Murder Of A Snake In The Grass (3 page)

Mayor Clapp continued to explain Scumble River’s history for another half hour. Finally, he turned toward the man from the car and said, “So, it is with real pleasure that I introduce Mr. Gabriel Scumble, Pierre’s great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandnephew.”

The man smiled, waved to the applauding crowd, and took the microphone from the mayor. “Allo, everyone. It’s an honor to be here at your celebration. I’m sure Uncle Pierre would be proud.”

Skye whispered to Simon, “I love his accent. It sounds a little like the ones in New Orleans.” She started to edge her way closer to the grandstand.

“Well, that would make sense. The Cajuns were originally French Canadians,” Simon murmured, following her.

The guest of honor spoke for a few more minutes, and then the mayor took over. “What we’d like to do this afternoon is get your help in reenacting Pierre’s landing. If you go with Fayanne, she’ll take you a little ways upstream and help you into your costume and show you the boat.”

“Ah, I …”

Miss Letitia interrupted. “Mr. Scumble, we were so thrilled when you told Fayanne you were willing to take part in our little reenactment.”

“Anything I can do to help you with your celebration,” he said, kissing the older woman’s hand.

Fayanne led Scumble away, and the crowd moved toward the riverbank. It was nearly twenty minutes before the canoe came into view. Skye and Simon had been swept to the shore with the rest of the assembly. She shaded her eyes, trying to get a better look. Gabriel Scumble didn’t seem too happy, but who would be in this heat, paddling a canoe and wearing buckskin?

Skye turned to Simon. “Is that really what they wore back in the early eighteen hundreds?”

He shrugged. “Who knows? Remember, this is the Scumble River version of the past. Miss Letitia’s the only one who actually knows the history of the town, and I’m sure they didn’t listen to her if what she told them didn’t fit their preconceptions.”

Skye stifled a giggle and poked Simon in the ribs. “Look.” One of the Scumble River citizens, dressed as an Indian Chief, had grabbed Gabriel Scumble’s canoe, intending to help the man onto the shore. But the little boat swayed precariously, and both men were forced to fight to maintain their balance. Gabriel’s face darkened with anger, and he used his paddle to bat the pseudo-Indian’s hand away. The faux-chief teetered, did a couple of pirouettes
that would have made Nijinsky jealous, and toppled into the river. He emerged seconds later, unharmed, but madder than the wet hen his feathered headdress now resembled. He muttered curses and threats as he sloshed away.

Mayor Clapp swiftly dismissed the rest of the tribe and led Gabriel Scumble up the riverbank and back to the viewing platform. Charlie stepped forward, and from behind his back he whipped out a three-quarter-size sterling silver pickax. Gabriel Scumble looked startled, but the crowd oohed and aahed.

Charlie said, “We’d like you to accept this gift on behalf of the grateful citizens of Scumble River. Without your uncle, our town wouldn’t exist.”

“Thank you. I’m deeply honored.”

The mayor moved to the mike. “Now, we’re going to let Mr. Scumble rest for a few minutes in his luxury cabin here at the Up A Lazy River Motor Court, provided free of charge by Mr. Charlie Patukas.”

The crowd applauded.

Mayor Clapp continued. “This evening, between six-thirty and seven-thirty, Mr. Scumble will appear in full costume with the commemorative silver pickax for pictures. He’ll be set up with the log canoe for a backdrop at the north end of the carnival, which is located in the center of the park.” He paused as Fayanne whispered in his ear, then said, “The carnival rides start at seven, but the Beer Garden will open in ten minutes.”

Skye and Simon had managed to work their way up to the grandstand in time to see Charlie hurry away with the guest of honor.

“Did you need to talk to Charlie?” Simon asked.

“No, just wanted to say hi before we left. I never got a chance earlier.”

“We can wait. I’m sure he won’t be long.”

She looked at her watch and noticed it was already quarter past six. “No, we’d better get going. I’ve got a lot
to tell you, and this took a lot longer than I thought it would.” Simon had been gone all week attending a county coroners’ institute in California.

He looked puzzled but led the way to his car. The interior of the Lexus was like an Easy-Bake Oven, and the seat belt buckle could have done double duty as a branding iron. Skye gingerly slid in, hoping not to leave any of her skin on the leather seats.

The drive to her cottage took less than five minutes, but then most trips within Scumble River took less then five minutes. With only three thousand in population, the town didn’t cover many miles.

Skye was still trying to figure out how to break her news to Simon as she fitted her key in the front lock. Then the door swung open, and it was too late.

V
ases of yellow roses; baskets of gladioli, sweet peas, miniature orchids, and carnations; and ceramic pots of violets and lily of the valley were everywhere. They sat on tabletops, nestled on bookshelves, and crowded windowsills. The great room of Skye’s cottage, which did triple duty as a living room, den, and dining area, had been turned into an indoor flower garden.

In addition to the floral offerings, boxes of chocolate candy still in their distinctive gold wrapping paper and gift baskets containing everything from fruit to perfume were piled on the sofa and chairs. The piéce de résistance was the mountain of stuffed animals in the center of the floor. If they had been real, Skye could easily have started her own zoo.

Simon stood in the foyer and surveyed the overwhelming tableau. He waited a beat, then said, “So … where are the dancing leprechauns?”

Skye crooked her finger for him to follow and walked all the way into the room. She reached behind the couch and picked up a two-foot-high garden gnome, which she placed at Simon’s feet.

He waited another beat and said, “It’s not dancing.”

They both collapsed on the couch laughing. Later, while they were wiping the tears from their eyes and getting back
their breath, Simon finally asked, “Where
did
you get all this stuff? Win a contest?”

“I wish.” Skye bit her lip. “It’s kind of hard to explain. I tried to call you a couple of times, but we never connected. It wasn’t something I thought I could leave you a message about.”

“No, really?”

“It’s pretty complicated.”

“At this point, I’d be disappointed if it were simple.”

She checked her watch; she was almost out of time. How to tell him? “I need a drink. Do you want something?”

“My first choice would be an explanation, but I can tell you’re still working yourself up to that, so I’ll have a glass of wine.”

Skye edged her way into the kitchen. The wine goblets were on the top shelf, since they didn’t get a lot of use. Normally, she and Simon preferred Diet Coke. A bottle of zinfandel was pushed to the back of her fridge. It was a good thing wine got better with age, because she couldn’t remember when she had purchased it. The corkscrew cooperated, and she poured the drinks with a shaky hand. She really had no choice; she had to tell Simon the whole story, and she had to tell him before eight o’clock. After that all hell would break loose.

When she returned to the great room, she found Simon sitting on the floor surrounded by a stuffed tiger, a lion, and a panther. Her nearly solid black cat, Bingo, was stalking the toys. Whenever the feline went near the fake animals, Simon would make them move or growl. It looked as if both man and beast were having a great time.

Skye hated to break up the fun. She set the glasses of wine on the coffee table and eased onto the floor next to Simon. “Okay, here’s the scoop. It’s been an interesting week. Late Monday night the phone rang. I kind of thought it might be you.”

“You said not to call you since the time difference made it so awkward.”

“I know, but I sort of thought… Anyway, I answered the phone, and it was my ex-fiancé.”

“Luc St. Amant?”

“How many ex-fiancés do you think I have?”

“Just checking.” Simon rose from the floor in one fluid motion and settled on a chair facing the sofa.

No way was she sitting at his feet like a supplicant; she also moved into a chair. “I hung up on him as soon as he identified himself.”

“But that wasn’t the end of it?”

“How’d you guess?” Skye jeered. “No, the next day when I got home after school, the flowers started arriving.”

Simon raised an eyebrow.

“I refused to accept them.” Skye got up and began to pace. “I was upset. I tried to call you. No luck. So I went over to Trixie’s. I couldn’t go to my parents’ or Uncle Charlie’s because I didn’t want to tell them that Luc had contacted me.”

“What did Trixie say?”

Skye felt her cheeks getting warm. “Nothing much.” Trixie, her best friend, had been intrigued by Luc’s reappearance in Skye’s life and had encouraged her to talk to him.

“This was Monday night?”

“Yes. Tuesday morning Luc called again. This time I talked to him. I wanted to tell him not to waste his time sending me flowers. I hadn’t accepted the ones he sent, and I wouldn’t accept any he sent in the future. He explained that he had changed, and he had to talk to me. I said no, just leave me alone, and hung up.”

Simon waved his hand, encouraging her to continue.

“I usually spend Tuesday mornings at the junior high and afternoons at the high school.” She paused to see if he was following her, and he nodded. “When I got to the high
school, everyone was giggling. The secretary walked me down to my office and swung open the door. It was full of boxes of candy. I gave a lot away—these are what’s left. Then, to top things off, when I got home about five o’clock, my living room was full of flowers.”

“How did they get inside? You didn’t leave the door unlocked, did you?”

“Of course not.” She was starting to get miffed by his imperturbable attitude. “The delivery boy for Stybr’s Florist is related to my cousin Ginger’s husband. Turns out his boss told him the customer was offering him a fifty-dollar tip if he could complete the delivery. He called Ginger, she called Mom, and Mom came and unlocked the door. By the way, I told her the flowers were from you, so prepare yourself.”

“Didn’t your mom and Ginger want to know why you didn’t accept the original flowers from me?”

“No, that sneaky delivery boy didn’t tell Ginger there was an original aborted delivery.”

“I’m afraid to ask about Wednesday.”

“I was afraid to experience Wednesday.” Skye shook her head. “Luc called again that morning. I couldn’t understand why he was calling so early, rather than at night. That’s one thing we have in common: neither one of us is a morning person.” She paused, reflecting. “Maybe he
has
changed.”

Simon frowned for the first time. “You’ve been talking to him?”

“A little.” Skye scooped up Bingo and snuggled her face into the black fur, suddenly cold in the airconditioned room. “He said that a lot had happened in the two and a half years I’d been gone, and he needed to see me. It was urgent. I said no, it was better to let sleeping dogs lie.”

“Yeah, when you wake up those canines they tend to be irritable and bite you in the butt.”

“What I can’t understand is how Luc got my school schedule, and how he even knows where I work.”

“Come on, this is Scumble River. Pick a telephone number
at random. Dial and ask how to find Skye Denison, the school psychologist.”

“You’re probably right.” Bingo started to squirm in Skye’s embrace, so she put the cat on the floor. “Wednesday afternoon, I walked out of the elementary school and opened the door to my car. It was filled with gift baskets—need any cheese, crackers, bath gel, or perfume?”

Simon ignored her facetious question. “Wasn’t your car locked?”

Skye tsked. “I thought you were smarter than that. You know I drive a 1957 convertible. Locking that car is like putting a chastity belt on a prostitute—it wastes your time and just annoys the thief.”

“Thursday?”

“Thursday, Luc called again. This time he wanted to tell me what’s happened with everyone we used to know. I listened for a bit and then begged him to stop sending me gifts.”

“And?”

“I got home from school that day to find a wooden crate on my doorstep filled with stuffed animals. I plan to give them to the children’s floor of the Laurel Hospital, but I haven’t gotten over there yet.”

“You’ve had quite a week.” Simon got up and put an arm around her. “Did he call this morning?”

She nodded into his chest.

“But no gifts this afternoon?”

“No. But see, here’s the tricky part.” Skye moved slightly away from Simon and studied the carpet. She really needed to vacuum.

“Yes?”

“Well, I’ve decided to see Luc.”

Skye watched in fascination as Simon’s impassive expression became taut and derisive. “After all that man did to you? I’m beginning to wonder about your taste—that business with Kent last spring, and the way you act around Wally
Boyd. Maybe you prefer men who treat you badly. I thought you had better judgment than that.”