Murder of a Smart Cookie: A Scumble River Mystery (28 page)

S
kye knocked on Will Murphy’s cabin door at the Up A Lazy River Motor Court. She had debated with herself about coming here so late, but with only two days of the yard sale left, Godly Crüe would probably head back home come morning.

Although Bikini Bowling had been canceled, the party had gone on. Once Kirby’s scheme had been explained to Bunny’s friends, who were all ex-dancers from Chicago, they had changed back to their street clothes and joined the fun.

Skye had hung around until the band left at midnight, and then she followed the musicians back to their motel. She had seen the lead singer go into one cabin and the three women go into the one next door. Which is why, despite the fact that he was ignoring her knocking, she knew Murphy was there and hadn’t been in his cabin long enough to go to bed.

She pounded a little louder. This time the door was flung open.

“Babe, you’re early. I thought you were going to give me fifteen minutes to get ready.” Murphy stood there with a towel around his waist and holding a wineglass in each hand.

Skye felt the color start to rise in her cheeks, but kept her voice cool, as if greeting nearly naked men in motels in the middle of the night was a common practice of hers. “Sorry to bother you so late, but I wanted to catch you before you left town. Do you have a moment?”

“Uh, well, not really.” He transferred both wineglasses to one hand and hitched up his towel.

“But didn’t you say you weren’t expecting your guest for fifteen minutes?” Skye took a step forward and, as she hoped, the singer automatically moved back.

“Well, yes, but, uh … couldn’t we do this in the morning?” Murphy looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“You know, I’m so busy with the yard sale during the day, and I’m already here. It’ll only take a couple of seconds.” She fluttered her eyelashes and sidled farther into the room. “Please?”

“Okay.” He sighed. “I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared into the bathroom, and Skye sat in a chair by the window, wondering what to say.

When he returned he had on jeans and a T-shirt and had ditched the wineglasses. “So, what’s the emergency?” He sat on the edge of the bed, facing Skye.

“Just a couple of questions.” Skye leaned forward. “I was surprised to see you tonight. I thought your group was heading home after last Sunday’s concert.”

“We were such a hit, a lot of the other little towns decided to hire us.” He smiled charmingly. “Can’t say no to a paying gig.”

“I suppose not. With all the accommodations booked up so far in advance, how have you been able to find places to stay?”

“We’ve been put up in private homes, but Sister Bunny’s friend Charlie, the guy who owns this place, had a couple of cancellations due to that murder.

“Oh, how convenient.” Skye saw no reason to tell Murphy that Charlie was her godfather. “Are you staying through the weekend, then?”

“No. The cabins are reserved for Saturday night.” Murphy was looking at her funny. “This is what you wanted to know?”

“As the yard sale coordinator, it’s my job to find out how things are going so we can plan better for next year.” Skye was improvising like mad. She started to get up, then sat back down. “Oh, there is one more thing.”

“Yes?” He snuck a peek at his watch.

“I understand you’d become quite friendly with Cookie Caldwell before she died.”

“No. I mean, I met her once, but we weren’t friends.” He faltered. “Why do you say that?”

“Someone told me they saw you coming out of her apartment late one night.”

“No. I was never in her apartment.”

Skye widened her eyes, pretending artlessness. “Gee, the person who told me was really, really sure, because he said the night he saw you was the night she was killed.”

Murphy slumped. “You gotta believe me, I didn’t have anything to do with that.” He put his head in his hands. “Honest. I didn’t know her well enough to kill her.”

“Then why were you at her apartment?”

“I was never at her apartment. I was only in her store.” Murphy chewed on his thumbnail, then said, “I’ll tell you what happened, but you got to keep me out of it.”

“I’ll try, but you know I can’t promise that.” Skye knew she should probably just lie, but she couldn’t.

“My mama’s going to kill me.”

Skye blinked. That was the last thing she had expected to hear come out of his mouth. “Mothers sometimes surprise you. Just when I think my mom couldn’t possibly understand about something bad I’ve done, she does.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Murphy said, but he looked unconvinced. “Here’s the whole story.” He got up and started to pace, the cramped cabin limiting his circuit. “It costs a lot of money to start a career in the music business.”

Skye nodded.

“We’re really close to a record deal.” The look in his eye suggested he could see the winning lottery ticket just beyond his fingertips. “We can’t stop now.”

Skye nodded again, thinking she had just gone through this with her brother’s band a few months ago.

“My granddad died a year ago and left me his collection of war memorabilia.” Murphy halted his steps and faced Skye. “I promised my mama I’d keep it for my son, but …”

“But you need the money.”

“Right. So, when you hired us for this yard sale I thought it was a sign from God. I’d sell just one piece, the most valuable thing in the collection.”

“A Civil War sword?” Skye guessed.

“How did you know?”

She smiled mysteriously, seeing no reason to give up her source.

“Anyway, I met Sister Cookie at the bowling alley bar Saturday night, and we got to talking. She told me she had a store in town that dealt in collectibles and antiques. I mentioned the sword, and she wanted to see it right away.”

“Why not wait until morning?”

“She said if she was going to buy it, she wanted it that night,” Murphy answered. “I had it locked in the trunk of my car, so I followed her to her store and took it inside.”

“Did she make you an offer?”

“Yes.”

“But not what you expected?”

“No.” Murphy sounded angry. “What she said she’d pay was a lot less than what I had been told it was worth. She claimed that it wasn’t as old as I thought or in as good condition as I said. But that was bullpucky! I knew how old it was. It’d been in my family since my great-great-great-grandfather carried it off to war. And there wasn’t anything wrong with its condition, either.”

“Did you sell it to her?”

“No. I figured I could do better.”

“Have you?” Skye asked.

“I’ve got two offers right now, and they’re bidding each other up.”

“Who are they?”

A stubborn look settled on his face. “I’m not saying until I get my money.”

Skye pondered whether she could force the information from him and decided she couldn’t. “I understand. But what I don’t understand is why my informant said he saw you coming out of Cookie’s apartment, not her store.” She scratched her head. “I know Cookie’s apartment is on the top floor of her store, but they have separate entrances.”

“I can explain that. Sister Cookie said she was expecting someone and didn’t want them to see me, so she had me go out a different way than the one we came in. I had to go up one set of stairs and down another, and I ended up coming out a door in the back.” Murphy looked at his watch. “Is that all?”

Skye got up. “Yes. Thanks for talking to me.” After she had stepped outside, she turned and asked, “Since you have to check out of the motor court, are you leaving for home tomorrow?”

“Yes. As soon as I sell my sword.”

Once the singer had closed the door, Skye ducked behind a truck and squatted down, making sure she was out of sight. She wanted to see who
Will Murphy was expecting. Seconds later, a Honda Civic pulled into the space in front of the cabin. Jody Iverson got out of the car and went inside. Skye wondered how Faith’s personal assistant and the singer had gotten together, and if there was any significance to their pairing.

Skye waited a few minutes to make sure Will and Jody were settled for the night, then started the hike to her car. Because the aqua Bel Air was such a distinctive vehicle, she had left it at the far end of the lot, near the footbridge to the park.

The air hung heavy and still, the heat and humidity of the day lingering. Skye wiped sweat from her upper lip with a tissue from her pocket. Something felt wrong. She looked behind her but didn’t see anything.

Halogen lights illuminated the area near the cabins and office, but as she walked toward the outer edge of the asphalt, murkiness took over. She started to move faster. Were those footsteps behind her?

Skye swiveled around. Still nothing but shadows. Obviously the stress of the murders and Justin’s disappearance were getting to her. She forced herself to continue into the darkest section of the lot.

Fumbling in her purse to find her keys before she reached her car, Skye screamed as suddenly something heavy and tentlike came down over her, sheathing her in darkness as she was shoved to the ground. Blows rained on her through the rough fabric.

At first Skye tried to fight her way free of the encasing cloth, but soon she curled into a fetal position, with her arms protecting her head, to try and minimize the damage from the beating.

After what seemed like an eternity, the blows stopped, and a muffled voice said, “Mind your own business. Next time I’ll kill you.”

Less than a second later, Skye heard the sound of running footsteps. She struggled to her feet. Ignoring her aching body, she tore at the material covering her. When she finally got it off, her attacker was gone.

She heard the squeal of tires and glimpsed a car speeding down Maryland Street. She looked around wildly for her keys but couldn’t find them, although her purse, its contents spilled all over the asphalt, was where she had dropped it.

It took her a few seconds to remember that her father had hidden another set of car keys in a magnetic box attached to the inside of the Bel Air’s wheel well. Once she located them, she hurriedly swept her belongings back into her purse, then threw it and herself into the car.

By the time Skye drove onto Maryland, she realized that her assailant’s car was long gone and there was nothing to follow. She pulled over to the side of the road to figure out what to do. After her awful
experience with the sheriff, the last thing she wanted was to go to the police, but Wally wasn’t Buck Peterson, and the police had to be told. There might be some clue from her assault that would lead them to the murderer.

Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, the pain from the beating was intensifying. Skye was pretty sure she had no broken bones, but her arms, back, and thighs, which had absorbed the worst of the blows, were throbbing, and she could barely move them to drive the car.

As she hobbled into the police station, she counted it as a blessing that her mother was not the dispatcher on duty. Unfortunately, May’s good friend Thea Jones, who usually worked days, was behind the counter.

Thea took one look at Skye, screamed, and ran into the reception area. “What happened? Are you all right? Should I call an ambulance? Sit down.”

Skye tried to answer but found that she was too tired to battle Thea’s waterfall of words.

Thea led Skye into the coffee/interrogation room and gently pushed her into a chair. She stood in front of her and wrung her hands, muttering, “What should I do?”

Skye summoned enough energy to say, “I’m okay. It looks worse than it is, but you’d better phone the chief. He’ll want to know about this.” Thea dashed off, and Skye called after her, “Don’t tell my mom.”

She must have zoned out, because suddenly Wally was looming over her, a look of mingled concern and fury on his face. “Who did this to you?”

“I don’t know.” Skye explained how the attack had taken place, then waited for him to lecture her about visiting suspects in the middle of the night.

Instead, he squatted in front of her and held both her hands. They were scraped, and the nails were torn from her fight with the tarp. He gently rubbed at the dried blood on her knuckles. “I promise, whoever did this to you is going to jail for a long, long time.”

“I think it’s the murderer.” Skye battled to keep her tone steady and not start crying.

“Me, too.”

“Maybe there’s some clue at the scene.”

“I already radioed Quirk. He’s on his way to look things over.”

Skye’s voice cracked. “I suppose you’ll have to call the sheriff.”

Abruptly, Wally lifted her to her feet and into his arms. “Don’t worry. You won’t have to talk to him again. He’s had his chance. This is my jurisdiction.”

“Can you take over the murder investigation?”

“No, but if I should discover the killer while finding out who attacked you—oh, well, shit happens.” He gently rocked her back and forth, tenderly smoothing her hair. “Now, let’s get you to a doctor.”

“No. I’m okay. Really. A doctor can’t do anything for bruises.” Skye knew she should be breaking free from his embrace, but it felt so good to be held, she convinced herself he was hugging her like a brother. “The cloth that I was wrapped in was padded and protected me from the worst of the blows.”