Murder of a Creped Suzette (10 page)

“But for investigation purposes, you’re going with Suzette, right?”

“Yes,” Wally confirmed. “No one else is missing from the staff.”

“Did you get a chance to ask about Toby?” Skye crossed her fingers.
Please, please, please,
she begged silently. She really wanted to be able to hand the dog over to his rightful owner on her way to work.

“Yep. He was Suzette’s all right.” Wally paused, then said, “Did she mention any relatives when she talked to you the other night?”

“None that are living.”

“Son of a b—!” Wally cut himself off. “Mr. and Mrs. Taylor have no idea who her next of kin might be, and no emergency contact is listed on her employment records.”

“What will you do next?” Skye checked her watch. She really needed to get off the phone with Wally so she could start looking for someone to take care of Toby.

“We’ll talk to her colleagues, do a background check—you know, the usual. What time will you be finished today?”

“I should be able to leave by three thirty. Why?” Skye asked.

“Because I need to get your formal statement. Come straight to the station, okay?”

“Sure.” Skye bit her lip. “Uh, do you think maybe Mr. or Mrs. Taylor would want Suzette’s dog?” She thought fast. “I mean, if she brought Toby to work, they might be attached to him.”

“Not a chance.” Wally snorted. “Mrs. Taylor called him a disgusting mutt.”

“Shoot.”

“What are you going to do with him?”

“I don’t know.” Skye had counted on someone connected with Suzette claiming him. “I guess, for now, I’ll keep him. At least until the case is closed or we find a member of Suzette’s family.”

“
If
we find her next of kin, they may not want him.” Wally’s voice was gentle. “Not everyone is as willing to take in strays as you are.”

“I’ll deal with that when the time comes.” Skye checked her watch again. “Hey—sorry to cut you off, but I’ve got to get going. I’ll see you this afternoon.”

“Bye, sugar.”

As soon as she hung up, she remembered the message from the night before. Should she call Wally back? No. If it was that important, last night’s caller could have phoned Wally directly. Besides, she had to find a dog sitter ASAP.

 

Geez!
Skye couldn’t believe she wasn’t able to think of anyone to take care of Toby. Her first choices—Trixie, Loretta, and Vince—all worked, as did all of her friends. She briefly considered Frannie Ryan, Justin Boward, and Xenia Craughwell, recent high school grads with whom she had remained close, but they were attending college or film school classes.

A fellow animal lover, her father would have been ideal. Too bad Jed was at an estate sale hoping to buy an old grain truck for cheap. Her godfather, Charlie Patu-kas, owner and manager of the Up A Lazy River Motor Court, was also gone for the day—in Joliet, buying new mattresses for the cottages.

Skye’s mother, who should have been the next logical choice, would have a hissy fit when she learned Skye had taken the dog. May would tell her to give him to Animal Control. It didn’t feel right asking her aunts or cousins for a favor. Skye just didn’t have that kind of relationship with any of them—especially considering the very real possibility that Toby might destroy their houses as he had hers.

Which left Owen. Trixie’s husband would make a perfect canine nanny. He worked at home, liked dogs, and wouldn’t be overly upset if Toby chewed up his possessions. There was only one—all right, two—problems. First, Skye felt a little awkward talking to him after the incident at the concert last Saturday, and second, Trixie must have already left for work, because no one was answering the phone at the Frayne residence.

Okay, that doesn’t mean he isn’t there.
Trixie had said he rarely stepped into the house during the day. Owen was probably in the barn. Yep. That was where he was all right—there or in one of the other outbuildings. He wouldn’t be in the fields today. The corn was already in, and depending on the weather, it would be five to ten days before the soybeans could be harvested.

Blocking any alternative scenario from her thoughts, Skye gathered up Toby and his equipment and put him in the car, admonishing him, “Be a good boy and Uncle Owen will take you for a nice run.”

Returning to the house, Skye sprinted upstairs and opened the bedroom door to release Bingo from his imprisonment. He was curled up on the mattress and only deigned to open one eye and yawn before going back to sleep.

“Fine,” Skye muttered as she grabbed her tote bag and headed out. “Be like that.”

 

Skye pulled into the Fraynes’ driveway at a quarter after seven. She had fifteen minutes to convince Owen to watch Toby and to make it to the high school on time.
Drat!
Another day of running as fast as she could just to keep up.

The white two-story house was to her left. Its door was closed, the shades down, and there was no sign of Owen. In front of Skye was a garage and an equipment shed; to her right was the barn.

To Toby, Skye said, “I’ll be back in a second. Good doggies do not chew on genuine leather seats or expensive wooden steering wheels.”

Tossing a mental coin, Skye chose to try the barn first. It felt a little like déjà vu, but unlike yesterday’s barn, this one was clearly a working enterprise. Bales of hay were stacked along one end of the interior and stalls lined either side. The animals had already been released into their paddocks for the day, but their odor lingered.

Skye called out, “
Yoo hoo!
Owen, it’s Skye. Are you around?”

There was no answer, but as she strode through the building, she noticed evidence of Owen’s recent presence. The stalls had been mucked out; the rake, shovel, and pitchfork were back in their assigned places; and all the metal troughs were full of water.

She tried again, raising her voice. “Owen, I need to ask you a favor.”

Silence. Okay, he was probably in the equipment shed. If he was anything like her father, when all the other chores were done, he tinkered with his machinery.

The shed’s only entrance was a towering metal door that had to be rolled to the side. Skye managed to shove it far enough open to squeeze through, but the gap didn’t allow much light. The interior was one cavernous room with a packed-dirt floor. Arranged in rough rows were tractors, combines, threshers, and a variety of implements she didn’t recognize.

She picked her way carefully down the center walkway, peering into the shadows and calling out Owen’s name.
Darn !
He wasn’t here, either.

Crossing her fingers, Skye headed to the garage, murmuring under her breath, “Be there, be there,
please
be there.”

Both overhead doors were down, which was not a good sign, but Skye forced herself to remain optimistic as she walked over to the pedestrian entrance and opened it. Inside, one space was empty, clearly where Trixie parked her Honda Civic, but the other half was occupied by a dusty black pickup.

If Owen’s truck was here, where was he? As Skye pondered that question, something nibbled at the back of her mind.

Good gravy!
Owen’s pickup looked just like the one that had dropped off Suzette at the trailer Saturday night.
No.
Skye shook her head and scolded herself.
Don’t go there. A lot of men drive dusty black trucks.
Surely Suzette’s date hadn’t been Owen.

“Act Naturally”

E
ven if Skye had been willing to risk cat-canine combat and doggy destruction, it was too late to take Toby back home. The clock was ticking, and she had run out of options. Toby would have to go to school with her.

Yeah. Like that would work out well.

Sheesh!
If she had known this would turn into Bring Your Pet to Work Day, she’d have left the dog at home and brought Bingo. He slept twenty-three out of twenty-four hours, used a litter box rather than the great outdoors, and rarely made a sound.

As she drove, Skye tried to look on the bright side. At least the junior high’s weekly Pupil Personnel Services meeting had been postponed until Wednesday, and she could spend the entire day in one building. So, taking into account a midday potty break, she’d have to smuggle Toby in and out only twice.

Another plus was that the high school had several classrooms with doors that opened directly to the lawn. Now all Skye needed was to find a teacher with one of those rooms who would be willing to look the other way when Toby needed to be walked.

Skye was still mentally scrolling through the staff roster when she pulled into the parking lot. She chose an isolated space partially blocked from view by a storage shed, and tried to figure out a way to sneak Toby into her office.

Taking an inventory of what she had to work with, she remembered the large computer paper carton that she’d stowed in the Chevy earlier that morning. It currently contained dog food, two bowls, and a chew toy, but there was plenty of room for the little dog. If Toby would keep quiet, that would be his magic carpet into the high school.

She used a pen to poke a few air holes in the side of the box, then scanned the nearby area for witnesses. There was no one around. Quickly scooping up Toby, she tucked him inside the carton and moved the rawhide bone into his sight. He immediately curled up and started gnawing.

Before putting on the lid, Skye instructed, “Okay, boy. No barking.”

Clutching her key ring, she slid her tote bag onto her shoulder and hefted the box into her arms. As she strode toward the school’s entrance, she concentrated on keeping her expression nonchalant. It was fairly common for her to carry around cartons and test kits, which meant that if Toby kept his little white muzzle shut, no one would look twice.

Skye was in luck. It was a few minutes before the kids would be allowed inside, so the halls were relatively empty. At one point she saw the principal marching toward her and her stomach clenched, but he was engrossed in haranguing the custodian about dented trash cans and didn’t acknowledge Skye’s presence.

Almost there.
Skye put the box on the floor in front of her office and inserted her key. Just as she opened the door, a group of teachers walked by, talking loudly, and Toby shoved the lid from the carton, poked his head over the side, and looked around. His eyes were bright with interest and his pink tongue lolled out of his mouth.

Skye quickly thrust the box inside the room, slammed the door, and waited. Had they seen Toby? After a few moments, when no one came around asking about the little dog, she collapsed on her chair.

Phew!
That had been too close. It was only seven thirty-five and already her heart was racing and her pulse was pounding. How would she pull this off for another eight hours?

While Toby acquainted himself with every nook, cranny, and object in the room, Skye’s mind galloped. Since she now had the morning free, she could stay in her office writing reports, but she had counseling sessions scheduled for the afternoon. Where could she stash the little dog while she saw students?

There weren’t many staff members Skye could count as real friends. For the most part, it was easier to maintain impartiality and confidentiality if she kept somewhat distant from most of the faculty.

Past circumstance had thrown her and Alana Lowe together, and they had formed a bond, but the art teacher was too emotionally fragile to handle this sort of favor. That left Trixie.

Hmm.
As the school librarian, Trixie had greater freedom than almost anyone else. She also had a workroom that she could lock. And since the three afternoon periods totaled only two hours, surely Toby wouldn’t need to relieve himself during that time.

The little dog had found an old sweater Skye kept around for days when the furnace went out and had managed to wrestle it from the coatrack onto the floor. He was currently nestled in its folds, chomping on his bone. This was an ideal time to go talk to Trixie.

School had started a quarter of an hour earlier, and the students were finishing homeroom—twenty minutes in which attendance was taken, announcements were made, and a good-citizen lesson was taught. Apparently today’s session was about organization, because Trixie had an image of the official assignment notebook on the overhead screen and was demonstrating how to keep track of homework due dates.

From where Skye lingered in the back of the multimedia center, she noticed that few of the kids seemed impressed with the multicolor pencil method. Most sat with their books in their arms on the edge of their seats, and when the bell rang, they bolted for the exit.

Trixie was gathering up debris when she spotted Skye weaving her way through the departing teens, and called out, “Hey, girlfriend. I was going to go look for you as soon as I had a break.”

“You want to hear about the body,” Skye guessed, knowing that rumors must be flying fast and furious around town.

“What else?” Trixie drew Skye into her tiny office and shut the door. “Spill.”

While Skye described yesterday’s experience, Trixie unwrapped a package of miniature donuts. She offered Skye one of the quartet, then bit into her own, moaning, “Oh, my goodness. These are
sooo
good.”

While Skye had been off the diet roller coaster for the past five years, she still tried to eat healthfully and to exercise. So despite having missed breakfast, she resisted the donuts and stifled the urge to smack her friend. It wasn’t Trixie’s fault that she could consume her own weight in sugar and never add an inch to her size 4 figure, while Skye could gain five pounds watching the Food Channel.

Once both Trixie’s appetite for sweets and her curiosity about the murder were sated, Skye said, “I need a favor.”

“Sure.” Trixie popped the last bite into her mouth. “What?”

Skye explained about Toby, then said, “So, can you keep him in the storage room this afternoon?”