Murder of a Creped Suzette (26 page)

A snore that sounded like a backfiring leaf blower erupted from Earl’s open mouth, and he screwed up his face, then turned away from them.

“Earl?” Wally inched closer and raised his voice. “Wake up, Earl.”

There was no reaction from the sleeping man, but the dogs penned nearby jumped against the steel mesh of their cage, bouncing off it while barking and baring their teeth at Skye and Wally.

Skye spotted a bamboo fishing rod leaning against a dilapidated shed. She whispered her idea to Wally, who shook his head no, but she ignored his instructions and squeezed past him. Giving the furious animals a wide berth, she grabbed the pole and inched her way toward Earl.

Once within reach, she used the rod to tap the sleeping Doozier on the shoulder, saying in her outdoor voice, “Earl, wake up.”

He leaped from his chair, wrestling with the bandanna that was blinding him, and yelped, “I wuz jes’ restin’ my eyes, honey pie.”

“It’s Skye, Earl.” Skye took a step closer but then quickly moved downwind. The excessive use of cologne could delay the need to bathe for only so many days, and Earl was way overdue. “Chief Boyd and I are here to talk to you about some complaints from your neighbors.”

Earl finally tore off the bandanna and scowled. “You sceered me half to death, Miz Skye.” A confused look stole over his face. “Hey, what happens if you gets sceered half to death twice?”

Having no good answer, Skye ignored his question and settled for apologizing. “Sorry for startling you, Earl.”

“That’s okay, Miz Skye.” His wide smile revealed several stumps and missing teeth. “What’re you doin’ here? I heared yew and yer intended were hot on the trail of a murderer.” He loped toward her.

“We are, but one of your neighbors called the police station and said you were shooting at them, so we came to check it out.” Skye allowed herself to be hugged, trying not to make contact with any of his many tattoos. Tattoos usually felt smooth, but Earl’s were as odd as he was and they radiated a heat that Skye figured explained his penchant for going shirtless even in the coldest weather.

“They’s lyin’.” Earl let Skye go and scratched the bowling ball–size potbelly that hung over his waistband. “Ain’t nobody shootin’ at ’em. We was jes’ settin’ up our new Paintball Advenchore bizness. You know, gettin’ ready for the zillions of payin’ customers that that Country Roads guy promised to bring in.”

“Rex Taylor talked to you?” Skye was surprised that the entrepreneur had enlisted the Dooziers in his schemes. “When was that?”

“I cain’t rightly say.” He tugged at his greasy brown ponytail. “A couple or three days afore that free concert he put on.” The sunshine highlighted the cereal bowl–size bald spot on Earl’s head. “He invited the whole part and parcel of us along the river here to a shindig at the country club. He tol’ us that iffen we come up with stuff for the tourists to do or somethin’ for them to buy, we’d all get rich.”

Skye turned to Wally, who had joined her, but before she could speak she spotted an elderly woman wearing a flowered neon green muumuu and red high-top sneakers teetering across the dead grass toward them. She looked old enough to have had dinosaurs for pets and meaner than a soccer mom whose son didn’t make the team.

The infamous MeMa was on the prowl. She was the clan matriarch and Earl’s grandmother, or maybe great-grandmother; Skye had never quite untangled the Dooziers’ twisted family tree.

MeMa walked up to Skye, squinted, and said in a thin quaver, “I heared you were nosin’ around askin’ questions about the Neals.”

“Yes.” Skye paused to consider the best way to respond. Mentioning her connection with the police would be a mistake. “I’m trying to help find out who murdered that poor girl.”

“Ain’t nobody cared who killed her ma.” MeMa glared at Skye. “And she was a mighty fine lady.” The old woman’s tone was defiant. “I cleaned for her once a week back then and she always treated me real nice. Made me a hot lunch. She even poured the beer into a glass.”

“Paulette’s death was an accident,” Skye said cautiously. “Wasn’t it?”

“Maybe, maybe not.” MeMa shrugged. “But consid-erin’ her husband was playin’ around on her, I sure wouldn’a taken his word for what happened.”

“Do you know who his lover was?”

“Yeah.” MeMa’s smile was like a bear trap, her faded brown eyes disappearing into the wrinkles around them. “Theys thought they was so la-di-da smart, but I seed them a-kissin’ and a-huggin’ in her fancy car.”

Skye’s heart was pounding. “Who was it?”

“You sure you want to know?” A crafty expression stole over MeMa’s face.

“Yes.” What did the old woman mean by that? Skye hoped the can of worms she was about to open wouldn’t be too slimy.

“Your aunt.” MeMa turned and tottered back toward the house.

“Which one?” Skye called after her.

“The mayor’s wife.” The screen door slammed shut behind MeMa, cutting off anything else she might have added.

Holy smokes!
Skye was stunned. Did Uncle Dante know that Aunt Olive had had an affair with Quentin Neal? More importantly, had Olive been involved in his wife’s death? And if she had, was she also involved in Suzette’s?

Wally, who had been silent, stepped forward, allowing Skye time to recover from MeMa’s shocking news. “Earl, you said that Rex Taylor encouraged you to start a paintball attraction?”

“Not eggsacly.” Earl reached into a cooler, fished out a dripping can of beer, and popped the top. “Axtually, we was gonna do another pettin’ zoo, like the one we done for the Route 66 Hundred Mile Yard Sale, but instead of a lion, this time we were gonna get more tamish kindsa animals.” Earl chugged some beer, then continued. “So we goed to the llama and emu ranch over near Kankakee. But we seed Owen Frayne workin’ there and we figured he already took that idea.”

Skye frowned. Trixie hadn’t mentioned Owen was working at—But before her thought could fully form, she heard a high-pitched laugh that reminded her of a deranged birthday clown.

Emerging from the wooded area behind them, and carrying a submachine gun, was Glenda Doozier. From her purple-stiletto-clad feet to her dyed blond hair, she was the embodiment of an ideal Red Ragger woman, but all Skye could think of was—how in the heck had Glenda been able to navigate the woods in four-inch heels?

“Ain’t she somethin’?” Earl thrust out his bony chest. “I knew she was my one and only since the day I read that stuff about her on the bathroom wall in the boys’ locker room. I asked her to go frog giggin’ that very night.”

“That’s so . . .” Skye searched for the right word and gave up. “Well, it’s always good to strike while the—”

“Bug is close,” Earl finished for her, then rushed over to his wife. “Baby doll, look who’s here. Miz Skye and her future hubby.”

Glenda ignored Skye and Wally, and poked Earl with the shotgun. “What do they want?”

“One a our highfalutin’ neighbors claimed we was a-shootin’ at ’em.” Earl rubbed the spot on his shoulder where she had jabbed him.

“We ain’t done nothin’ wrong.” Glenda crossed her arms, the gun shoving her considerable bosom nearly out of the iridescent purple tank top she wore.

“I already explained that, dumplin’,” Earl whined. “Yew got paint in yer ears?”

She turned on her husband. “If brains were water, you wouldn’t have enough to baptize a flea.”

“Now, Glenda.” Wally stepped forward. “There’s no need to get upset.”

“Yer right.” Glenda narrowed her rabbitlike eyes. “ ’Cause we got a right to do what we want on our own land. And those nosy Parkers next door can jes’ shove it where the sun don’t shine.”

“That’s true, but you have to make sure none of the paint pellets land on your neighbors’ property.” Wally’s tone was firm.

Skye recoiled, then scooted behind Wally. Telling Glenda something she didn’t want to hear was dangerous. Not to mention she held grudges long past their expiration date, and she and Skye had gotten off on the wrong foot when they’d first met five years ago.

When Glenda didn’t respond, Wally added, “And if you’re going to run a business, you need to check out the zoning laws and get a license.”

As quick as a mongoose attacking a cobra, Glenda leveled the shotgun. Wally dove to one side and Skye turned to run. But it was too late. Glenda had already squeezed the trigger.

“I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry”

“Y
ou believe me about not knowing you had moved behind me?” Wally called through the glass shower door in Skye’s newly renovated bathroom.

“Certainly,” Skye shouted back over the sound of running water.

“I never would have jumped out of the way if I knew you were there.”

“Of course. You’ve proven time and again you’d take a bullet for me, so I’m sure you wouldn’t duck a paintball.”

“Anytime, darlin’.” Wally’s voice was husky. “For a minute there, before I realized the gun fired paint pellets, I . . . I almost lost it and shot Glenda for real.”

“I know, sweetie.” Skye scrubbed her neck, feeling Wally’s love wrapping around her. “Except for a little cosmetic damage, I’m fine.”

“It’s a good thing, or I’d round up every one of the Doozier clan and use ’em for target practice.”

“Uh-huh.”
Skye showered in silence for a while, then said, “So do you agree that Owen’s job at the llama and emu ranch has something to do with where he was last Saturday and why he won’t give you his alibi for that time?”

“Yes.” Wally stood at the sink, wiping away stray paint spatters from his clothing. “Do you think MeMa was telling the truth about Olive?”

“Olive does fit the description, and she and Dante have always driven Cadillacs.” Skye poured more shampoo into her hand and started washing her hair for the fifth time. Fishy-smelling orange lather ran down the drain. “I hate to say this, but if I were married to someone who treated me as heartlessly as Dante treats her, I’d sure be having an affair.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Wally’s tone was wry as he patted dry his wet pants leg. “I’m thinking we should tackle Owen first, since we need to talk to Olive when the mayor isn’t around.”

“Plus Owen will be a lot less complicated.” Skye scoured orange flecks from her wrists and hands. She had taken the paintball hit between the shoulder blades, so her shirt had received the worst of the damage, but the paint had splashed outward like a gelatinous water balloon, drenching every exposed patch of skin.

“Interrogating Aunt Olive will be mighty tricky,” Skye said.

“That’s for sure.”

“We should try to speak to Owen alone, too.” Skye stepped out of the shower and Wally handed her a towel. “What time is it?”

He looked at his watch. “Three thirty.”

“Let’s check the llama and emu ranch for Owen first.” Skye wrapped the towel around herself and picked up a wide-toothed comb. “This is around the time Owen was missing last Saturday. Maybe it’s his regular shift there.”

 

Wally and Skye pulled into the Kankakee Exotic Animal Ranch at four twenty-nine. The lane wound through pastures of llamas and emus, dead-ending at a huge barn and corral. Owen was carrying a bale of hay when they approached him.

As soon as he spotted Skye and Wally, his usually impassive expression was replaced by one of defeat, and he hurled the hay bale to the ground. “I should have known keeping a secret in these parts would be impossible.”

“Sorry, Owen.” Wally stepped forward and clapped the unhappy man on the shoulder. “If it’s any consolation, we’ll keep this information completely confidential.”

“How did you find out?” Owen took off his work gloves and stuck them in his back pocket.

“The Dooziers saw you here,” Wally explained. “They mentioned it when we were out at their place investigating a complaint.”

“So what do you want?” Owen wiped his face with a red handkerchief.

“Is this where you were last Saturday when you claimed to be having a drink with a friend?” Wally asked.

Wally and Skye had decided that Wally’d be the best one to question Owen, so Skye leaned against a stall and tried to blend into the background.

“Yes. This is where I am whenever I’m not home.” Owen stared at his work boots. “The owner can vouch for me.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me all this when I asked?” Wally wrinkled his brow.

“Trixie doesn’t know that in order to buy the llama and emu herds, I agreed to work off the debt.” Owen’s face crumpled. “She complains I don’t spend enough time with her. If she found out I took on another job, it would have set her off something fierce.”

“So you weren’t having an affair with Suzette Neal?” Wally asked.

“An affair?” Owen’s eyes bulged. “Hell, no.” He shot Wally a dark look, then said, “So that’s what this was all about. You thought I was sleeping with that singer who got killed, and then for some reason I murdered her?”

“She was seen getting out of a truck similar to yours last Saturday night.” Wally’s tone was unapologetic. “We had to check out the possibility. We’ve been talking to all the locals who own black pickups. If you had just cooperated, we could have crossed you off our list long ago.”

“I’ve never even looked twice at another woman. I love my wife.” Owen shook his head. “That’s why I work so hard. I want her to have nice things.”

“She’d rather have you,” Skye murmured.

Owen stuck out his chin. “Just because someone doesn’t love you the way you want them to doesn’t mean they don’t love you with all they’ve got.”

But was that enough? Skye was afraid this might be Trixie’s breaking point. Trixie loved Owen, but he kept using all his energy to make money, then had no time left for her. Some rifts in a marriage couldn’t be healed.

 

Sunday morning, despite Father Burns’s wonderful sermon, Skye didn’t experience the serenity she usually felt when she attended Mass—probably because she and Wally planned to approach Olive after church. It would be the perfect time, because Dante always ate breakfast with his cronies while his wife went home to start Sunday dinner. If Skye and Wally arrived at the Leofantis’ shortly after Olive got back from the nine o’clock service, they’d likely find her alone.