Murder of a Small-Town Honey srm-1 Read online

  "Good. Saying 'thank you' is nice. Showing your appre­ciation is nicer." Charlie's satisfied grin could be detected over the phone lines.

  "Okay, I give up. You got me. I'll be there in half an hour." In the past year Skye had become good at admitting defeat.

  Hanging up the phone, she stomped into the bathroom. The humidity had turned her long chestnut hair into a mass of unmanageable curls, which she swept into an elastic band. She jammed a baseball cap on her head and flipped her newly created ponytail out the back opening.

  The Weather Channel had predicted temperatures in ex­cess of ninety degrees, and by the way the sunlight had shimmered on the parked cars when she'd driven home from church, she guessed it was already well over that mark. The heat did not improve her mood, and as she changed into navy shorts, she berated herself for promising to help Charlie baby-sit the parade participants.

  For some reason she'd been having trouble saying no to people since she'd moved back to Scumble River. Did she feel guilty for all the nasty things she'd said about the

  town as a teenager, or was she just tired of fighting the system?

  Skye put on a freshly washed and ironed white cotton blouse. As she began to button it, her glance strayed to the fashion monstrosity thrown across her bed. Sighing, she re­luctantly shrugged out of the top and donned the official Ghokeberry Days T-shirt. The front of the shirt featured a picture of Mrs. Gumtree, star of Mrs. Gumtree 's Gumdrop _ Lane, a children's TV show produced in Chicago. Printed on the back was:

  SCUMBLE RIVER CHOKEBERRY DAYS

  High School Band Competition—Thursday, August 27

  August 28, 29 & 30

  Cow Chip Bingo

  Fish Fry

  Carnival

  Arts & Crafts

  Beer Tent Go-Kart Racing

  Only people wearing this shirt were to be allowed "backstage" at the parade, but it was a hideous pink, sup­posedly the same shade as chokeberry juice, and Skye felt ridiculous in it. Small comfort that the men forced to wear the shirt would feel even more ludicrous.

  Skye had barely buckled her seat belt and turned on the car radio before she arrived at the parade's staging area. Nothing in Scumble River was farther than a five-minute drive. It was a small farming community grouped around a downtown that lacked adequate parking space. Most of the larger businesses had long since moved to the outskirts in search of asphalt. The floats, bands, and official cars were meeting in the block-long parking lot shared by McDon­ald's, Walters' Supermarket, and the Ace Hardware store at the edge of the city limits.

  The parade's route was all of a mile and a half long, fol­lowing the two main streets that bisected Scumble River. Its finish line was at the other side of town near the railroad tracks and the river, where another large parking lot could hold all the participants.

  Skye pulled her car into a narrow spot between a bat­tered brown truck with a wire hanger stuck into the space where an antenna should have been and a bright red motor­cycle. After maneuvering her way out of the tight space be­tween her door and the other vehicle, she began to look for Charlie.

  Squeezing between vehicles and people, she came to a float representing the high school's football team, the Scumble River Scorpions. It was done all in red with a huge black scorpion crouched in the center. A blood-like substance dripped from its stinger onto the pros­trate dummy dressed in a rival football team's uniform. Several football players and cheerleaders were adding finishing touches to the gore, but there was no sign of Charlie.

  An equestrian group was gathered off to the side, the riders grooming their massive mounts. The horses' coats gleamed brightly: black, white, brown, and roan. The peo­ple themselves sparkled with rhinestones and glitter.

  Her next stop was a white convertible on loan from the Scumble River Lincoln-Mercury dealership. Apparently Mayor Clapp, the owner of that business, was taking no chances on anyone forgetting that his company had pro­vided the car, as it had huge placards on both front doors. Mrs. Gumtree would ride in solitary splendor in the back­seat.

  Close by, a large motor coach acted as the TV star's dressing room. It was on loan from Clay Center's RV dealer, as its large billboard pointed out.

  Another sign, this one hand-lettered, stated:

  DO NOT DISTURB

  NO AUTOGRAPHS

  ABSOLUTELY NO ONE ADMITTED

  THIS MEANS YOU!

  Skye smiled to herself as she continued her search for Charlie. She hoped the trailer had good soundproofing and a sturdy lock because no sissy sign would keep out the citi­zenry of Scumble River if they took it into their heads to visit Mrs. Gumtree before the parade.

  After wending her way past the high school band, a troop of clowns, and the Lions Club float, Skye's T-shirt was sticking to her back and her feet were beginning to burn. She could smell the aroma of hamburgers coming from the nearby McDonald's. Her stomach growled, re­minding her that she hadn't had anything to eat since dinner the night before. I've had it. If I don't find Charlie in the next ten seconds, I'm going back to my car and he can find me if he wants my help so badly.

  Taking a left at the next float, Skye began to head back toward the parking area. She heard Charlie before she spot­ted him. He was yelling at Fayanne Emerick, the owner of the liquor store across the street from his motor court.

  Today Fayanne was dressed in the official Chokebeny Days T-shirt, two sizes too small, and red stretch pants. To Skye, she looked like a raw sausage oozing out of its cas­ing. Fayanne's mouth was puckered tighter than the shrink wrap on a package of meat and her X-ray eyes looked as if they could bore a hole into Charlie's skull. Fayanne was poking him in the chest with her right index finger.

  Skye hesitated, not wanting to get involved in whatever trouble Fayanne was trying to stir up, but also not wanting to forsake Charlie in his hour of need. Before she could set­tle on a course of action, Fayanne stalked off.

  Charlie spotted Skye and motioned for her to come over. At close to six feet and three hundred pounds, Charlie

  Patukas was not easily ignored, nor his wishes disregarded. He wore his standard uniform of gray twill pants, limp white shirt, and red suspenders. His expression implied he'd seen it all—twice—during his seventy years. He began talking before she could ask what was up with Fayanne. "Skye, you look beautiful. I'm so glad you finally put some meat on your bones."

  "Thanks, Uncle Charlie. What a sweet thing to say." At least someone, besides herself, was happy with the new curvier Skye.

  Charlie went on smoothly, "I'm glad you're here. I need a woman's touch."

  "For what?" Skye backed up, prepared for flight.

  "I need to talk to Mrs. Gumtree, to tell her what to do in the parade, but she doesn't answer her door."

  "I saw her dressing room while I was looking for you. If the sign on the door is any indication, she doesn't want any company."

  Charlie took out his handkerchief and wiped his face. "I'm not company. I'm the grand marshal, and I need to give her some instructions. I'll bet she wouldn't pull this shit if the director from her TV show wanted to talk to her. For crying out loud! It's less than an hour 'til show time and I haven't even met the woman yet. No one has. Except for the storytelling yesterday, she hasn't come out of her trailer."

  "I'm sure she's afraid she'll get mobbed by kids wanting her autograph."

  He held up one hand and clutched his throat with the other. "I've pounded on that trailer door 'til I bruised my hand, and I yelled until I was hoarse. She knows it's not kids wanting her autograph, she's just being a pain in the—"

  Skye interrupted before he could get into a full-blown description of his true feelings on this matter. "So, you

  want me to go injure my hand and lose my voice too, right?"

  "Yep. I figure you can psychoanalyze her out of her trailer."

  Giving him a dirty look, she turned to go. "What am I supposed to say if I do get her to open the door? Maybe you should come with me."

  "I've got to go talk
to Wally about who he's assigned for the parade's police escort. I'll check on you in ten minutes or so."

  Skye stood on the top step of the motor coach's metal stairs and knocked. There was no response—not that she expected any. If Mrs. Gumtree could ignore Charlie's bang­ing, it was a sure bet she wouldn't be motivated to open the door by Skye's puny efforts.

  Next she called, "Uh, Mrs. Gumtree." She felt asinine calling a grown woman "Mrs. Gumtree," especially through a closed trailer door.

  No reply. She raised her voice and tried again. "Mrs. Gumtree, I'm not a fan." Skye realized how bad that sounded as soon as it left her mouth.

  She was beginning to feel desperate, which prompted her to yell as loudly as she could, "Look, Mrs. Gumtree, I'm from the parade committee. Mr. Patukas, the grand marshal, needs to speak to you right now."

  Nothing. Skye grabbed the knob, intending to rattle the door, but on her first shake it swung open. She braced her­self and stuck her head into the room. To the left was the kitchen area. A divider blocked her view to the right. She called out again. Silence.

  Stepping inside, she stopped for a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the darkness. As she edged past the panel, she could see the section of the trailer previously hidden by the room partition. It contained an immense dressing table with a mirror surrounded by lights and a padded bench,

  turned on its side. All the drawers of the dressing table had been pulled out and their contents scattered on the floor.

  Suitcases and a garment bag were turned inside out, their linings slashed. A makeup case, its contents oozing into the green carpet, lay on its side, the hinges broken. Peeking out from under the bench were feet shod in pointy rolled-up-toe shoes. It looked as if the remains of the Wicked Witch from The Wizard of Oz were crumpled on the trailer floor.

  Skye ran over and pushed the bench aside. "Mrs. Gumtree, are you all right?"

  There was no answer or movement, but she still couldn't see the whole person, as the head and torso were in the knee-well of the dressing table. She crouched down and reached into the recess, trying to find a pulse, and felt something sticky instead. When she withdrew her hand, it was covered with blood.

  Pressure, Skye thought, fighting to stay calm. / should apply pressure to the wound. But I can't see where it is. Should I drag her out of there? No. You aren't supposed to move people who are injured.

  Stop it, she commanded herself. You can do this. You've been trained to remain detached. You've got to distance yourself.

  This isn't grad school. This is an actual emergency. Do something constructive. Skye sank to her knees. The sour taste of bile surfaced in her mouth.

  She tried to disconnect her emotions. Is she alive? Find out.

  Skye crawled forward and steeled herself to reach back into the blackness. Stretching as far as she was able, not wanting to slip and land on the woman, she pressed her fin­gers into the bloody neck. No pulse.

  Before she could make a decision about her next move, someone started pounding on the door.

  Things were happening too fast for her mind to process. Skye reacted instinctively. "Who is it?"

  "Goddamn it, Skye, who do you think it is? Santa? Let me in." Charlie's voice was unmistakable.

  She stood up, mindful to touch nothing—all those years of watching Dragnet reruns were paying off at last.

  She walked to the door, gathering her thoughts before speaking. "Charlie, listen carefully. Something has hap­pened in here and you can't come in. I don't want to touch the knob on this side of the door, but since it isn't locked you can open it. Don't come in, just open the door and then step aside, so I can come out."

  The door swung open and Charlie plunged into the room. Skye grabbed him by the arms and propelled him back out. He tripped on the top step, stumbled down the re­maining stairs, and landed in a sitting position on the ground.

  He looked up at Skye, who was closing the trailer door as if it were made of eggshells. "What the hell was that about?"

  Skye tried to speak but felt tears clogging her throat. / will not cry. Instead, she held out her right hand, still cov­ered in blood.

  "Did you cut yourself?" Charlie looked confused.

  "I think Mrs. Gumtree has been murdered." Skye leaned against the closed door.

  When Charlie didn't speak, Skye asked, "Did you find Chief Boyd?"

  Charlie got up from the asphalt and dusted off the seat of his pants while still staring at the blood on Skye's hand. "Yeah, he's over by the Vintage Cars."

  Taking a deep breath, Skye descended the stairs and sat down on the bottom step. She found a tissue in her pocket and tried to clean up her hand. "Why don't you go get him? I'll sit here and make sure no one goes inside." Skye saw

  that her knees were shaking, and she thought she might vomit.

  Charlie started to walk away, but turned back before he had taken more than a few steps. "What if the murderer is still in there?"

  Looking around, she spotted one of her many cousins heading their way. "Kenny, Kenny Denison. I need some help over here."

  He waved, trotted over, and sat next to her. "What's up?"

  When Charlie still didn't move, Skye touched Kenny's bulging forearm and asked her uncle, "Do you think anyone will mess with me while Kenny is here?"

  Charlie took a good look at the nineteen-year-old and turned away. "Fine. I'll get Wally."

  A camouflage-green T-shirt with the message IF YOU AB­SOLUTELY NEED IT DESTROYED WITHOUT QUESTION BY TOMOR­ROW, YOU NEED THE UNITED STATES MARINE CORPS was

  stretched taut across Kenny's muscular chest.

  "Who's messing with you? Why's Charlie got blood on his sleeve? Why's he getting Chief Boyd? You don't need the police. I'll take care of whoever's bothering you." Kenny stood and balled his hands into fists.

  Skye reached out to Kenny with her left hand, pulling him back down onto the step, careful to keep her right hand concealed behind her back. "Thanks, Kenny. I know you'd help me, but I'm okay. Someone else is in trouble."

  "Who? What's going on?"

  "Mrs. Gumtree, the TV star who was going to be in the parade, seems to be dead."

  "That tiny little old lady on the kids' program? What happened? Did she have a heart attack?"

  Skye considered saying yes, but could think of no reason to answer dishonestly. "No. It looks like she was mur­dered."

  "What?" Kenny bellowed.

  "Charlie asked me to get her. She wasn't answering her door. When I tried, the door was unlocked, the place was ransacked, and she was on the floor. Charlie is afraid the murderer might still be in the trailer, so he didn't want me to wait here alone. Please, let's just wait for the chief. I'm going to start crying if I talk any more."

  Kenny leaped to his feet once again and faced the door. He asked over his shoulder, "Is there another way out? What makes you think the perp is still in there?"

  She shuddered. "I don't know that he is. When I was in­side I didn't see or hear anyone. Of course, I wasn't paying much attention at the time. He could have been hiding in the bathroom, I suppose. There probably isn't another door, but there are plenty of windows."

  "We'd better get some people over here to secure the perimeter." Kenny trotted off, calling over his shoulder, "I'll go find your brother and the cousins."

  Skye sat still for a moment, catching her breath. It was quiet. The trailer was fairly isolated, and the crowds had moved to the parking lot in anticipation of the parade's start. Closing her eyes, she said a prayer for Mrs. Gumtree's soul. Suddenly a loud bang reverberated through the air. Skye jumped off the step and turned to look at the door. It was open and swinging back and forth on its hinges.

  I'm sure I closed that door. Didn't 1 feel it catch? Skye tried to make sense of what she was seeing. Oh, my God, the murderer must have still been in there.

  Before she could react, a heavy hand descended on her shoulder, and she screamed.

  CHAPTER 3

  Send in the Clowns

  Skye sat alone
in the squad car watching police officers go in and out of the trailer. She was still a little embar­rassed about having screamed at the chief when he first ar­rived at the scene and put his hand on her shoulder. Especially since he convinced her that the door had been blown open by the wind.

  Charlie and Kenny, along with everyone else in the area, were banished behind the yellow crime scene tape draped around the parking lot's border. Two harried officers tried to get people's names and addresses before the crowd dis­persed. Three more were busy keeping folks behind the tape.

  The townspeople had been drinking steadily from their coolers since they began to gather for the parade at eleven o'clock. They were angry when its cancellation was an­nounced, and seeing the police made them curious. Fights were already breaking out among the more well lubricated of the group.

  When Chief Boyd first arrived and saw the body, he questioned Skye about her movements inside the trailer. Upon learning that she hadn't touched anything except the outer doorknob, the vanity stool, and the corpse, he ordered her to sit in his squad car and talk to no one.

  Since that time it seemed to Skye as if every Scumble River police officer and Stanley County deputy there was had arrived. She was up to thirty when she lost count. Peo-

  pie, mostly men, in blue or khaki uniforms swarmed over the crime scene like ants over a piece of candy. One was taking photographs, another was videotaping, and yet an­other appeared to be drawing a picture of the site.

  Around one o'clock a hearse arrived. The man driving it walked straight into the trailer without looking at either the throngs of onlookers or the police. Skye couldn't see who it was from where she was seated, but he carried a doctor's bag.

  She was staring out the window without seeing anything when the opposite door was abruptly yanked open. Startled, she let out a yelp. She didn't recognize the man sliding in next to her, and he wasn't wearing a uniform. Acting on in­stinct, Skye flung open her door and stumbled out of the car.

  As she ran toward the trailer, Skye hoped to find Chief Boyd, but instead a Stanley County deputy she didn't know grabbed her by the upper arms and spun her around. "Whoa there, Missy, where you goin' in such a hurry?"