Murder of a Smart Cookie: A Scumble River Mystery (26 page)

“She must have changed her mind. Old ladies do that, you know.”

Skye shook her head. “Not Mrs. Griggs. She was determined and very cautious after Cookie tried to rip her off earlier this summer.”

“I’ll check the TV thing out, but I don’t see how it could have anything to do with her murder.” The sheriff made a note in the file open on his desk. “Anything else?”

Skye debated whether she should share the other piece of information she knew. Should she mention that Justin might know something and that was why he had disappeared? Finally, she decided not to and prayed it was the right choice.

“So?” Peterson sat forward, his gaze sharp. “What else do you know?”

“Nothing I can think of.”

“If you remember something, call me.” The sheriff handed her a card. “This is my private line. I’ll get a deputy to drive you home. You can wait downstairs.”

She was obviously being dismissed. Did that mean he was about to welsh on his part of the bargain? “Uh, so, what about those fingerprints, and do I get the list of what was in the bag the lion found?”

He glared, but took a piece of paper from the folder and handed it to her. “Have the dispatcher make you a copy on your way out. And we found hundreds of fingerprints, but none we could isolate as being connected with the crime.”

Skye lingered by the door. “Have you found many of Cookie’s friends?”

“How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t repeat myself?” The sheriff didn’t look up from what he was writing. “Let’s get this straight once and for all. You got your two questions, and that’s all you’re getting. We are not working together on this case.” When she didn’t say anything, he asked, “Got it?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t let the door hit you on the backside on your way out.”

She was halfway down the hall when she heard him shout, “And I don’t want to hear your name mentioned in connection with this case again.”

Skye shrugged. Then he probably had better get earplugs. Now that she knew someone was trying to frame her, she was even more determined to solve the mystery.

“
W
ell, the good news is I finally talked to Bunny.” Skye had indeed locked herself in the bathroom with her parents’ phone, and now she was lounging in a tub full of Mr. Bubble. She hadn’t questioned why her mother had saved the bottle of children’s bubble bath for the past twenty-odd years—the last time she could remember using it, she had been twelve—she had just been grateful for the effervescence.

Simon halted her trip down memory lane by asking, “And the bad news?”

“Mmm, where should I start?” Skye trailed foam from her fingertips. “Bad, terrible, or awful?”

“Start with awful and work your way down.”

“The worst news is that Mrs. Griggs was murdered.” As soon as she said it, her throat seemed to close up, and the tears she had held back burst forth. Skye told Simon the details through her sobs.

Finally, both her tears and the story ended, and Simon offered words of comfort before asking, “Why didn’t you call me when this happened?”

Skye frowned. Why hadn’t she? Had it just been that everything afterward had happened so fast that the thought had never occurred to her? Or was it because she still didn’t think of herself as part of a couple? Not
knowing the answer, she hedged. “It was so late and I was exhausted, and there was nothing you could do.”

He was silent for a moment before asking, “Are you all right?”

“I am now. But this morning I thought I would have to ask you for bail money.” Skye related her experience with the sheriff, concluding with, “And I didn’t think he was going to let me go, even after I proved I had an alibi.”

“It would take Buck Peterson an hour and a half to watch
60 Minutes
.” The derision in Simon’s voice was obvious. “As your father would say, he’s about as useful as a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest.”

Skye was startled. This was a side of Simon she didn’t often see. “At least I seem to be off his suspect list.”

“So, what’s the terrible news?”

“Justin has run away.”

“Shit!”

Skye felt a flicker of shock go up her spine. Simon almost never swore.

“When did this happen?”

Skye chewed her thumb. If he was upset about her not calling about Mrs. Griggs, he would go ballistic when he heard how long Justin had been missing. “Monday night.”

“Damn it all to hell.”

Skye winced; Simon was not taking her news well at all. She quickly filled him in on the particulars, finishing with, “But he left Frannie a message last night saying he’s fine.”

“So far.”

“So far. He promised to come home soon and said he’s in a safe place.”

“If we can take the word of a sixteen-year-old.”

“Right.” Skye hesitated, not knowing what else to say.

Simon took a deep breath, sounding something like a vacuum cleaner sucking up a stray sock, and asked, “What’s the bad news?”

Skye dreaded telling Simon this part. Mrs. Griggs’s murder had saddened him, and Justin’s disappearance had worried him, but this information would just plain infuriate him. She cleared her throat. Maybe she should wait until he got home to tell him.

“Are you still there?” Impatience bristled off each word. “Have we been cut off?”

“No, I’m here.” Skye sat upright and braced herself. “The bad news is that Bunny’s trying to sell her life story to the writer on the TV crew.” Skye heard an audible gulp from Simon’s end of the line, but she kept
talking. “The writer said that her story is too racy for the Christian network he works for, but …” She paused, then rushed on. “But he told her he might be able to sell the idea to the Playboy Channel, if Bunny can come up with something attention-grabbing for an audition tape.”

“Son of a—”

Skye cut him off. Might as well get all the bad news out at once. “Bunny has decided to have a party at the bowling alley tomorrow night, and she says she’s going to figure out something dazzling for them to shoot during the festivities.”

“What?” Simon’s roar disturbed Bingo, who had been sleeping on the bath mat. The cat got up, glared at Skye, and stalked away to hide behind the toilet. “I should have closed the place down while I was gone. Just locked the door and taken the keys.”

Skye was silent, not knowing how to comfort him.

Finally Simon asked, “When did you find out about this?”

Skye was relieved to be able to answer honestly, “Just yesterday.”

There was a pause before Simon muttered, “I wonder if I could get a plane home tomorrow morning?”

Skye debated whether to offer her opinion and ended up saying, “What could you do if you were here? Bunny’s a grown woman. Maybe you could stop her from using the bowling alley, but you couldn’t stop her from making the tape.”

“You’re right.” Simon wavered. “I’ve never been able to stop Bunny from doing anything.”

“Look, I’ll go to the party at the bowling alley and keep an eye on things. If they get too out of hand, I’ll, I’ll …” Skye hesitated. What
would
she do? “I’ll steal the tape from the cameraman,” she promised rashly, then added, “Of course, that means I won’t talk to you tomorrow night, since I doubt I’ll be home much before midnight.”

“That’s fine. I’ll be out late, too. Spike got us tickets for a sold-out concert tomorrow night, then we’re invited to the orchestra party afterward. But I’ll phone you Saturday evening.”

“I should be here for your call. The church is having an ice cream social, but that should wrap up pretty early. Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.” Skye crossed her fingers as she hung up the receiver. She was going to need all the luck she could get in order to keep Bunny in line.

Friday’s daylight hours had been quiet. The truth about Mrs. Griggs’s death was still not widely known, and the yard sale went smoothly—only minor traffic problems, a temporarily misplaced child, and a bad case of sunburn for Skye to deal with.

Friday evening was another issue altogether. It started off badly when Jed suggested to May at supper that they go to the party at the bowling alley, saying Bunny had given him two tickets. The fight that ensued was not a pretty sight, and Skye slunk off to her room, struggling not to get involved.

At seven she snuck out of the house. Her father was snoring in the recliner in front of the living room TV, while her mother had shut herself in the den, blaring that TV loud enough for Grandma Leofanti to hear—and she’d been dead for more than two years.

Since it was apparent that her parents weren’t going to be using the tickets Bunny had given Jed, Skye helped herself to one of the pair sitting on the clothes dryer along with Jed’s change, wallet, and pocketknife. She was surprised her mother hadn’t torn them up and tossed them in the trash.

Skye parked in the bowling alley’s crowded lot and walked around to the front, noticing as she did that most of the vehicles had out-of-state plates and many had small trailers hitched to them. Bunny’s party had attracted the tourists who were staying in or near Scumble River for the yard sale.

Skye squinted as she pushed through the glass door and handed her ticket to the young woman guarding the entrance. The overhead lights had been dimmed, and some sort of strobe flashed red, green, yellow, and blue. The music was loud, but the overall noise level was even more deafening.

As Skye stood in the entrance area, trying to get used to the strange lights, earsplitting noise, and overwhelming smell of cigarette smoke, she heard her name being called.

Trixie was standing next to a table down by the rail that separated the bowling lanes from the rest of the establishment. She was waving her hands above her head and jumping up and down.

Skye waved back and headed in her friend’s direction. As she made her way through the crowd, stopping every few feet to greet people and chat, she saw that the TV crew was present, busily filming the party.

Frowning, Skye quickly scanned the area. Everyone was fully clothed and seemed to be behaving themselves. People were mostly drinking, bowling, and talking. Nothing the Playboy Channel would find very exciting.

Good. Since things appeared to be under control, she could use this opportunity to talk to the TV crew about the mysterious appointment they’d had to tape Mrs. Griggs’s house.

Skye hugged Trixie, then sat down and gestured to the remaining two empty chairs. “Are we saving these for anyone?” She was hoping the answer would be Owen, but she was disappointed.

“This is actually Bunny’s table, so one is for her. The other is for the first cute guy I see.”

Before Skye could pursue that remark, Trixie leaned forward and hissed, “Forget about the seating arrangements. What’s this about you being arrested yesterday morning?”

“I wasn’t arrested, just brought in to answer some questions. I wasn’t handcuffed or anything,” Skye denied, then asked, “How did you hear about it? Did the sheriff call you to verify my alibi?”

“No. The matron who sat in on your interrogation is the second cousin of my aunt’s daughter-in-law.”

“You’re kidding.” Skye paused to try and follow the branches of Trixie’s family tree.

“The matron recognized your name and called her cousin, who called her mother-in-law, who called me.”

“Wow. I think that’s a record, even for this town.”

“Quit stalling and tell me all about it. Don’t leave anything out,” Trixie ordered.

Skye had been through this with her parents, Dante, Simon, and Wally. The first four were furious at the sheriff and ready to recall him from office. Wally hadn’t said anything negative against Buck Peterson, but his expression had been thunderous, and Skye would have bet her yard sale bonus that there was trouble brewing between the Scumble River Police and the Stanley County Sheriff’s Department.

Regardless of everyone’s reaction, after repeating her story four times Skye was well rehearsed, and she recounted her experience to Trixie without hesitation. She ended by saying, “At least the sheriff kept his word. He told me there were no usable fingerprints at Cookie’s murder scene, and he gave me a list of what was in the bag the lion found.”

“So, what was in it?”

Skye looked around, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to them—which was fairly amazing considering that Trixie was wearing a denim miniskirt and a pink lace tank top, both of which were barely bigger than doll clothes.

Skye beckoned her friend closer and lowered her voice. “A hand towel with bloodstains, a small cardboard box with cotton batting inside, and a woman’s purple T-shirt, size extra small, also with bloodstains.”

“Did the bloodstains match Cookie’s blood?”

“I don’t know. It was just a list of the contents.” Skye took another scan of the room and asked, “You don’t have any cousins twice removed who work at the county lab, do you?”

“Not that I know of.” Trixie wrinkled her brow, thinking hard. “Nope.”

They sat in silence for a while, staring at the bowlers and occasionally cheering someone who made a spectacular seven/ten pickup.

Finally Skye said, “I’m going to get a soda. Do you want anything?”

“Sure, get me a Bloody Mary.”