chastity belt. No way would she let Simon see what she was wearing for underwear.

Skye twisted out of his arms and backed away. “Let’s wait and finish this after I’ve told Luc good-bye.” It was time for Simon to leave. “Too much has happened.”

Simon kissed her again, lightly this time. “If you insist.”

“It’s for the best.” Skye steered him out the front door,
walking with him down the steps to his car. “So, what did you hear about the murder?”

Simon raised his eyebrow but answered, “The Montreal police called Wally back. They searched Gabriel Scumble’s penthouse. They can’t find any sign of a next of kin. In fact, the place looked like he had stripped it of all personal items. The building manager won’t answer their questions, so they’re trying to get a warrant for his office records.”

“That’s odd.”

Simon got into his Lexus and started the engine so he could roll down the window. He leaned through the opening. “This whole case seems pretty odd. But murder in Scumble River is rarely ordinary.”

“True.” Skye kissed Simon good night and watched as he backed his car out of the driveway. Sighing, she trudged inside and went to bed.

A buzzing sound insinuated itself into Skye’s consciousness. She fought her way out of the sheet that had become wound around her tighter than the bandages on a mummy, and batted at the clock until the noise stopped.

She sank back on her pillows. Why had she set the alarm for five-thirty? Too early to go swimming. Shoot! The Bird Walk Breakfast! She had promised Charlie she’d help him with it.

Skye leaped out of bed and hurried into the bathroom, narrowly missing Bingo as he attempted to rub against her ankles. There was no time for a shower. A quick swab of the washcloth in the most obvious places had to do. After hurrying into a pair of denim shorts and a short-sleeve chambray shirt, she stuffed her feet into a pair of tennis shoes, scraped her hair back into a ponytail, and ran out the door.

When she pulled into the parking lot at the Up A Lazy River Motor Court, there were already a dozen people milling in front of the office. She excused herself as she plowed through them and went inside.

Charlie was on the telephone. “I don’t know crap about birds. You get your butt over here right now and guide these people like you promised.” He paused, and not bothering to cover the receiver, parroted to Skye, “Ursula is too upset to lead the bird walk. Wally brought her nephew Grady in for questioning yesterday and was mean to him.”

Skye felt a pang of guilt. It was her fault that Grady and his family were going through this. It was bad enough if he was guilty, but what if he was innocent? “Is he in jail?” she asked.

Charlie shook his head no, then shouted into the telephone, “Don’t you hang up on me, Ursula Nelson.” He slammed the handset down on the cradle and shot Skye a speculative look. “This murder is really messing up town business. You better give Wally a hand in finding out who killed Gabriel Scumble. We need to put this behind us.”

“No. There’s no reason for me to get involved. Besides, I have enough on my plate right now.”

He ran his hands through his thick white hair. “Just keep an eye out, and give Wally a heads up if you find out anything. I want this settled PDQ.”

Uncle Charlie’s hair now looked very much like that of the teenage boys who gelled and moussed their hair to get it to stick up in the air. Skye fought a giggle and said, “Fine, if something falls into my lap, I’ll tell Wally right away. But that’s all I’m doing.”

“Fine.”

“Did you get my note yesterday?”

“What? Oh, yeah. Sorry I missed you. I had some business in Laurel, and when I got home, it was too late to call.”

What kind of business would Charlie have at the county seat on a Saturday afternoon that would keep him out until the wee hours? Skye sure hoped he wasn’t gambling again. A few years ago he had almost lost the motor court when he started visiting the Joliet casino boats too often. He had promised to quit, but Skye knew gambling was an addiction,
the same as alcohol, and going cold turkey was harder than most people realized.

Charlie glanced at his watch and narrowed his blue eyes. “You’ll have to lead the bird brains.” Charlie couldn’t fathom why people wanted to get up at the crack of dawn and traipse through the trees just to see a robin, but if they were willing to pay money to do it, he was willing to have the town profit from their foolishness.

“Me? I can’t tell a sparrow from a wren.” Skye backed toward the door, but the big man moved quicker and blocked her exit. She tried another tack. “Who will make the coffee, set the tables, and get things ready for the breakfast?”

“I’ll figure that out later. We promised those people a guided walk around the park and a chance to see the rare Cooper’s hawk that’s been spotted around here. They were supposed to start at sunrise, so you’d better get going.”

She was all set to say no when she took a good look at Uncle Charlie. His normally pale skin was gray and hung on his face like a bathing suit that had lost its spandex. No way could she turn him down. “Okay, I’ll go, but be prepared to refund their money when they return complaining.”

Charlie pushed open the screen door of his office and waved Skye through. He introduced her to the crowd, explained that their original guide had become ill, and thrust a piece of paper into her hand—a diagram of the park with different birds written in each area—then disappeared back inside.

Skye stood frozen, clutching the map in her hand. After a few moments of silence people began to mumble. Finally, a woman with no-nonsense gray hair and a sharp nose confronted Skye. “You have no idea what to do, do you?”

Skye shook her head.

“Then I better take over.” The woman examined the group. “Who here are experienced birders?” Three of the eleven people raised their hands. Even without their affirmation, it was obvious they were the experts. They wore
jeans, multipocketed shirts, and sensible walking shoes and carried notepads, guidebooks, and binoculars. The others were dressed like Skye, in shorts and sandals or tennis shoes.

The woman who had taken charge nodded to the pros and said, “Each of you take two of the beginners, I’ll take the other two and her.” She jerked her thumb at Skye. “We’ll each start our walk in a different quarter of the park so we don’t stumble over each other and make a lot of noise.”

The group started toward the footbridge that connected the parking lot to the park. While they were crossing, Skye told the women, “Thank you. I’ll make sure your fee is refunded.”

The woman nodded but didn’t say anything. Skye persisted. “What’s your name?”

“Annabel Lee.” The woman pinned Skye with her stare. “Don’t say it. My mother was an Edgar Allan Poe fan.”

Everyone had crossed into the park and Skye, trying to retain a bit of her leadership role, announced loudly, “Okay, remember to meet back here at eight o’clock, and we’ll return to the motor court for breakfast.”

Annabel frowned and whispered, “And from now on, everyone keep your mouths shut and your eyes open.”

An hour later, Skye trudged a few feet behind her group. So far they had seen robins, wrens, a female cardinal, and a million crows, but no Cooper’s hawk. She hoped the others were having better luck.

They were nearing the tip of the park, the halfway mark, and Skye was thinking of suggesting that they take a rest and sit on the bandstand’s steps, when suddenly a shout broke through the silence. “Miss, over here!”

Skye hurried toward the voice, which seemed to be coming from between the back of the bandstand and the road, an area filled with dense underbrush and vines.

Both Skye and Annabel arrived at the same moment. The older woman’s lips were already in a shushing position but
re-formed into a shocked grimace when she saw what the novice birder was holding up.

It was a man’s white handkerchief, half covered in what looked like dried blood. Flakes fell as a breeze fluttered through the area.

Skye swallowed hard, then asked, “Does either of you have a plastic bag?”

Annabel reached into one of her many shirt pockets and produced a Ziploc.

Skye took it from her, opened it, and held it out to the younger woman. “Put that in here. Try not to touch the sides with it.” After the hanky was secured, Skye asked, “Where did you find that?”

The woman pointed to a bush. “I saw something toward the center and thought maybe it was a nest, so I pushed aside the branches, and the handkerchief was stuck down near the bottom. It looked chewed near the edge. I bet a squirrel found it somewhere else and dragged it over here. I’ll bet it has something to do with that murder Friday night. Right?” She finished all in a rush.

“There’s a good chance,” Skye answered. “So, what we need to do is not touch anything else and get the police. Ms. Lee, could you go back to the motor court and ask Charlie to call the chief? I’ll stay here and make sure nothing else is disturbed.”

“How about me?” the younger woman asked.

“You’d better stay too. Wally will probably have some questions for you.” Skye looked around. “Where’s the other member of our group?”

Annabel answered, “She twisted her ankle, or so she claimed. I think she was just bored. She headed back to the motor court.”

As Skye waited for Wally to show up, she examined the handkerchief through the plastic. One corner had the initials SI embroidered on it, and nearby was a bright magenta lipstick smear. Where had she seen that unusual color before?

Skye chewed her bottom lip. Did this mean Grady wasn’t involved with the murder? His initials certainly weren’t SI, and none of his gang wore lipstick. She could feel the pangs of guilt growing. Had she pointed the finger at the wrong person?

S
kye wiped the sweat off her brow with the back of her hand and looked around the tent. The bird-watchers had finally left a few minutes ago after devouring eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns, and enough toast to start their own bakery.

She heaved the tray of dirty dishes off the table and took one final scan of the area. Satisfied she had the last load of debris, she made her way into Charlie’s kitchen.

Several women crowded the small room. One was wiping down the stove, another was at the sink washing dishes, and the others were boxing up borrowed items to be returned to their rightful owners. It took a lot of salt and pepper shakers, butter dishes, and platters to put on a group breakfast.

Skye handed over her tray and went in search of Charlie. He was in his office, seated behind his desk staring into space. She said, “Looks like they’re just about finished up in there.”

“Wally left a few minutes ago.” Charlie twisted a paper clip into a question mark. “Said he’d get the county’s crime scene people out to take another look around the bandstand.”

“Did Annabel Lee or that other lady have anything to add about finding the handkerchief?”

“Nah. They just whined about not seeing that damn bird. I gave both of ‘em their money back.”

Skye’s head jerked. Charlie did not refund money lightly. What was going on? She walked around the desk and put her hands on her godfather’s shoulders. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t look up from his paper clip sculpture. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“It seems weird that I haven’t seen you the past couple of days. Are you sure you’re okay?” Skye couldn’t decide if she was more worried that he might be sick or that he might have taken up gambling again.

“I’m fine. I haven’t been around because the woman who normally cleans the cabins has called in sick for the past three days, and I’ve had to do it all myself.”

“You couldn’t find anyone to help?”

“I haven’t had time to look. This bicentennial has been a pain in the …” Charlie lumbered to his feet.