Murder of a Smart Cookie: A Scumble River Mystery (6 page)

“I had to pee. What happened?”

Skye filled her friend in on her conversation with Frannie.

Trixie’s response was not reassuring. “Maybe she’s right to be upset. You just can’t trust men.”

As Skye turned to join Andrea, she wondered if everything was all right between Trixie and her husband, Owen.

She sighed and continued toward the golf cart, but Justin stopped her. “Hey, Ms. D, do you know who that woman over there is?”

“Where?” Skye squinted across the road.

“By Cookie’s Collectibles.”

Skye scanned the area but didn’t see anyone near where Justin was pointing. “I don’t see anyone.”

“She’s gone now.”

“Why did you want to know who she is?”

“Just curious.” Justin twitched his shoulders as if an insect was buzzing around him, then muttered into his chest. “I’ve seen her around Ms. Caldwell’s before, and she’s not from town.”

“Probably a friend.” Skye briefly reconsidered her previous thoughts about Justin. Maybe his reporter’s instincts were getting out of hand. Should she say something? Maybe later. Right now she had an inspector to show around.

S
kye and Andrea spent the next couple of hours visiting every public restroom facility and trash can along the yard sale’s five-mile path through Scumble River. The initial inspection was an eye-opener for Skye, who’d had no idea the whole process would be so involved.

First Andrea walked around the outside of the Port-A-Potty cubicle looking for any leakage. Then she opened the door and sniffed, made a note on her clipboard, and turned to ask, “How often is maintenance scheduled for these?”

Skye consulted her own clipboard and answered, “The owners will service them at the end of each day, and I’ve hired teenagers to restock them with toilet paper, paper towels, and liquid soap at noon and at four p.m.”

“I’d like to see how much toilet paper you have on hand.” Skye fought a grin, recalling her uncle’s encounter with the Charmin. Was it really as squeezably soft as the ads claimed? “Sure. It’s at the city hall.”

“Okay, then I’ll look at it when we go back there.”

They finished the last trash can a few minutes past twelve and made a quick stop for lunch at the Feed Bag, the only real restaurant in town. After they ate, they examined a hot dog stand, an ice cream counter, and a trailer that would be selling cotton candy, elephant ears, and taffy apples. Food concessions needed to meet a variety of requirements to pass Andrea’s scrutiny, including the use of hair restraints, leakproof garbage bags, and a five-gallon container for wastewater.

When they got back into the golf cart, after checking out the Altar and Rosary Society barbecue dinner tent, Andrea glanced at her list and said, “The last two sites are the Doozier Family Petting Zoo and the goat cheese stand.”

Skye took a deep breath and nodded. She had been dreading this inspection. Nothing that had to do with the Dooziers, one of Scumble River’s most unusual families, ever went smoothly. In a town surrounded by railroad tracks it was impossible to say someone lived on the wrong side of them, but the Dooziers came mighty close. Skye took another breath, forced herself to smile at the inspector, who was looking at her questioningly, and started up the golf cart.

The Dooziers had set up their concession on a sliver of family-owned land east of town, where State Road curved into Route 66. Skye steered the cart around the barricades at the corner of Maryland and Kinsman streets, which marked the end of the city limits. The rest of the sale’s path was open to automobiles.

Skye was concentrating on avoiding oncoming cars when Andrea said, “A petting zoo is a little atypical for this type of event, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but then so are the Dooziers.” Skye struggled to explain. “Have you heard the term ‘red-raggers’?”

“Yes. I know it’s derogatory, but I’ve never quite figured out what it meant.”

“It’s people who live a different sort of life. Mostly they live in those shacks by the river. It isn’t that they’re poor, although they are. And it isn’t that they live in squalor, although they do. It’s more that they seem to enjoy living that way.” Andrea looked puzzled, and Skye summed it up with, “They’re the original out-of-the-box thinkers.”

“Ah.” Andrea smiled. “And that’s what scares you.”

“Exactly.”

Loud voices and barking dogs greeted them as they approached the Dooziers’ corner. Their property was shaped roughly like a long, skinny triangle, and Skye parked at the tip.

She said to Andrea, “Are you ready for this?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” She got out of the cart and Skye followed suit.

The women picked their way gingerly across uneven ground covered with weeds and rocks. Several feet back from the road various pens and cages had been arranged in a rough oval.

To one side of the makeshift entrance, a folding table with a sign reading ADMISSION $5.00 duct-taped to the front edge teetered on crooked legs. Sitting with his cowboy-boot-encased feet propped up on the table’s surface was a scrawny, densely tattooed man wearing a pair of jogging shorts and nothing else.

Beyond him, among the pens and cages, were two nearly naked boys wrestling in the dirt, a woman in a skimpy denim miniskirt and a shiny
orange halter top, and a teenage girl dressed in black from head to toe, with waist-length ebony hair and dark maroon lipstick.

Andrea murmured, “Oh, my.”

Skye opened her mouth but could think of nothing to add. These were the Dooziers. There was no explaining them. It would be like trying to make sense out of an IRS document.

When the man saw Skye, he jumped up, nearly knocking over the card table, and said, “Miz Skye, you’re early. We’re not quite ready for that there inspection you told us about.” She tried to edge past him to get a closer look at what was going on behind him, but he scooted in front of her and said, “Who’s this pretty lady?”

Skye gave up trying to see what he was hiding and introduced them. “This is Andrea Pantaleone, the health inspector. Andrea, this is Earl Doozier.”

Earl hitched up his shorts and stuck out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. We’ve got some mighty fine animals to show the nice people.” He leaned in close and confided, “I figure these city folk probably never touched a mule or a rabbit or such before, so I thought to myself, Earl Doozier, you need to help those poor people.”

Skye narrowed her eyes. “Help them for a price, right, Earl?”

He tried to look hurt, but couldn’t quite disguise the avaricious twinkle in his muddy brown eyes. “Miz Skye, I got to feed and house all those animals. That don’t come free now, does it?”

“Nothing in life does.”

Earl looked confused, scratched his butt, then took both women by the arms. “You and your friend come sit in the shade. Glenda will come get us dreckly.” He led them to a couple of rusted lawn chairs set up under an olive green tarp.

Skye sat down cautiously. The plastic webbing on the seat looked frayed, and she was afraid it might split under her weight. Andrea didn’t seem as concerned, but then, she probably didn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds.

Andrea clicked her pen and said, “Mr. Doozier, let’s use this time for you to give me a list of the animals you’ll be exhibiting.”

Earl screwed up his face in thought. “Well, now, let me see. We got us three sheep, a cow, a whole passel of rabbits—you know, it’s hard to keep count. Those rascals make babies faster then I can pop open a beer. It ain’t human.”

Skye hid her smile behind her hand.

Andrea snickered, turning it into a cough, then asked, “Any other animals?”

“Some chickens, a litter of piglets, and a mule.”

“Good.” Andrea made a note. “Sounds nice and tame.”

Skye saw a flicker in Earl’s weasellike eyes. What was he up to?

Before she could figure it out, Andrea looked at her watch and said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Doozier, I really can’t wait any longer. I need to make my inspection now or you won’t be able to open tomorrow.”

“Sure, sure. I understand. Just give me one more little minute and we’ll get started.” As Earl loped away, he yelled over his shoulder, “I don’t want to interfere with the duly constipated authorities.”

For a split second, Skye wondered if Earl had a spy camera set up in the city hall bathroom to monitor the officials’ toilet habits.

Luckily, before Skye’s mind could go too far down that path, Andrea said, “He’s hiding something.”

“Yep.” Skye got up and edged toward the pens. “Probably some scam he doesn’t want us to know about.” She moved closer to where Earl stood talking urgently to his wife, Glenda. “He’s not the sharpest hook in the tackle box, but he’s caught a lot of fish in his time.”

After Glenda turned and scurried away, Earl sauntered back to the lawn chairs. “Okay, ladies. You ready?”

While Andrea took note of the condition of the pens, feeding areas, and other details, Skye kept an eye out for Glenda. She and the children had mysteriously disappeared. Andrea was going over a list of violations with Earl when Skye spotted activity over by a small U-Haul trailer.

She strolled casually in that direction. As she got closer an incredibly foul odor assaulted her. She stopped a few feet away, her eyes watering. At first the terrible smell distracted her, but then she heard low voices. Suddenly there was a distinctive roar and Skye stumbled backward. Where had the Dooziers gotten a lion, and what were they planning to do with it?

*   *   *

Earl had explained they’d gotten the idea for the lion from some movie they’d seen last summer.

Skye couldn’t believe that the inspector had not been able to make the Dooziers get rid of the wild creature. Andrea had explained that it was an old circus animal, and they had all the correct paperwork, so as long as they didn’t allow people to actually pet it, there was nothing she could do.

She’d be back the next morning before the sale opened to make sure the Dooziers had corrected the violations she could enforce. If they hadn’t, she could shut them down. Otherwise, Skye was on her own.

The last stop on the inspector’s list was the goat cheese stand. It offered quite a contrast to the petting zoo. Here the goats were housed in enclosures nicer than the dorm room in which Skye had spent four years,
and cleaner than her present cottage. The owner, Burnett Parnell, clearly doted on the creatures, and he earnestly explained the special diet they required to produce the milk to make the cheese. He eagerly showed them every step of his operation.

After escaping Burnett Parnell, the two women returned to the city hall. Andrea checked out the toilet paper supply before leaving, and Skye wrote her uncle a note about the Dooziers’ main—or should she say “mane”—attraction, then returned to her cottage, where she loaded her suitcases and a box of cat supplies into the trunk of the Bel Air.

She had just sat down on the steps to wait for the TV star to arrive when a silver Porsche zoomed into the driveway. The top was down, but all Skye could see of the driver was a stream of raven black hair blowing in the wind.

A Land Rover with a picture of an old trunk half open and spilling out treasure—the TV show’s logo—painted on its side, an Audi, and a Honda Civic stopped in a line behind the convertible. Faith and her entourage had arrived.

Skye got up and dusted off the back of her shorts, wishing she had taken the time to change clothes.

The TV star stepped out of the Porsche, and her staff rushed to follow suit, nearly trampling each other to be the first to reach her side. Faith ignored them and adjusted her amethyst off-the-shoulder minidress before marching toward the cottage.

Skye squinted at the approaching celebrity. Her right sleeve appeared to have a fluffy tan cuff mat covered her arm from her wrist to the elbow.
Why is she wearing a fur muffin the middle of August?

Faith stopped in front of Skye, flicked a dismissive glance up and down her body, and said, “Skye Denison is supposed to be meeting me here.”

“I’m Skye.”

“Oh.” Faith gave a brittle little laugh. “Sorry, it’s just that Skye is such a pretty name.” Her tone left no doubt that the slur was intentional.

Skye felt herself flush but said coolly, “Why, thank you. My mother will be so relieved that you like it.”

Faith narrowed her eyes, then snapped, “Well, I haven’t got all day. Show me the house.”

“After you.” Skye held open the front door and Faith swept past her into the foyer, leaving a trail of lavender scent in her wake. Skye followed, and the TV star’s entourage trailed her. So far none of them had spoken, not even to offer introductions.

Faith spared a fleeting look at the guest bath, which opened off the entryway to the right, and an even shorter glance at the kitchen to the left, before striding into the great room.

Standing in the middle of the space, she turned in a half circle, then gestured to the built-in bookshelves lining the outer walls on either side of the glass doors that led out to the patio, which overlooked the river. “This is nice. I could do a lot with this. Have you ever thought of having it professionally decorated?”

Before Skye could reply, the muff on Faith’s arm transformed itself into a barking and growling Pomeranian that leapt onto the couch. Bingo, who had been asleep on the sofa cushion, jumped to his feet, arched his back, and hissed a warning.