Murder Of A Snake In The Grass (30 page)

After a moment they exchanged sheepish looks. Wally took a deep breath and moved forward. Skye repositioned herself several feet to the rear. Wally snatched the box of grass seed from the shelf and hurried outdoors with it. He gently folded back the flaps, keeping his face as far from the opening as possible. He hesitated a moment, then slid his fingers inside and came out with—nothing. This time he put his whole hand in the box. Again nothing.

Skye spotted a roll of lawn and leaf bags inside the shed. She used a tissue from her pocket to tear one off and spread the black plastic on the ground. “Pour it out here.”

Wally complied. All that was inside the box was seed. He searched the rest of the shed but didn’t find either the watch or the letter.

“Guess I better get the fingerprint guy out here.” Wally put the seed box back and closed the door. Driving back to the police station, he said, “Either Grady lied to me, or someone saw him pick the stuff up, followed him here, and stole the evidence after he hid it.”

“Grady’s good at lying, but what would he gain in this situation?”

“Nothing but an angry cop.”

*  *  *

It was nearly seven when Skye got home. She had been gone for thirteen hours and was exhausted. All she wanted was to wash the cobwebs from her hair, have something to eat, and enjoy a little quiet time. She vowed that unless a big black car and a man carrying a violin case actually appeared on her doorstep, she was going to quit worrying about the mob tonight.

Before heading to the shower, she played her messages. Simon had to work again. He told her to phone if she was nervous about staying alone and asked what she wanted to do Friday night. It was too late to return his call; he’d already be at the funeral home. She’d talk to him tomorrow.

The water sluicing down over her head and shoulders felt wonderful. She reluctantly turned off the faucet and stepped out of the stall. After wrapping her wet hair in a towel and slipping into her favorite nightshirt, she padded barefoot into the kitchen and flung open a cupboard door.

Pasta sounded good. It was too late to make a marinara sauce, but a little olive oil and crushed garlic would do just as well. She put a pot of water on to boil and turned on the oven for garlic bread.

Twenty minutes later she was sitting in front of the TV with Bingo curled up next to her and a tray of angel hair pasta, garlic bread, and salad in front of her. She was just in time. One of her favorite old movies was about to start.

The opening scene of
And Then There Were None
started to roll as she took her first bite. All through the movie, she sifted bits and pieces of what she knew about the local murder through her mind. At the end of the two hours, she had a plan.

It was too bad they hadn’t found the watch back or the letter, but she thought she had a lead on what they meant. After watching the news on TV, she rinsed her dishes, brushed her teeth, and climbed into bed. She had a good feeling about tomorrow. Miss Letitia would be home, and
Skye was pretty sure she was on the verge of identifying the killer.

Unfortunately, Friday morning Skye was scheduled to be at the junior high school.

Ursula pounced on her the minute she walked in. “Grady might have accidentally shot his father, but he didn’t kill that guy in the park.”

“I think you’re right.” Skye walked behind the counter and put her arm around the older woman. “How’s your brother?”

Ursula stiffened, then sagged. “He’s going to be fine. The bullet missed all the important arteries and bones. It lodged in soft tissue. They were able to remove it and sew him up without complications.”

“That’s wonderful.” Skye eased Ursula into a chair. “Any news on Grady?”

The woman shook her head. “He refuses to see me or his parents.”

“You did the right thing by helping the police arrest him.” Skye patted Ursula’s shoulder. “You stopped Grady from acting further on his impulses and doing something more that he would have regretted later.” Skye didn’t think for a minute that this kid would regret anything, but a little white lie to make Ursula feel better seemed permissible.

“Just so they don’t charge him with murdering Gabriel Scumble or whoever that guy was.”

“I don’t think they will.”

“You’re still looking into it?”

“Definitely.”

“Thanks,” Ursula muttered, and turned quickly away.

After her talk with the secretary, Skye also spoke to Neva Llewellyn, the principal of the junior high, and brought her up to speed on Grady.

Afterward she finally got down to work at her real job. Since more special education administrative duties had been
dumped in her lap, something had to give in her schedule, and unfortunately it was the tasks that weren’t mandated by state and federal law that were the first to go. Which meant she had to figure out which kids to stop seeing for counseling. She sighed and started crossing out names.

They really needed a social worker. Great, another thing to bug the school board about.

Skye arrived at the high school with a mental list of things to do, but the uneasy atmosphere hit her the minute she walked through the door. Fridays usually felt different, but in a good way, with teachers smiling and the hallways buzzing with barely suppressed excitement. Freedom was only hours away.

Today the buzz sounded more like a hive of angry bees, and it was fostered by several of the teachers. She wondered what had gotten them so stirred up.

Skye had intended to grab a soda from the staff room but decided to avoid the negativity she was bound to find there and instead went straight to her office. This was a mistake. Coach and several of his cronies were waiting for her there.

She knew this group. She called it the Forgotten But Not Gone Gang. These were the teachers who no longer remembered why they had gone into teaching but for various reasons refused to leave the profession. They gave all the other good teachers a bad name.

Coach was sitting behind her desk as she entered, and from that position of power, he said, “So, you finally decided to grace us with your presence.”

Skye raised an eyebrow. “Did we have an appointment?” No matter how many schedules she posted, the staff of one school remained convinced she was out shopping during the time she spent at the other schools.

A woman whose teased blond hair and polyester stirrup pants had gone out of style several decades ago was sitting on the edge of the table Skye used for testing. “We think it’s
outrageous that students and faculty have been put in danger without our knowledge.”

“Danger?” Skye finally placed the speaker. She was an English teacher who taught mostly the accelerated courses. Skye hadn’t seen her this agitated since she had been assigned a remedial reading section.

“Don’t play dumb with us, Missy.” Coach sputtered a fine spray of spit, coating the desktop. “Grady Nelson and his gang of thugs.”

Ick. She’d have to break out the can of Lysol before she used her desk again. “No one is in any danger,” she said. “All precautions have been taken.” She lost her cool. “Grady’s in jail, for crying out loud. What more do you want?” Time to get these bozos out of her office. She wanted to check on Nanette and the kids who really needed her.

“You tell Homer that the ‘flu’ is going to be hitting the faculty hard come Monday morning if he doesn’t tell us what’s going on and how he plans to ensure our safety.” Coach finished his speech, signaled his troops, and marched out.

Trixie came in as the last one left. “What was that all about?”

Skye already had a can of disinfectant in her hand. She explained, then added, “I think it may be time to equip the faculty lounge with a Valium salt lick.”

Trixie giggled. “Either that or we need to start aerial spraying of Prozac in there.”

“I guess I’d better let Homer know we’re about to have a mutiny,” Skye said, and picked up the phone.

“He left for a lunch an hour ago.”

“How convenient. No wonder I was privileged with their visit. They couldn’t find Homer. I’ll write him a note.” Skye took a sheet of paper and pen from her drawer. “Have you seen Nanette today?”

“Yes, she seems better. Her father called last night, and she’s going to go stay with him for a while.”

“That’s probably for the best, although I hate seeing anyone forced to leave.”

“No one’s forcing her. She’s excited about the change.” Trixie helped herself to a piece of hard candy from the jar on Skye’s desk. “What happened after you took Nanette to talk to Wally?”

Skye filled Trixie in on events of the last twenty-four hours, concluding with “So, I’m going to talk to Miss Letitia after school.”

“You really think the murder has something to do with what happened two hundred years ago?”

“Yes. Some skeletons just won’t stay buried.”

“Thank you for seeing me, Miss Letitia.” Miss Letitia had answered the door of the Historical Society building wearing jeans, a plaid flannel shirt open over a T-shirt, and work boots. Skye had been surprised by the woman’s appearance.

“Nonsense, I like seeing young people who are interested in history.”

Skye stared at her feet. She didn’t want to deceive Miss Letitia. She just hoped that once the older woman knew the true reason for Skye’s visit, she would still tell her what she needed to know. “I’m not really here because of my love for history. I believe some of what’s happening right now in Scumble River has to do with what happened two hundred years ago.”

“I wouldn’t be a bit surprised. As Thomas Carlyle wrote, ‘The Present is the living sum-total of the whole Past.’”

Skye nervously held a delicate cup and saucer. Miss Letitia had insisted they sit in her parlor and have tea while they talked. “Uh, right.” It wasn’t often that someone in Scumble River quoted Thomas Carlyle to Skye, and she was momentarily startled. “Well, I’m sure you’re aware that the man who we thought was Gabriel Scumble was murdered last Friday night.” The older woman nodded, and Skye went on.
“Later we found out his real name was Snake Iazetto, and he was a part of the New Orleans mob.”

“I had heard that as well.” Miss Letitia took a dainty sip of tea and looked expectedly at Skye.

“This information turned police attention away from Gabriel and Pierre Scumble, and onto Snake Iazetto. But I think the killer’s intended victim was Gabriel, not Snake. Snake was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“That has frequently happened throughout history.”

“Which leaves me with the question: why would anyone want to kill Gabriel Scumble?” Skye set her cup and saucer on a nearby piecrust table.

“And you think it has something to do with what happened in the past. Why?”

“For several reasons. First, because Gabriel knew no one in town. He had some contact with Fayanne over the phone, but surely even Fayanne couldn’t develop a murderous grudge through a telephone conversation.”

Miss Letitia crossed her ankles. “Let’s say it is highly unlikely.”

“This led me to the past. I didn’t realize until I saw the Living History Pageant, but both Fayanne and the mayor have ancestors who were original Scumble River settlers. The motive for the murder could have to do with a previous grudge. After all, there are family feuds that go on for generations.”

“You may be on the right track there,” Miss Letitia commented. “Fayanne is the last of the Emericks and the mayor’s children are the last of the Clapps. Both families have just about died out. Anything else?”

“Mayor Clapp’s ancestor was named Dewey, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Did he have a middle name?” Skye held her breath. If Miss Letitia didn’t know, who else would?

“Yes, he did. Why?”

“An article with ‘DOC’ engraved on it was recently connected to the murder.

Miss Letitia got up from her chair, selected a book from the shelves near the window, and opened it to a page in the middle. She handed it to Skye. It was a town census, and the mayor’s ancestor had boldly signed it—Dewey Eldon Clapp.

Skye sagged back in her chair. “D, E, C. Shoot, I thought I was onto something.”

“No need for bad posture, dear. If you recall from the Living History Pageant, Dewey owned the drugstore in town. Back in those days the druggist was often also the equivalent of the town doctor, even if he had never been formally trained. Dewey’s nickname was ‘Doc.’”

“Great.” Skye perked up. “Now for the million dollar question. Was there bad blood between the Clapps and the Scumbles?”

“Not that I can immediately recall, but Pierre Scumble was not the saint he was portrayed to be at the bicentennial. I told the committee that his business dealings were not always on the up and up, but they refused to listen to me.” Miss Letitia was silent for a moment. “In later years the Clapps and the Scumbles were in the coal mining business together. As was Fayanne Emerick’s ancestor.”

“Well, people who are in business together often end up with bad feelings toward each other.”

“Sadly true. Lucan wrote, ‘There is no friendship between those associated in power; he who rules will always be impatient of an associate.’”

Skye was getting used to Miss Letitia’s tendency to speak in quotations. “Do you think there would be any record of the bad feelings between Clapp and Scumble?”

“Nothing in plain sight, but let me do some digging. Perhaps something will reveal itself.”

“Thank you.” Skye got up and moved toward the door.
“Please call me right away if you find anything. Let me give you my number.”

“Certainly.” Miss Letitia took the slip of paper Skye handed her. “You really ought to have calling cards, dear. They are ever so much nicer to hand to people. Have a pleasant evening.”

As soon as she got back to her cottage, Skye called Wally to fill him in. He had left for the day, and she found herself talking to her mother instead.

“If it’s important, you can call him at home. But he said he didn’t want to be disturbed.” May paused. “Lately he’s been really adamant about no one bothering him at home. Have you noticed anything odd about him?”

“He seemed sort of unfocused the night I called him about the murder.”

“I wonder what’s going on with him,” May mused.