Murder of a Creped Suzette Read online

  Given the choice, she would stay in her hometown for the rest of her life. Too bad this evening was beginning to feel like it would last at least that long.

  Skye had reached the edge of the lawn-chair-and-blanket-seated audience without spotting her friends. Where in the heck were they? She ground her teeth. Shoot! Not only was there no sign of Trixie and Owen, but now she needed to find a bathroom—fast.

  Unfortunately, both Port-a-Potties had lengthy lines and Skye was fairly sure she couldn’t wait for her turn. On to plan B. There were bathrooms in the picnic area located behind the grandstand at the far end of the park. With any luck, no one would have thought of them.

  Skye took off at a brisk trot, but a few steps from her goal, she was stopped by a red plastic ribbon strung between several sawhorses. A large white sign with black lettering read:

  Employees of Country Roads Tour only.

  Trespassers will be prosecuted.

  Crap! There was no time to come up with a plan C. If she didn’t get to a toilet soon, she would embarrass herself big-time. Skye looked around. A silver Airstream with COUNTRY ROADS TOUR painted on its side was pulled in front of the bathroom, but there wasn’t anyone in sight. She stopped and listened. It was completely quiet. Excellent. She’d be in and out with no one the wiser.

  Skye ducked under the ribbon, paused for a nanosecond, then darted toward her objective. Arriving a little out of breath, she found that the trailer was parked so close to the building she could barely get the screen door halfway open. She squeezed through the gap and sighed with relief when she saw the empty stalls.

  A few minutes later, Skye was washing her hands when she heard angry voices coming from inside the RV. Yikes! She had to get out of there before she was discovered and arrested. Wouldn’t that be a delightful headline: Chief’s Fiancée Arrested for Using Forbidden Bathroom.

  Skye plastered herself against the wall, willing herself to become invisible, which was a stretch considering her opulent figure. She snuck a quick look through the doorway. A large open window was situated directly across from the bathroom’s entrance. Why in the heck didn’t they have the air-conditioning on and their windows closed like normal people?

  While waiting for her hair appointment last week, she had read in Entertainment Weekly that some singers disliked A/C because they thought it was bad for their vocal cords, but this was ridiculous. It was close to ninety degrees and muggy; surely those conditions couldn’t be good for anyone, even a star’s delicate throat.

  Skye shook her head. Why didn’t matter. The window was open, and if she tried to leave now, the suit-wearing guy from the stage who was talking heatedly to Flint James would see her and call the police.

  Taking another peek, Skye noted that Flint’s usually handsome face was an ugly scarlet mask, his broad shoulders were rigid, and his hands were fisted. His previous air of indifference was gone, and it looked as if he was itching to punch the other man in the face.

  The ex-quarterback had a good five inches and fifty pounds of muscle on Mr. Suit, and could easily cause some real damage to the other guy. Flint might even kill him if the blow landed in exactly the right spot.

  Should she call Wally? Make her presence known? Skye wavered. Maybe it was a guy thing, and she would just get herself in trouble if she interfered. A good time to keep your mouth shut was when you were in deep water, and she’d promised herself she would stop rushing in to help people who hadn’t asked for her assistance. Then again, she didn’t want anyone to get hurt.

  Before she could decide, Mr. Suit’s booming voice brought her attention back to the two men. “We have no choice. Suzette isn’t here and we can’t reach her. We have to get this show on the road.”

  “That’s not my problem, Rex.” Flint jabbed Mr. Suit, aka Rex, in the chest. “The star does not go on first. And I’m the star.”

  Obviously the opening act was MIA. Skye wrinkled her brow, trying to remember what she had heard about Suzette Neal. All she knew about the girl singer was her age—twenty-two—and that she had lived in the area as a child, although no one Skye had spoken to had recognized Suzette’s name or claimed her as kin.

  “It’s more than half an hour since we were supposed to start the program.” Rex grabbed Flint’s shoulder. “I order you to get your ass onstage and sing.”

  “No.” Flint shook off Rex’s hand as if it were an annoying insect. “Check my contract. You can’t force me to perform out of order.”

  “Do it this one time and I’ll make it worth your while.” Rex’s tone turned cajoling. “This concert is no big deal. Just a freebie to get the locals on our side. I promise it will be good for us both.”

  “That’s what Suzette wants. You already gave her one of my best songs—one I wanted to sing myself—and you forced me to do a duet with her.” Flint crossed his arms. “Don’t think I’m not onto her schemes.”

  “You’re not the only one who’s onto her.” A blonde dressed in skintight jeans, a red sequined tank top, and crimson stilettos pushed her way between Flint and Rex.

  Skye shrank back against the wall. She hadn’t realized there was anyone else in the Airstream.

  Cocking her thumb at Rex, the woman said, “I warned him about that girl. I told him I didn’t trust her as far as I could run in high heels.”

  “Kallista, sweetheart.” Rex sandwiched the blonde’s fingers between both of his palms. “I’m sure something terrible must have happened to keep Suzette away. You know she was dying to sing for her hometown and show everyone how far she’s come.”

  “She probably isn’t even really from this place.” Kallista blew an irritated breath through heavily glossed lips. “She only said she was after you told her you’d decided to open the new country music theater here.”

  Skye blinked. A country music theater in Scumble River? How would people react to that? They generally didn’t like change, but a theater smacked of money and glamour, so maybe they’d be tempted.

  “Now, baby girl, how about you do your big daddy an itty-bitty favor and go back in the bedroom and try calling Suzette again? Then later tonight your big daddy will do you just how you like.” Rex turned Kallista around and patted her on the rear until she started walking.

  Ew, ew, ew. That was just icky. Why did men talk like that to grown women?

  Skye squirmed, but focused back on the action when Rex said to Flint, “You have to help me out here. I thought you were a team player.”

  “Right. And what did that get me last time? A blown knee and a ruined career.” Flint shook his head. “Now I’m looking out for number one.”

  “With that attitude, I don’t know how you fool all your fans into thinking you’re such a nice guy.”

  “Really?” Flint let out a scornful huff. “You’re the one who taught me that sincerity is everything, and once you can fake that, you’ve got it made.”

  Rex ignored Flint’s jab. “You seem to be forgetting that you’re my creation.” Rex snapped off each word as if they were bites of peanut brittle. “Without me you’d still be singing at a honky-tonk, living in your truck, and depending on the tips from a pickled-egg jar to eat.”

  “Don’t give me that crap. We both know you didn’t do me any favors.” Flint spat out the words contemptuously. “If I hadn’t been a damn good singer and songwriter, you wouldn’t have raised a finger to help me.”

  “There’s more to success in this business than talent,” Rex retaliated, his voice rising.

  “Bullshit!” Flint leaned down until he was nose to nose with the smaller man. “Now find that little whore and get her out onstage before I really get mad.” He grasped Rex’s lapels and lifted him off his feet. “I’m not letting you or her ruin my career.”

  Yikes! Skye whipped out her cell phone. It was time to call the cops.

  CHAPTER 2

  “Seven-Year Ache”

  Before Skye had finished dialing Wally’s number, a dusty black pickup pulled perpendicular to the Airstream. She craned her nec
k around the doorway and watched a young woman dressed in a ruffled denim miniskirt, a pink stretch-lace, off-the-shoulder top, and pink cowboy boots bolt out of the truck before it had completely stopped moving.

  The woman ran around the front of the RV, disappeared from Skye’s view for a second, then reappeared in the trailer’s window as she flung herself at Rex’s feet, sobbing. “I’m so sorry. My cousin insisted on taking me to meet his friends in Joliet and I-55 was a parking lot and the battery on my cell phone is dead and—”

  “We’ll talk about it later, Suzette.” Rex hauled the girl off the floor. “Right now you need to perform.”

  “But my hair and makeup—” Suzette touched her waist-length black mane.

  “There’s no time for that.” Rex propelled her backward. “You look fine.”

  “But my costume,” Suzette wailed. “My beautiful sparkly dress.”

  “Next time.”

  As Rex and Suzette disappeared from sight, Flint called after them, “Don’t forget to tell that new bass player that a diminished fifth is not an empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s.”

  Rex grunted before screaming at the band to get onstage. A few seconds later Skye could hear him yelling, “Get your rear in gear, Suzette, while we still have some audience left.”

  Skye turned her attention to the pickup. It was still idling by the side of the trailer, but from her angle she couldn’t make out the driver. Who was Suzette’s cousin? Black pickups were as common as cornfields in Scumble River, so that was no clue.

  As if sensing Skye’s interest, the driver backed up and screeched away in a cloud of dust; a soccer ball tow-hitch cover and a metallic oval bumper sticker sparkled in the taillights. She glanced toward the Airstream, but the window was now closed. The shades had been pulled down and there was nothing left to see.

  This was her chance to escape unnoticed. Skye slipped out of the bathroom, sprinted across the grass, and zipped around the sawhorses.

  Once she was past the barrier, she could hear instruments tuning up, and she took off running toward the grandstand. It looked like the concert would finally start, and after all she’d been through, no way would she miss a minute of it.

  Skye spotted Trixie at the very rear of the audience, sitting on a blanket spread under an enormous tree. There was a good view of the grandstand and the oak’s trunk provided a backrest. Trust Trixie to get a good spot, even when she was among the last to arrive.

  Waving, Skye headed in her friend’s direction. Trixie wore cutoffs, a tight hot-pink tank top, and fuchsia sandals that laced up her calves. Not exactly the look most small towns expected from their high school librarians. But with her short cap of smooth brown hair and big brown eyes, Trixie looked cute in the outfit rather than trashy.

  As Skye sat down, Trixie handed her a blue plastic cup and demanded, “Where have you been?”

  “Where have I been?” Skye took a sip and coughed. Trixie had added rum to the Diet Coke. Quite a bit of rum. Uh-oh. Trixie generally drank only when she was upset. “I was here on time. Where were you? And where’s Owen? Is one of the animals sick?”

  Owen was a farmer, and the livestock’s well-being was his number one priority. A while back he had sold off all the cattle and pigs, but a few days ago he’d bought a herd of exotic animals, having decided to try his luck with emus and llamas.

  Trixie hadn’t been pleased with her husband’s purchase, but the farmer’s daughter in Skye had been sympathetic. It was only a couple of weeks into the harvest, and already everyone knew that this year’s searing drought would cause yields to be at least twenty percent below average. Farming had such a thin profit margin, Owen probably felt the need to try something drastic to get into the black.

  “I have no idea where Owen is.” Trixie took a gulp of her drink. “And those stupid animals are fine. They live better than I do.”

  “He isn’t at home?” Skye raised a brow. Except for business, Owen rarely set foot off his acreage. And she doubted he was buying seed at seven o’clock on a Saturday night.

  “No. He left around two thirty.” Trixie wrinkled her forehead. “He told me he had to talk to some guy, but he never answered me when I asked who. I assumed he’d be back by five for supper, but he didn’t show up.”

  “Is that unusual?”

  “Very.” Trixie bobbed her head. “He never misses dinner.”

  “Hmm.” Skye wasn’t sure what to say. “That is strange. Maybe he had trouble with his pickup. You said the engine’s been cutting out.”

  “If he had a cell phone like everyone else in the known universe, I could have called him.” She grimaced. “Now I don’t know if he’s dead, drunk, or joined the Foreign Legion.”

  “Does he usually let you know where he’s going and when he’ll be home?” Skye wasn’t sure if Trixie was worried or angry or both.

  “Most of the time.” Trixie tore a paper napkin in to shreds, not meeting Skye’s eyes. “But we’ve been fighting, and he might be mad at me.”

  “I could ask Wally if there’ve been any accidents in the area,” Skye offered, not asking the reason for the couple’s quarrel.

  “Maybe later.” Trixie pushed out her bottom lip. “I left Owen a note. If he doesn’t show up or phone before the end of the concert, we can involve Wally.”

  “Okay.” Skye hugged her friend, and as she sat back she remembered attempting to reach Trixie earlier. “You know, when you were late, I tried your cell and it went straight to voice mail. Have you checked it lately? Maybe Owen tried calling, couldn’t reach you, and left a message like I did.”

  “Shoot!” Trixie dug her phone from her purse and flipped it open. “I turned it off when I was at the library and forgot to switch it back on.” She pressed a button, then scrolled through the in-box.

  “Anything?” Skye asked.

  “Just you.” Trixie sagged against the tree trunk. “Nothing from Owen.”

  “Darn.”

  “Never mind.” Trixie pasted a smile on her face and handed Skye a bag of chips. “Let’s enjoy the music and worry about my missing husband later.”

  Suzette had a good voice. Skye wasn’t sure if it was a great voice or if the girl had star quality, but Suzette was pretty and the crowd was well lubricated, so when she finished, the audience hooted, whistled, and applauded enthusiastically.

  While Flint James was being introduced and taking his place, Trixie said to Skye, “So, you never did tell me where you were when I got here.”

  Skye explained about her pressing bathroom mission and the scene she had witnessed, then added, “I haven’t heard anything about a country music theater going up in Scumble River. Have you?”

  Trixie drained her cup and stood. “One of the kids mentioned that his father’s construction company had been hired to work at the old Hutton dairy farm, renovating the barn and outbuildings.”

  “The property near the I-55 exit?”

  “I think so.” Trixie wrinkled her forehead. “I’m surprised there haven’t had to be town meetings about zoning issues and other stuff regarding the theater.”

  “I’m not.” Skye crossed her arms. “If this Rex guy approached Dante with a plan to bring tourist dollars into town, and the mayor liked what he heard, Dante would call a closed meeting of the town council and get whatever approvals he needed that way.”

  “Yeah. The whole council is full of good ol’ boys your uncle can control.” Trixie pointed to Skye’s cup. “Want another one?”

  Skye shook her head. “I’m good.” There had been enough rum in her first drink to last her all evening. Besides, alcohol made the heat feel worse.

  While Skye watched Trixie join the line at the bar, Flint began his first song. His sexy baritone sent a shiver up her spine. He sang about shooting to the top, falling to the bottom, and starting all over again. A journey to which Skye could relate.

  She was lost in the music when someone touched her shoulder. She swallowed a startled yelp and looked up. Owen had arrived.

  �
�Hey.” He smoothed his straight black hair off his forehead.

  “Hi.” Skye noted that his hair was wet. He must have come straight from a shower.

  “Trixie around?”

  “Yep.” Skye jerked her chin toward the bar. “She’s getting a drink.”

  “Okay.” Owen fingered his silver belt buckle. “Thanks.”

  When he turned away, it struck Skye that she rarely saw him wearing anything but work clothes. Tonight he had on navy dress slacks, a blue-and-yellow-plaid pearl-snapped shirt, and snakeskin Tony Lamas. She eyed him thoughtfully. Owen was attractive in a sinewy, ascetic way. Not her type, but she could see the appeal.

  Skye watched as he intercepted Trixie on her way back to the blanket. He took his wife’s arm and they moved several feet from the performance area. Skye was glad they had opted for privacy. She didn’t want to be present for a conversation that was bound to be unpleasant. Besides, Trixie would tell her all she wanted Skye to know, and that would be best for both of them.

  Flint sang two more songs before Trixie returned, alone. She sat silently until the concert ended an hour later, with Flint and Suzette singing a duet.

  Once the clapping died down, Mr. Suit took the stage and announced, “Hello. My name is Rex Taylor.” He had a compact build, tightly curled sandy-colored hair, and an air of commanding self-confidence. “I’m a music promoter from Nashville and I have a vision. A vision of prosperity for all. A vision of Scumble River as the next Branson, Missouri.”

  Skye narrowed her eyes. Rex didn’t look like a psychic, and she’d bet his vision had less than a fifty-fifty chance of coming true.

  He had paused, no doubt expecting applause, but the audience was unusually hushed, as if waiting for the next cowboy boot to drop.