Murder of a Creped Suzette

CHAPTER 17

“Hey Good Lookin’”

The windows along Scumble River’s main drag were dark when Skye and Wally drove back to town. Wally hadn’t been able to catch the intruder, who had presumably stolen the contents of the Neal folder, so he’d had to call in a county crime technician to dust the empty box and the other files for fingerprints. By the time the tech arrived, did her job, and departed, it was close to eight thirty, which meant Skye and Wally didn’t get home until after nine.

Skye’s stomach growled as Wally turned the T-bird into the church parking lot. Both she and Toby were starving, and she’d bet Bingo would be yowling for food as well.

“You sure you don’t want to get a bite at McDonald’s ?” Wally asked, opening her door.

“No.” Skye slid behind the wheel of her Bel Air and deposited Toby in the backseat. “I have a hungry cat waiting for me.”

“Okay.” Wally kissed her cheek. “Then I’ll stay here and work on the case awhile.” He jutted his chin toward the police station behind him. “Although I’m not sure where to start.”

“Yeah.” Skye sighed in sympathy. “I imagine it’s hard to figure out who had a motive to kill Suzette when you have so little information about the real person behind the public persona.”

“Exactly.” Wally shoved a hand through his hair. “We’re not aware of any Scumble Riverites with whom she had more than casual contact, although we’re still looking. And so far, all of the owners of black pickups we’ve located have alibis. We’ve interviewed the Country Roads employees and the laborers who were on the theater construction site, but everyone says she kept to herself.”

“Even Kallista Taylor and Flint James?” Skye asked, then said, “Dang it! I never did tell you the negative things they said about her Saturday night, did I?” Skye described the scene in the trailer, ending with, “So both Flint and Kallista were jealous of Suzette. For Flint it was professional; for Kallista it was personal.”

“No one mentioned a word about that yesterday or today in any of the interviews we conducted with the Country Roads people.”

“Of course not.” Skye crossed her arms. “Who would volunteer that kind of information about the star or the boss’s wife?”

“Nobody who wanted to keep his or her job.” Wally’s eyes were cold. “But tomorrow will begin round two of the interrogations, and this time I have something specific to ask them. Especially since neither of them has an alibi.”

“I am so sorry I forgot to tell you about that conversation. I didn’t realize they were two of the three Country Roads people who couldn’t account for their time.” Skye felt she had let Wally down. “What kind of psych consultant am I if I don’t remember the important details ?”

“You overheard Flint and Kallista before the murder, when what they said wasn’t that important. Then you had a nasty shock when you found Suzette in that horrific condition.” Wally leaned into the Chevy and embraced Skye. “No one could expect you to be at the top of your game after seeing that.” He rested his cheek against hers. “Besides, it’s only been two days.”

“Thanks for understanding and not being mad.” She hugged him back. “But I promise I’m over it now. Simon is going to dog sit for me, and I’ll concentrate on helping you find the killer.”

Skye held her breath, wondering how Wally would take the news of Simon’s involvement.

“Why would you ask your ex-boyfriend for help?” Wally’s voice was soft, but it had an edge that made Skye flinch.

“Actually, Simon volunteered.” Skye hastily explained the conversation they’d had at the ATM. “I have a feeling he might end up adopting Toby if they get along and no one else claims him.”

“Yeah.” Wally nodded thoughtfully. “I can see that.” After a few seconds his face relaxed. “Reid will need the companionship.” Wally kissed her, then straightened. “Because he’s not getting you back.”

“That was my thinking. Do you want me to help with the reinterviews tomorrow after I get out of school?”

“Definitely.” Wally’s smile was predatory. “I’m going to save the two major players for you. And instead of bringing Kallista and Flint into the PD, we’ll approach them in their home territory, where they’re apt to be less careful of what they say.”

“I can’t wait.” Skye started to close the Chevy’s door, but stopped. “Hey—how about Darleen? Were you able to trace that number I gave you?”

“Just like I figured, it came back to a disposable cell.” Wally crossed his arms. “And no one answered when I dialed it, not even voice mail.”

“Guess whoever called isn’t in much of a hurry for the money.” Skye studied Wally’s tired expression before asking, “Have you decided if you’re going to pay her or not?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Wally leaned a hip against the car. “But if you want me to, I will, because getting to marry you is worth more than a measly quarter million dollars.”

“That’s such a sweet thing to say.” Skye beamed at him. “But I’d never encourage you to give in to blackmail.”

“I’ll try calling that number again tomorrow.” Wally’s shoulders hunched forward. “Maybe we can work something out.”

“Well, whatever you decide, I’m behind you a hundred percent.” Skye started the Bel Air’s engine. “If we don’t get a letter from Darleen supporting your request for an annulment, it may take a bit longer, but it will still come through and we’ll still get married.”

Skye had been praying it wouldn’t come to this. She’d been sure they’d find the name of Suzette’s brother last night in the police file. But now that the file was officially stolen, that hope had vanished.

Noreen had said only two people currently at Scumble River High were at the school when Quentin Neal worked there—Homer Knapik and Pru Cormorant, the English teacher. Voluntarily spending time in Homer’s company was bad enough, but questioning Pru ventured into the realm of appalling.

Pru hadn’t liked Skye when she had her as a student, and she disliked her even more as a colleague. The animosity was mutual, especially since last month when the English teacher had tried to shut down the newly opened bookstore in town, claiming the romances it sold were pornography and the horror novels were satanic.

Skye had been putting off the discussions with Homer and Pru all day. But by the afternoon, when the elementary school student she had scheduled for testing was absent, Skye had run out of excuses and reluctantly headed over to the high school. Pru wouldn’t be available until eighth hour, which was her second planning period, but Homer was almost always free.

The session with Homer went remarkably well. Having successfully turned over the administrative problems pertaining to Woodrow Buckingham’s integration to the special education coordinator, the principal was in a mellow mood.

Homer answered Skye’s questions with only a few snide remarks, but he could add nothing to what Noreen had already reported. Homer’s sole recollection of Quentin Neal was that he had done his job and kept out of trouble.

When the seventh-hour bell rang, Skye waited for the kids to leave before approaching Pru’s room.

“Hi, Pru,” Skye called from the open doorway. “Got a minute?”

The English teacher was facing a six-foot-high double-door metal cabinet. At Skye’s greeting, she swung around and scowled. “Did Mrs. Cook complain about that note I sent home yesterday?”

“What note?” Skye asked cautiously. Homer usually sent her to deal with Pru when the teacher ticked off a parent, but he hadn’t mentioned a problem.

“The one I wrote that said, ‘Your son sets low standards and then consistently fails to achieve them.’ ”

“Holy smokes!” Skye blurted out. “What possessed you to send a parent something like that?”

“I know you think I’m crazy,” Pru snapped, “but I’ve just been in a very bad mood for the past twenty-odd years.”

“Of course I don’t think you’re crazy,” Skye soothed, thinking, Mean as a polecat, but not crazy.

“Fine.” Pru crossed her arms. “Which of your little darlings needs special treatment this time?”

“No one at the moment.” Skye forced a smile. Pru thought everyone should be treated equally—that is, everyone but the two or three students she selected as her pets every year. “However, I always appreciate your cooperation when I do have a request.”

The English teacher narrowed her wintry blue eyes and twitched her pointy nose. “Then to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

Skye held on to her smile. “I understand you knew Quentin Neal. He was a music teacher who worked here quite a while ago.”

“He was here only for a year, so I wouldn’t exactly say I knew him,” Pru quibbled. “Especially since he taught a fluff subject.”

“I understand. But is there anything at all you can recall about him?” Skye was fairly sure that Pru, who acted as gossip central for the school, kept track of all the new teachers, even the ones she dismissed for teaching superfluities like music and art. “Maybe who his friends were?”

“I do remember he was a handsome man.” Pru gave a small shrug, her expression contemptuous. “All the young females on the staff, and several of the older ones who should have known better, were atwitter.”

“Did he chirp back?” Skye asked, wondering if Pru had been one of the cheeping flock. “I imagine that kind of adulation would be tempting to him.”

“No.” Pru smoothed her stringy dun-colored hair back into its chignon. “He was pleasant, but he kept his distance.”

“Did you ever meet his family?” Skye asked. “I understand he had twins.”

“Yes to both your questions. And since the girl was just murdered here in town a couple of days ago”— Pru’s smile was superior—“I imagine she is why you’re so interested in Quentin.”

“That’s true,” Skye admitted, not allowing herself to be baited. “Do you remember his son’s name?”

“Let me think.” Pru tapped a bony finger on her receding chin and pursed her thin lips. “It wasn’t an S name like Stephen or Scott, as you’d expect with twins.”

“Did it rhyme with Suzette?” Skye asked, realizing the absurdity of the suggestion before the last word slipped from her lips.

“What boy’s name ends with ette?” The English teacher glared in contempt at Skye’s stupidity.

“Oh.” Skye ground her teeth, angry she had given Pru an opening to ridicule her. The woman had done enough of that when Skye had been in her class twenty years ago. “Right.”

“Let’s see.” Pru tsked. “I almost had it when you interrupted me.”

“Sorry.” Uh-oh. Being interrupted was one of Pru’s major pet peeves.

“I remember thinking the name was appropriate.” Pru’s pause was indisputably for effect. “The little boy was such a hellion.”

Skye held her breath, waiting for the big revelation to which Pru was building up.

After several seconds, Pru shook her head. “No.” She rubbed her temples. “I’m afraid it’s flown out of my head.”

Sheesh! What a letdown. “Well, thanks for trying.” Skye barely refrained from shaking Pru until the teacher came up with the name. “If you think of it, let me know or call Chief Boyd. The police would be grateful for your cooperation in this matter.”

“Of course.” Pru looked meaningfully at the wall clock, then glowered at Skye. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to use the few minutes left of my planning period for my own work, instead of yours.”

As Skye walked back to her office, she processed what Pru had told her. What boy’s name could be associated with the word hellion?

“Adolph?” Wally guessed. It was four thirty and they were in his Thunderbird on the way to the Up A Lazy River Motor Court to talk to Flint James. “Damian?”

“That’s a good one.” Skye had been thinking of names since she’d left Pru. “Attila?”

“Fidel?” Wally parked the Ford in an empty slot next to a red Maserati.

“I’ve got it.” Wally exited the T-bird, walked around the hood, and held out his hand to Skye. “Cain. Wasn’t he the ultimate hellion?”

“Yes. I’d have to say killing your brother qualifies you for that title.” Skye marched up the sidewalk to cabin number two and knocked, paused, then knocked again when there was no response. “That’s odd. He should be here. When I called Uncle Charlie just before we drove over here, he said that Flint James was in his room. He’d pulled in a few minutes before I phoned.”

Wally moved Skye out of the way, stepped closer, and pounded on the door.

This time they heard a muffled voice yell, “Be right there!”

While they waited, Skye spotted the bass player from Flint’s backup band peering out his cottage’s window. She waved and he let the curtain drop. Turing to Wally, she said, “Speaking of Cain, do you think Suzette’s brother might have killed her? After all, the media has been all over this murder and he hasn’t come forward. Maybe that’s why.”

Before he could respond, the door was flung open and Flint James in all his nearly naked glory stood on the other side of the threshold.

Skye swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. The small bath towel that Flint wore wrapped low on his hips didn’t leave much to the imagination. She caught herself hoping for a strong gust of wind.

“Sorry.” The singer grinned and hitched the terry cloth rectangle a little higher. “I wasn’t expecting company. Rex had me on the dog and pony show circuit all day and I needed to wash off the sleaze.”

“No problem, partner.” Wally got his Texas on and he slung his arm around Skye. “We were on our way to dinner, but I saw your car and thought this might be a good time to clear up a few things.”

Skye hid a smile. So that’s why Wally was dressed in jeans and cowboy boots and they were using his private car. He had said they would try to keep this laid-back to throw the suspects off, but she hadn’t realized they were going in disguise.

“If you don’t mind, could we come in and talk for a minute?” Wally asked.

“Sure.” Flint stepped back. “Make yourself to home.” He headed toward the bathroom. “Let me throw on some clothes.”

While the star was dressing, Skye whispered to Wally, “I take it my role in this little performance is as the dumb girlfriend.”

“Not necessarily dumb.” Wally leaned his backside against the desk. “Just not as smart as you really are, at least at first.”

“Gotcha.” Skye sat on the only available chair and studied the room. It contained a double bed, a dresser with a TV on top, and two nightstands. She noted that Flint’s belongings were all neatly arranged.

A few seconds later Flint returned, toweling his hair. “What can I do you for?”

Wally asked routine questions about the singer’s activities on Monday afternoon, where he’d been at the time of the murder, and what his relationship with Suzette had been like.

Flint’s answers were exactly the same as in his first interview. He’d been alone in his room from two until five, and he and Suzette were friendly colleagues.

Finally Flint said, “Man, I answered all these questions before. If you don’t have anything new, I need to get ready for an evening gig and I’d like to rest for a couple of hours before then.”

“Right. Of course.” Wally straightened but subtly put pressure on Skye’s shoulder, indicating she should stay seated and that it was her turn to take over the interrogation. “We surely don’t want to keep you from that. Thanks for your patience.”

“I’m happy to cooperate with the police.” Flint held out his hand.

“Mr. James,” Skye spoke from behind Wally. She could see the singer, but he could only glimpse her. “Before we go, I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your concert last Saturday night.”

“Why thank you, little lady.” Flint’s baritone was as smooth as twelve-year-old scotch. “I truly love singing to a live audience.”

“You know”—Skye let her voice drop as if imparting a secret—“for a while there I was afraid the concert wasn’t going to happen.”

“Oh?” Flint’s expression was neutral. “Why is that?”

“Folks here in Scumble River are pretty impatient and I thought they’d leave when it didn’t start on time.” Skye giggled. “Good thing there was all that free booze available.” She put her hand over her mouth, pretending to be embarrassed. “No offense.”

“None taken.”

“But the concert was nearly half an hour late.” Skye shook her head. “Some people thought that was downright rude of you all.”

“I agree.” Flint’s ears were red. “I hate speaking ill of the dead, but the delay was entirely Suzette’s fault. I was there early.”

“I know.” Skye stood and moved around Wally until she was facing the singer. “I overheard you talking to Mr. Taylor before she arrived.”

“How did you—?” The beautiful bronze skin of Flint’s face became a jaundiced yellow. “Where were you? I mean—what did you hear?”

“I heard you say that you didn’t trust Suzette. That she was a schemer and had sweet-talked Mr. Taylor into giving her one of your best songs.” Skye moved closer to the singer. “Is that what you call being friendly colleagues ?”