Murder Of A Snake In The Grass (22 page)

S
kye pulled into the Up A Lazy River Motor Court parking lot at exactly three-thirty. It was hard to believe she had been able to duck out of school so early, considering everything that had happened that day, but sometimes that was how it worked. The busier the morning, the quieter the afternoon.

Her original plan had been to go straight to Miss Letitia’s and question her about the town’s history, but she was worried about Charlie. His gray complexion and exhausted demeanor at the dance kept popping into her thoughts.

It was a hot walk across the blacktop. She dug into her purse, pulling out a scrunchie, and gathered her hair into a thick ponytail. The sun continued to beat down with an intensity not often seen in late September. When Skye had driven past the Scumble River First National Bank after school, the thermometer read eighty-nine degrees. It was beginning to feel like fall weather would never arrive.

Coolness greeted her as she pushed open the motor court’s door and went inside. The window air conditioner rattled in an attempt to keep heat and humidity from the tiny office. Scanning the room, she noted the drab brown walls, the faded posters, and the peeling linoleum. Maybe it was time to gently suggest some redecorating. A chest-high countertop ran across the back third of the area, concealing
the corner which housed the desk and chair usually occupied by Charlie.

Skye peeked over and found him slumped forward with his head cradled in his arms on the desktop. With a squeak of alarm, she flung open the hatch in the counter and ran to him. “Uncle Charlie, are you all right?” She put her hand on his forehead.

He felt warm and did not respond. She tried shaking him. Finally, his eyelids fluttered, and he sat up with a strangled cough. “What—oh, Skye—what’s up? I must have drifted off for a minute.”

“You were zonked out. I couldn’t wake you at first.”

He took out a handkerchief and blew his nose. “I’m tired. It’s been hectic around here this weekend. And your ma is on this new health kick.” He pointed to something behind him she hadn’t noticed. It was an exercise bike. “I’ll give you fifty bucks if you put ten miles on that dang contraption before May makes her nightly check.”

“Sorry, Uncle Charlie, Mom scares me too much.” Skye just hoped there wouldn’t be one of those things waiting for her at her cottage when she got home.

He grumbled, “I keep telling her: eat well, stay fit, die anyway.”

“I’m sure Mom’s only doing what she thinks is best for you.”

“The woman should know me by now. The only reason I’d take up exercising is so that I can hear heavy breathing again.”

Skye raised her eyebrows.

“Seriously, though, what with May and Homer, I haven’t had a minute to myself all day. I spent most of the afternoon on the phone with him. We sure got ourselves a situation at the high school.” Charlie was the school board president.

Skye was relieved to see him perk up so fast. His color was good, and he seemed like his usual self. “Too true.
Grady Nelson is going to be the death of all of us, if we don’t get him in the right placement soon.”

Charlie narrowed his eyes. “Homer tells me that Alternative School is going to cost us thirty thousand a year. Spending that kind of money on a little criminal like Grady Nelson really sticks in my craw.”

“A small price to pay to have Grady where he can get help and be monitored.”

“Too bad we can’t just expel him.”

“We’re in an awkward position because we’ve started a case study. He isn’t special ed yet, but he may be tomorrow, so the question arises as to whose protection he is entitled to.”

“Can you say he doesn’t qualify for services?” Charlie asked.

“Not with a straight face, and certainly not ethically. Besides, do you really want someone like Grady on the loose in Scumble River? We need to help him now at age fifteen, or when he hits eighteen, we’ll be sorry.”

“So, we have no choice.” Charlie lit a cigar. “How about the other two hoodlums?”

“I pulled their records and looked them over this afternoon. Both have had some minor infractions before, but nothing like this.” She waved away the smoke from Charlie’s cigar. “I think if Grady goes to this other school, a suspension will scare Arlen and Elvis back onto the straight and narrow.”

Charlie heaved himself out of the battered wooden swivel chair and swooped Skye into a bear hug. “I’m sure glad you’re at the school to handle things. Poor Homer is so close to retirement he can taste the cake at his party, and he just isn’t up to today’s modern youth.”

“Well, thank you.”

“Have you figured out who killed Gabriel Scumble yet?”

“No. But I’ve talked to some people and turned over my findings to Wally.”

Charlie’s intense blue eyes under bushy white brows scrutinized her face. “Have you sent that Southerner packing yet?”

She tapped her fingernails on the counter and grimaced. Darn, she had forgotten her promise to meet Luc after school and finish up those papers. “Almost. Say, can I use the phone?”

“Help yourself.”

She dialed Simon’s number but got his machine. After the beep, she left a message for Luc, saying she’d meet him at her cottage at seven to sign the papers.

Charlie settled back down in the creaking chair. “I am really pooped. The rest of the bicentennial tourists checked out this morning.”

“Have you found someone to clean for you yet?”

Charlie stubbed his cigar out in the overflowing ashtray at his elbow. “No.”

“I heard that Jack Cooper is looking for a part-time job.”

“I couldn’t ask Jack. This is women’s work.”

“Oh, you mean it’s dirty, difficult, and thankless?”

Charlie snorted. “Hey, I cleaned a couple of the units myself. I just can’t insult old Jack.”

“How about I clean a few right now? I’ve got some time to kill.” She knew the routine, having worked for Charlie when she was in high school.

Charlie started to protest, but Skye had already grabbed his ring of keys from the desk top and opened the door to the utility closet. She wheeled out the cleaning cart. “Where should I start?”

“If you really want to, the left side units haven’t been touched.”

The motor court’s twelve rooms were arranged in a semicircle. At the arc of the semicircle was the deluxe cabin Gabriel Scumble had been given. “How about number six?”

“Sure, if you get that far. The police released it this morning.”

Skye quickly established a routine. Strip and remake the beds, gather up the used towels and put out fresh ones, empty the trash, vacuum, and clean the bathroom. Some rooms looked as if a family of ten had camped out in them for two weeks, and with others it was hard to tell that anyone had been there at all.

When she finished unit five, she checked her watch. It was nearly six o’clock. Should she stop now, and give herself time to clean up and eat before Luc showed up at her place? Curiosity won out over her desire for a shower and a sandwich. She wanted to see where Gabriel Scumble had stayed.

She unlocked the door and stepped inside. A wave of hot, musty air rolled over her, and she quickly switched on the AC. Evidence of the police search was everywhere. The double bed, which was normally flush against the left wall, had been pulled out into the middle of the room. Its aqua chenille bedspread and starched white sheets were piled on top of the bare mattress, which was halfway off the box springs.

The two wooden nightstands had been overturned and their drawers taken out. The matching dresser had suffered the same fate, as had the desk. An aqua vinyl armchair was turned over, exposing its underside. A similar orange chair was also resting on its seat and back.

Lamps, the telephone, and the TV had been dismantled. Every towel had been shaken open and flung into a pile in the corner of the bathroom. Only the mirrors and pictures, which were screwed to the wall, were undisturbed. Even the shower curtain had been taken down and flung into a corner.

Skye shook her head. This mess would take hours to clean up. She’d give it until six-thirty, then come back tomorrow after school to finish. As she worked, she kept asking herself where someone would hide their identification in a motel room like this. It was obvious the police search had
been thorough. Or had the murderer stolen Gabriel Scumble’s wallet?

A ceramic, urn-shaped lamp was tipped over on the desk with its bottom off. She had begun to put it together when it occurred to her that there was another compartment in this type of fixture. She had purchased a similar one when she was furnishing her cottage. It came unassembled in a box. There had been three pieces.

The police had taken apart the bottom third, unscrewing the foot from the urn, but it also came apart at the neck. And at this end there was enough room to hide something in the center of the sphere.

Skye held her breath as she twisted the large ceramic globe from the brass tubing that held the lampshade. It was too dark to see inside. She tried sticking her hand in, but the space was too small. Finally, she upended it, and shook. At first nothing happened, then something rattled and became lodged in the opening. It was a man’s wallet.

She reached for it but stopped a few inches from the leather. Better not. Instead she put the phone back together and called Wally. He said he’d be right over.

While she waited, Skye ran back to the office and told Charlie what she had found. They both greeted the chief as he strolled into the motel room.

“Evening, Skye, Charlie.” Wally nodded to them. “So you found a wallet?”

Skye pointed to the lamp. “There, I haven’t touched it.”

“Good.”

Charlie leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “Seems like Skye keeps finding evidence your boys miss.”

Wally examined the light fixture intently, ignoring Charlie’s comment, then turned. “Excuse me just a moment while I make a call.”

“Sure.” Skye was a little disconcerted by Wally’s manner. Was there a little edge beneath his affability?

She exchanged looks with Charlie as Wally dialed and
said, “Hey, Betty, let me talk to the sheriff please; it’s Wally Boyd.” A minute or so went by, then Wally spoke again. “Otto, could you send the crime-scene technician over to the Up A Lazy River Motor Court again? No, we haven’t had another murder.” He gritted his teeth and growled. “What’s happening is amateurs are still finding evidence your techs missed. No, the handkerchief was yesterday. Today it’s the victim’s wallet.”

Wally banged down the phone with an expletive and took a deep breath. “Let’s have a look inside that wallet.”

Charlie moved over to the desk. Skye leaned over the chief’s shoulder for a better view.

Using tweezers and a pen, Wally first freed the wallet from the lamp’s aperture, and then emptied it of its contents without touching anything.

As he exposed the driver’s license, credit cards, and car rental agreement, Skye gasped. All bore the name Snake Iazetto, not Gabriel Scumble. “Dang!” she said. “I didn’t find the victim’s wallet after all. But who’s Snake Iazetto? That can’t be someone’s real name.”

Wally’s smile looked a lot more genuine now. “Look at the driver’s license picture. Snake Iazetto is the man we know as Gabriel Scumble. And yes, it is an unusual name, but I’ve seen stranger ones.”

“It looks like the victim’s a true snake in the grass,” Skye said. Wally looked at her blankly and she explained, “You know, someone you didn’t expect to be what he is. That certainly opens up a lot of new possibilities.”

Charlie scowled. “How could something like this happen?”

“I’ll bet I know,” Skye murmured, lost in thought. “Remember how late Gabriel Scumble was last Friday? When that car pulled up, Mayor Clapp and Fayanne were so relieved to see him, they pulled the man from his vehicle, hustled him up on stage, and thrust a microphone in his face. No one asked any questions. You know, I thought he looked
mighty uncomfortable, especially when you guys made him take that canoe ride.”

“But why,” Charlie sputtered, “would anyone go along with our mistake?”

“That’s a good question.” Wally leaned a hip on the desk and crossed his arms.

Charlie bent over the wallet’s contents for a closer examination. “This Snake guy is from New Orleans. Wonder if he has anything to do with that boyfriend of yours.”

Both pairs of male eyes turned on Skye. “Let’s keep an open mind about this,” she said. “Innocent until proven guilty.”

Charlie sneered. “If you’re too open-minded, your brains will fall out.”

“This explains why we couldn’t find where he rented his car from,” Wally said, not distracted by Charlie’s wisecrack. “We were asking for the wrong name.”

“I wonder what happened to the real Gabriel Scumble?” Skye asked. “Do you think this guy could have killed him and assumed his identity?”

“That’s one possibility. Scumble is or was a very wealthy man. I need to tell the Montreal police about this latest development ASAP. They’ll want to expand their search to include a body.” Wally took Skye’s arm and guided her to the door. “Charlie, lock up this room until the crime-scene tech gets here. Skye and I need to go have a talk with Mr. Amant.”

Once they were in the squad car, Wally asked Skye, “Where is Amant?”

“His name is
St
. Amant. I was supposed to meet him at my cottage at seven. It’s nearly eight. He might have waited, or he might have gone back to Simon’s.” Skye was numb. Could Luc really have something to do with Snake Iazetto?

“Let’s try Simon’s first. It’s closer.”

“Okay.”

As they drove, Skye stared out the window. Her mind
was occupied with recent events, but when they passed the town’s water tower, her gaze fastened on it and she snickered.

“What’s so funny?” Wally asked.

She pointed at the tank. In huge red letters the words GRADY LOVES NANETTE were scrawled across its side. “I guess if you fall in love in Scumble River, you don’t have to send your girl candy or flowers, just spray-paint her name on the water tower,” Skye said.

“Yeah, and if she isn’t appreciative of your efforts, all you have to do to prove you’re a man is tear off her shirt and let your buddies fondle her.”