Murder of a Sweet Old Lady (24 page)

Skye swallowed nervously as she watched her hand disappear in his grip, which was surprisingly gentle. “My name’s Skye.”

“Aw, that’s a pretty name.” Sarge leaned against the door frame. “So, what you want to know? We ain’t got no secrets. We’re just getting ready for when civilization fails.”

“Well, preparedness is always a smart thing.” Skye searched her mind for a good question, figuring this was a limited opportunity. “You may have known my grandmother, Antonia Leofanti. She lived on the farm next to this property.”

“Heard of her. Never met the lady.” Sarge examined his fingernails. “Saw in the paper she was killed. Shame, not being safe in your own home.”

“Ah, no offense, but I know some of your people occasionally forgot where your camp ended and her farm began and went across the line.” Skye watched him closely for a reaction. “I was wondering if anyone out here had seen anything.”

“We never took anything.” Sarge crossed his arms and a stubborn look stole over his features. “But your grandma sure went crazy if we were hunting and took a step on her property. That wasn’t too neighborly.”

“No, it wasn’t. But she was an old woman whose health was already failing. Things bothered her that never used to.”

He nodded and leaned back. “Sometimes old folks are hard to live with.”

“So, do you think you could ask around and see if anyone noticed anything the day she died?”

“Okay, but I’d’ve heard if anyone saw anything.”

“Let me give you my number, just in case someone remembers something.” She fished in her purse and pulled out a small notebook and pen.

While she was writing, a skinny teenager ducked under the older man’s arm and ran down the steps. She yelled over his shoulder, “You ain’t stickin’ me with no needle.”

An attractive middle-aged woman wearing an old-fashioned nurse’s uniform followed the girl. The nurse was holding a syringe; its metal tip glinted in the sunlight. “This is only a tetanus shot. That barbed wire you cut yourself on was rusty. You need this to prevent you from getting sick.”

Without speaking, Sarge stepped off the porch, grabbed the girl in a bear hug, and presented her to the nurse, who administered the injection. The teenager took off as soon as the man released her and the nurse went back inside the cabin.

Skye distractedly thanked Sarge and said good-bye. The nurse had triggered something in the back of Skye’s mind. She got into the Buick, waved, and was nearly in Scumble River when it hit her. One of the pictures from her grandmother’s box had a similar scene. It showed Mona and Minnie as teens standing on either side of a nurse in an old-fashioned uniform. The Chicago skyline was the backdrop.

Skye abruptly swung the wheel of the car and turned toward her brother’s salon. She wanted that picture. Who was the nurse? Why was she with her aunts? And what were they doing in Chicago?

 

She was sitting on her couch staring at the photo when her telephone rang. Bingo was ensconced on her lap, and she had several coffee-table books featuring Chicago spread around her. She grabbed the receiver just before her new answering machine intervened.

Charlie’s rough baritone blared through the handset. “Skye, honey, what you doing tomorrow night?”

“Why?” Charlie had roped her into many unpleasant activities in the past and she was cautious, even though she knew she would end up doing exactly what he wanted her to do.

“The Stanley County Farm Bureau is having a pork chop supper and I got stuck buying two tickets.” He did not sound regretful.

“I thought you had to be a farmer to be involved with that organization.” Skye eased herself into a kitchen chair.

“Hell, they interpret the rules real loose for this sort of thing. I own a couple of pieces of land that I rent out to farmers, so they bugged me to join. Which means I got to show my face at their goings-on.”

“You must belong to every organization in Scumble River.”

“I don’t like to brag, but it seems real important to people that I be involved.”

“That’s impressive.” She was only half listening as she continued to look at the photo.

“So, you want to go with me, or do you got a hot date with Simon?”

“No. Simon and I don’t see each other every night or anything.”

“Then you want to go to this supper?” Charlie’s voice held a hint of impatience.

“Sure. What time?” Skye reached for a pencil. “What do I wear?”

“I’ll pick you up at four. It’s over to the county seat, so it will take us forty-five minutes or so to drive it. Wear what you usually wear; it’s not fancy or nothing.”

“Listen, Uncle Charlie, before you hang up, I’ve got a picture here that shows Aunt Minnie and Aunt Mona posed with a nurse in Chicago. They look like they’re in their teens.” Skye examined the images closely. “Do you know anything about that?”

“A nurse, huh? I can’t think of anyone. I’ll take a look at it when I come get you tomorrow.”

 

Charlie arrived the next afternoon driving a big black Cadillac DeVille. Skye ran her hand caressingly down the soft leather seats and breathed in the new-car scent. “Wow, Uncle Charlie, when did you get this?”

He tipped back his straw fedora. “I haven’t bought it yet. Just trying it out. Do you like it?”

“What’s not to like?” Skye smiled. “You look perfect in it.” She leaned across the huge expanse of front seat, and kissed him on the cheek. “But what’s wrong with your other Cadillac?”

“I bought that used, just to tide me over till I could get around to shopping for a new one.”

Before Charlie could bring up her need for a car, or the fact that he’d be pleased to buy her one with his newly inherited wealth, Skye passed him the photo of her aunts. “Do you know who that woman with them is or where this was taken?”

“No, can’t say as I recognize her,” Charlie said. “But the two girls are definitely Mona and Minnie.”

“Darn. That means I’ll have to ask Mona, since Minnie is still in the hospital.” Skye slumped down and crossed her arms.

“You don’t get along too good with Mona, huh?” Charlie smirked.

“Aunt Mona’s views and mine don’t always agree.”

“Of course, not many people’s do. Neal pretty much tells her what to think, and he’s a self-righteous ass.” Charlie paused.

Skye could tell he was getting ready for one of his zingers.

“Neal and Mona are two of them there puritans. And you know the definition of puritanism, doncha? It’s the nagging fear that someone, somewhere may be happy.”

 

The pork chop supper was being held at the Stanley County fairgrounds in Laurel. There was one entrance from the main road, a rutted, gravel path that made Skye wince as the beautiful DeVille bounced from furrow to furrow. She could hear rocks pinging off the shiny finish.

Cars were being funneled by men in orange vests to a grassy area beside the tents. Due to the recent rains, there were big patches of mud and bog waiting to trap unsuspecting drivers.

As Charlie edged his Cadillac into the line for parking, Skye examined the crowds and asked, “Who are all these people?”

“Farm families from within fifty miles of here.” Charlie kept his eye on the car in front of him. No one was getting ahead of Charlie Patukas.

The line of vehicles had stopped moving and Charlie pounded on his horn. “Christ, this traffic is backed up as bad as my bowels.”

Skye screwed up her face. “Gee, thanks for that image, Uncle Charlie.”

When they finally parked and joined the hordes of people pushing their way to where the food was being served, Charlie said, “Maybe some of the old-timers around here will recognize that nurse.”

“Great. I really don’t want to have to ask Aunt Mona.” Skye clung to his arm so she wouldn’t be pushed away with the crowds.

She was stepping into the meal line when Charlie dragged her away and pulled her behind the structure. For just a second Skye felt afraid. Her fear quickly dispersed as he continued to tug her through the exit.

A woman of about fifty stood near a grill, poking pork chops with a long fork. She wore two red plastic barrettes in her dishwater-blond hair. Stringy bangs covered a sloping, uneven forehead. The indistinct features of her pumpkin-shaped face were red with the heat of the charcoal. Her ragged fingernails had been painted scarlet and matched her Spandex shorts.

Charlie waved the tickets in her face. “Fayanne, give me two plates. I can’t wait in that line.”

Fayanne Emerick owned the Brown Bag liquor store across from Charlie’s Up a Lazy River Motor Court. She kept a ledger in her head, and the accounts had to balance at all times.

“Sure.” Fayanne grabbed a couple of plastic plates. “By the way, did you ever talk to that trucker friend of yours about that discount beer he was supposed to look into getting me?”

“He’ll deliver on Monday.” Charlie grabbed the plates as soon as Fayanne had finished filling them. “Thanks.”

When they settled at one of the picnic tables scattered around the grounds, Skye said, “Darn, I should have asked Fayanne about the picture.”

“Honey, you got to be careful who you ask and how you ask them.” Charlie sawed a piece of meat from his pork chop. “You don’t want this getting back to Mona or Minnie.”

“So, how should I ask then?” Skye spread butter on a roll.

“Run get me a beer while I figure it out.” Charlie gestured to a group of metal troughs filled with ice, beer, and soda.

Skye made her way to the drinks and spoke to the white denim-clad derriere bent over the bins. “I’d recognize that butt anywhere.”

Trixie heaved herself upright from the tubs and waved two cans of Diet Coke triumphantly over her head. “Skye, what are you doing here?”

“Uncle Charlie invited me.”

“Owen thought this would be a good way to meet some of the other farm families in the area.” Trixie pointed to a serious-looking man engaged in conversation with two guys wearing Caterpillar gimme caps.

“I see he’s made some contacts.”

“Yeah, I’d invite you over, but you wouldn’t thank me for it. All their wives can talk about is canning and baking.” Trixie’s mobile features made a disgusted face.

“Thanks for the warning. Uncle Charlie will want his beer anyway.” Skye started off, but turned back. “You want to go to the beach tomorrow?”

“Sure. Is the afternoon okay?”

“I’ll pick you up about one.” Skye waved a can and left.

Skye stopped as she neared their picnic table. Sitting with Charlie were Gillian, wearing a low-cut chartreuse top, her husband, with his beer belly hanging over his jeans, and her daughter, with a scowl on her face. Skye took a deep breath. This was her chance to mend some fences and be nicer to her cousins. They had been very understanding about Skye’s involvement with their mother’s hospitalization, and it was time to start fresh and try to be friends.

Skye forced herself to smile as she sat down. “Hi. Any news about your mom?”

Gillian shot a meaningful glance at the little girl. “Kristin, can you get Mommy a can of pop?”

After the girl left, Gillian said, “No. I understand we have you to thank for not being able to see her alone.”

I should have realized they’d be mad about that and called them to explain.
“I’m sorry, I should have talked to you first, but I was so afraid someone would try to hurt her again.” Skye popped the top of her Diet Coke.

“So, you don’t think Mom tried to kill herself?” Gillian ran her fingers through her hair.

“No, I don’t.” Skye went over her reasons.

“Well, I don’t know if that makes sense or not, but I knew she didn’t attempt suicide.”

“Why?”

“Because I have a little psychic gift.”

Before she could stop herself, Skye blurted out, “Maybe you could exchange it for a nice sweater.” Damn, being nice to her cousins was going to be tougher than she thought.

Conversation deteriorated from that point, and it was a relief when Charlie suggested that they head for the dessert tent.

As they walked away, he took Skye’s hand and patted it. “You know that cousin of yours is a few peas short of a casserole.”

“Sometimes I’m afraid it’s genetic.”

 

Skye put a couple of chocolate chip cookies on her plate. All the sweets had been donated by the officers’ wives and were made from scratch.

Charlie picked up a piece of apple pie mounded with ice cream and guided her to another set of tables. Skye broke off a piece of the cookie, which oozed chocolate. She closed her eyes and savored the intense burst of flavor.

“I been thinking about how to show that picture around. How ’bout if you block out Mona and Minnie and just leave the nurse for people to look at?”

“What a great idea.” Skye found the photo in her purse. She also managed to find a pad of Post-it notes. After affixing one square to either side of the photograph, she showed it to Charlie. “What do you think?”

He forked the rest of the pie into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “Great. Let’s get to work.”

 

The old man shrugged and went back to talking about tractors. So far none of the people they had spoken to had recognized the woman in the picture.

Charlie seemed to thrive on the noise and the crowds. He greeted most people by name and easily joined their conversations. Skye found it difficult to keep people straight, and although some faces looked familiar, she could rarely remember who they were. Still, it was interesting to hear their opinions and listen to them talk about a Scumble River that existed before she was born. Maybe she’d ask Charlie about doing an oral history with some of his cronies.

The fairgrounds were bigger than she remembered. People walked on caked dirt and tried to avoid the many spots of mud. Several large pole buildings were interspersed with tents and food stands. These structures were made of huge sheets of metal supported with steel rods.