As soon as he spotted Skye and Wally, his usually impassive expression was replaced by one of defeat, and he hurled the hay bale to the ground. “I should have known keeping a secret in these parts would be impossible.”
“Sorry, Owen.” Wally stepped forward and clapped the unhappy man on the shoulder. “If it’s any consolation, we’ll keep this information completely confidential.”
“How did you find out?” Owen took off his work gloves and stuck them in his back pocket.
“The Dooziers saw you here,” Wally explained. “They mentioned it when we were out at their place investigating a complaint.”
“So what do you want?” Owen wiped his face with a red handkerchief.
“Is this where you were last Saturday when you claimed to be having a drink with a friend?” Wally asked.
Wally and Skye had decided that Wally’d be the best one to question Owen, so Skye leaned against a stall and tried to blend into the background.
“Yes. This is where I am whenever I’m not home.” Owen stared at his work boots. “The owner can vouch for me.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me all this when I asked?” Wally wrinkled his brow.
“Trixie doesn’t know that in order to buy the llama and emu herds, I agreed to work off the debt.” Owen’s face crumpled. “She complains I don’t spend enough time with her. If she found out I took on another job, it would have set her off something fierce.”
“So you weren’t having an affair with Suzette Neal?” Wally asked.
“An affair?” Owen’s eyes bulged. “Hell, no.” He shot Wally a dark look, then said, “So that’s what this was all about. You thought I was sleeping with that singer who got killed, and then for some reason I murdered her?”
“She was seen getting out of a truck similar to yours last Saturday night.” Wally’s tone was unapologetic. “We had to check out the possibility. We’ve been talking to all the locals who own black pickups. If you had just cooperated, we could have crossed you off our list long ago.”
“I’ve never even looked twice at another woman. I love my wife.” Owen shook his head. “That’s why I work so hard. I want her to have nice things.”
“She’d rather have you,” Skye murmured.
Owen stuck out his chin. “Just because someone doesn’t love you the way you want them to doesn’t mean they don’t love you with all they’ve got.”
But was that enough? Skye was afraid this might be Trixie’s breaking point. Trixie loved Owen, but he kept using all his energy to make money, then had no time left for her. Some rifts in a marriage couldn’t be healed.
Sunday morning, despite Father Burns’s wonderful sermon, Skye didn’t experience the serenity she usually felt when she attended Mass—probably because she and Wally planned to approach Olive after church. It would be the perfect time, because Dante always ate breakfast with his cronies while his wife went home to start Sunday dinner. If Skye and Wally arrived at the Leofantis’ shortly after Olive got back from the nine o’clock service, they’d likely find her alone.
Skye had gone to the same Mass as her aunt and uncle to make sure neither of them varied their usual routine. Now she drove over to pick up Wally. They had agreed Olive might talk more freely if they went together in her car and Wally wasn’t in uniform.
After exchanging greetings with Wally, Skye was silent for the five-minute ride to her aunt and uncle’s farm. She was discouraged by their lack of progress in the murder investigation. Even with all the information they’d gathered in the past six days, they still seemed no closer to solving Suzette’s murder.
Just before the lane leading to Dante and Olive’s house, Skye spotted something new. She nudged Wally. “Take a look.”
A series of four small signs read:
If you want peace
Prepare for war.
For safety at home
Guns even the score.
“Yep.” Wally shrugged. “That sounds like Dante all right.”
“Surprising he wants to open the town up to so many strangers,” Skye mused. “You’d think the last thing he’d want was a bunch of outsiders invading his kingdom.”
“Money talks.”
“True, and to Dante it sings a sweet siren song.”
As Skye parked the Bel Air, Wally said, “I think it would be best if you questioned your aunt.”
“I agree.”
“I’ll step in when the time is right.” Wally exited the car, walked around the hood, and held out his hand to Skye.
The mayor and his wife lived in a rambling trilevel perched on the southern edge of their acreage, surrounded by a large yard studded with mature trees. Clearly someone had recently raked the lawn, because there wasn’t a leaf in sight, and Skye would bet a year’s salary that that someone was her aunt, not her uncle.
Olive opened the door within seconds of Skye’s ringing the bell. “Skye, Chief, what a surprise. Were you looking for the mayor?”
Brandy, the Leofantis’ golden retriever, stood by Olive’s side. The canine’s shiny fur lay in perfect silken order.
“No, Aunt Olive. We wanted to see you.” Skye reached down and stroked Brandy’s head. “Sorry for dropping in, but it was important to speak to you when Uncle Dante wasn’t here.”
“Why is that?” Olive’s expression was uncertain, but she motioned them inside. “Well, no matter—you’re always welcome to come by.”
“Thank you.” Skye felt terrible that they were about to accuse this sweet woman of adultery, but they had to check out anyone who had a motive to kill Suzette.
As Olive led them toward the kitchen, she said, “I hope you don’t mind if we sit in here. I’m in the middle of making dinner.”
“Great.” Wally’s smile was charming. “I always say the heart of a home is the kitchen.”
Brandy followed them, and when Skye took a seat at the table, the dog lay at her feet. She felt comforted by the animal’s presence. While Olive bustled around pouring them coffee, Skye gazed at the decor. Unlike the rest of the house, which was done in brocade and velvet, with stunning floral arrangements and beautifully framed art, the sunny yellow kitchen was cozy rather than elegant. Chintz curtains, an obviously well-used oak table and chairs, and whimsical prints on the wall all added to the warmth.
Olive placed a tray of cookies between Skye and Wally and sat down. The three of them chatted about the weather and the family for a while.
Finally, Olive glanced at the wall clock and said, “Dante will be home in twenty minutes. What did you need to talk to me about?”
Skye took a deep breath. “I’m sorry to have to bring this up, but we recently learned that many, many years ago you knew Suzette Neal’s father.” Skye paused, then said as gently as she could, “In fact, we understand that you and he were very close.”
“We were friends.” Olive stared down at her cup.
“From what we’ve been told, you were much more than friends.” Skye bit her lip. This was even harder than she’d thought it would be. “You had an affair with him. Didn’t you?”
“No. That’s ridiculous.” Olive’s fair skin became nearly translucent. “Who told you that?”
“The Neals’ cleaning lady saw you and Quentin in your car.” Skye covered her aunt’s hand with her own. “We aren’t here to judge you, but we need to know what happened back then and if it has anything to do with Suzette’s murder.”
“I was probably just giving him a ride home from choir practice.” Olive tried to smile, but her lips were trembling. “As I recall, they only had one car, and he often walked to the church so his wife could use it.”
“The cleaning lady saw you kissing him, and not on the cheek.” Skye tightened her grip on Olive’s fingers.
“She must have been mistaken.” Olive shook her head. “It was so long ago, maybe she misremembered.”
“The neighbor across the street saw you as well.” Skye knew she couldn’t let her aunt pretend the affair had never happened. “We don’t i
ntend to share this information with Dante, or anyone else, unless it’s pertinent to Suzette’s murder.”
The ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room marked off the seconds until Olive spoke, tears in her eyes. “I loved him so much.” This time her smile was sincere and tremulous. “He was such a wonderful man. He made me feel beautiful and smart and happy.”
“Unlike Dante?” Skye murmured.
Olive nodded. “I knew what we were doing was wrong, and I never asked him to leave his family for me, but I just wanted something sweet in my life.” Olive wiped a tear from her cheek. “Even if it was only for a little while.”
“I understand. And I wouldn’t bring this up except that the neighbor who saw you kissing Quentin in the car also saw you at his house the day his wife died. In fact, just before the ambulance arrived.”
If possible, Olive’s face paled even more. She opened her mouth, but at first no words came out. After a few seconds, she said, “It really was an accident.”
“Yes,” Skye encouraged. “Tell us what happened.”
“Paulette called me and asked me to come over.” Olive gazed over Skye’s head as if looking into the past. “She said it was about a committee we were both on, but as soon as I got there she started yelling at me about the affair.”
“Then what?” Skye asked softly.
“I told her I would end it and I never meant to hurt her or her family, but she didn’t believe me.” Olive’s voice was barely audible. “I tried to explain that I was sorry, that I had just wanted a little bit of kindness and warmth, but she lunged at me. I leaped aside—I’d trained to be a ballet dancer before I married Dante—but Paulette couldn’t stop her momentum. She fell and hit her head on the corner of a marble-topped table. I couldn’t get her to wake up and there was so much blood.”
“Can you show us where all this happened?” Skye pulled the flyer with the house plan out of her tote and laid it in front of her aunt.
Olive pointed to a tiny foyer.
“Did you call an ambulance?” Skye asked.
“I was looking for the phone—you know, back then there were no cells, and most people only had one telephone in the whole house.” Olive shook her head. “But Quentin walked in the door before I found it, saw what had happened, and ordered me to leave.”
“So he took over?” Skye asked.
“Yes.” Olive put her hands over her face. “Up until then, I had no idea the twins were in the house, but he told me they were there and he’d handle everything.”
“Was Paulette alive when you left?”
“No.” Olive shook her head. “Quentin checked and said she didn’t have a pulse. He said he’d clean up the blood and put her in the bathroom so it would look as if she’d slipped in the tub.”
While Wally asked several additional questions, Skye considered what her aunt had told her and whether she believed Olive’s story. Olive had had no warning that Skye and Wally would be confronting her, and once she’d admitted to the affair, she had given her account of Paulette’s death with no hesitation.
Yes. Skye nodded to herself. She did believe her aunt. Olive had never been a good liar, and Skye was sure she would have been able to tell if her aunt hadn’t been telling the truth. What a relief that Paulette’s death was truly an accident—but what a waste of a life.
“Quentin blamed himself, you know.” Olive’s voice broke into Skye’s musings. She sounded as if she were saying aloud something she’d thought about for years. “He wasn’t the same man after that. And then, one day, he and the children were just gone.”
“One more question, Olive,” Wally said. “Did Suzette Neal contact you when she came to town?”
“No.” Olive looked surprised. “I didn’t put together who she was until after her death. Quentin always called her Suzie, and Neal is a fairly common name.”
“But you were the one who stole the contents of the police file on Paulette Neal’s accident, weren’t you?” Wally raised a brow.
Olive looked Wally in the eye. “Yes. I overheard you talking to Dante on his cell phone. You said you were going to look for it that afternoon. I was afraid something in it might connect me to Quentin, so I borrowed Dante’s key to the storage facility and took it. Do you want it back?”
“Yes.”
Olive pushed away from the table, rose, and crossed over to a cupboard. She took out a box of spaghetti, opened the flap, and pulled out the rolled-up pages. “Here.”
Wally got to his feet. “Okay.” He, Skye, and Olive moved to the foyer. “We won’t mention any of this to Dante unless it turns out to have something to do with Suzette’s murder.”
Olive blew out a breath. “Thank you.”
Once they were in the car, Skye said to Wally, “I believe Olive. How about you?”
“I believe her, too. Your aunt didn’t kill Suzette, and Paulette’s death was accidental.”
As Wally flipped through the pages of the police report, Skye put the Bel Air in reverse and drove away.
Several minutes passed while Wally read. Finally he said, “As I predicted, the accident report is short—only three pages—and contains minimal information about the incident. Nothing we didn’t already know.” He replaced the paper clip and threw the pages in the backseat. “We’re back to square one.”
CHAPTER 25
“Stand by Your Man”
Since Skye had persuaded the superintendant to let her skip the district’s Teacher Institute meetings, she had Monday off. Few if any of the institute’s programs would have any relevance for her, and in exchange she would attend the Illinois School Psychologists Association’s conference in January, where she could earn the continuing-education credits she needed to renew her certificate.
Celebrating having the day to herself, Skye slept until ten; then, after feeding Bingo—Toby was still with Simon—she decided to treat herself to an early lunch and a good book.
As Skye drove toward McDonald’s, traffic was heavier than usual on Water Street. With the kids out of school, Scumble River’s main drag was bustling. While she was stopped to wait for a gaggle of pedestrians to cross the street—including all five members of Flint James’s backup band—she scanned the parking spaces along the road. Ever since Suzette’s murder, she’d been looking for the black truck she’d seen the singer getting out of at the park.
Nothing on the left side. On the right, red Jeep, green Jag, and blue Avalanche by the dry cleaner. Black pickup in front of Stybr’s Florist. Yel—
Skye’s gaze swung back to the truck. Now that she saw it, she remembered the unusual tow-hitch cover and the metallic bumper sticker. That was the pickup Suzette had gotten out of Saturday night before the concert ! Holy moly! How could she have forgotten those details? If she hadn’t been an idiot, Owen would have never been a suspect.
Abruptly, Skye spun the Bel Air’s steering wheel to the right and pulled in behind the truck. Since the florist was bracketed by empty buildings, the driver was probably in the flower shop. Jumping out of her car, she ran across the sidewalk and pushed open the door.
Cool carnation-scented air washed over her face, and Skye took a minute to look around. Only one customer was present, a man in his early thirties wearing jeans and a Pink Floyd T-shirt. She tilted her head. It was Rod Yager. She knew him from his brief stint as a guitarist in her brother’s rock band.
After assuring the clerk she didn’t need any help, Skye turned to the musician and said, “Hi, Rod. Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Sure.” He smiled. “How’s Vince doing?”
“He’s doing great.” Skye tugged at Rod’s sleeve, pulling him away from the counter. “He and Loretta are house hunting.”
“I heard he got married. That was sure a shocker.” Rod shook his head. “I would have sworn he’d be on the prowl until the day he died.”
“Yep. People are full of surprises.” Skye took a breath, then said, “Speaking of surprises, did you know Suzette Neal?”
“
Sort of.” He transferred the bouquet of daisies and mums he was holding to his left hand and hitched up his pants. “I met her when I auditioned for Mr. Taylor.”
“You were with her just before the concert last Saturday night, weren’t you? Did you tell her about my sleuthing?”
“Yeah. She asked me for a ride to Joliet so she could do some shopping at the mall.” Rod rubbed the back of his neck. “But the funny thing was she didn’t buy anything. Just talked to an old guy who she said lived next door to her when she was a baby.”
“Did she mention this man’s name or where he lives now?” Skye wondered if Suzette had found out anything from her chat.
“No, but he works at the bookstore in the mall.” Rod was looking at Skye funny. “If you’re thinking I had anything to do with Suzette’s murder, I can prove I didn’t. I left for a gig on a cruise ship the next day, and I just got back in town this morning. I only found out she was killed a couple of hours ago when I saw it in the newspaper.”
“I see.” That explained why neither the cops nor Skye had spotted his truck around town the past week. “The police will probably want to talk to you and verify your alibi.”
“That’s fine by me.” He snuck a peek at his watch. “Is that it?”
“Yes—No. One more thing.” Skye thought of what the singer had said that night when she had finally shown up for the concert. “Do you know why Suzette would lie to her boss about where she’d been and who she was with?”
“Well . . .” Rod looked distinctly uncomfortable. “She did mention that the guy she worked for was really possessive of her, so it was better if he thought we were cousins.”
“Anything else?” Skye asked.
“She said he was always hitting on her.” Rod sounded angry. “I told her she had talent, and she didn’t have to put up with that kind of shit to be a star. She said it had been okay until recently, because she’d made it clear she’d never sleep with him. But lately he’d been more and more persistent, and just recently he’d started claiming he loved her. She was a little worried about that.”
Murder of a Creped Suzette Page 21