Murder of a Smart Cookie

by Denise Swanson

  The sale started in the north at Scumble River Road and followed Route 66, which became Maryland Street as it wound its way through the business district. Then it passed Up A Lazy River Motor Court, Brown Bag Liquor Store, and Great Expectations Hair Salon before exiting onto Rolling Water Road and heading into Brooklyn, the next small town along the legendary highway.

  As Skye drove to work down Basin Street, Scumble River’s business district glowed watercolor bright in the morning sun. The old redbrick and wood-framed buildings with their snapping banners and just-swept sidewalks glistened, ready for the guests that would arrive the next day.

  She noted the preparations for the Yard Sale. The police had already placed sawhorses across the intersection at Adams Street. Merchants were setting up tables in front of newly painted storefronts, and city crews were stringing WELCOME posters from one side of the freshly cleaned road to the other. Scumble River was putting its best foot forward. Skye just hoped the town wouldn’t trip and fall on its face.

  When she reached the city hall, she exchanged her Bel Air for one of half a dozen golf carts that the town had rented when Mayor Leofanti had realized that Scumble River’s downtown would have to be closed off to vehicular traffic for the duration of the event.

  As she transferred her supplies to the basket behind her seat, she caught sight of a tall, lean woman dressed in jeans and a short-sleeve chambray work shirt crossing the small parking lot. Her nut-brown hair was cut sensibly short, and her hazel eyes sparkled with intelligence.

  Skye was supposed to meet the health inspector at eight-thirty and drive him around to the various food booths, toilets, and trash facilities so he could give them his final approval. Could he be a she? Was the twenty-first century catching up to Stanley County?

  Skye straightened and asked, “Inspector Pantaleone?”

  “Yes. Call me Andrea.” The woman held out a tanned hand. “You must be Skye.”

  “That’s me. Nice to meet you.” They shook. “Where would you like to start?”

  The inspector checked her clipboard. “The Lemonade ShakeUp stand.”

  “Great. I know that one’s in good shape.” Skye smiled. The lemonade stand was sponsored by the high school’s Scumble River Scoop newspaper; in her real life as a school psychologist, Skye was one of the faculty sponsors. Her best friend, Trixie, the school librarian, was the other. She and Trixie had spent several evenings the past week helping the student staff assemble the booth and prepare for today’s inspection. “Hop in. It’s on the corner of Maryland and Basin.” Which was, not coincidentally since Skye had assigned the sites, a prime location in the heart of downtown.

  Once Andrea was settled, Skye put the cart in motion and said conversationally, “Have you been a health inspector long?”

  “No. I started out as a math teacher, but quit to raise my kids. The youngest started school last year and I was bored, so I began looking around for a teaching job. Before I found one, my uncle mentioned this opening. I took the test and here I am.”

  “I’m working for my uncle, too.” Skye and Andrea exchanged a mutually knowing glance.

  Skye stopped the cart a little way back from a hot pink and bright yellow booth. As the women walked toward it, an argument could be heard coming from behind the canvas walls. Skye winced. She recognized the voices as belonging to Frannie Ryan and Justin Boward, the school newspaper’s star reporters and coeditors.

  When they were a few steps from the booth a tall, sturdily built teenage girl burst through the screen door in the back of the stand and raced past them with tears streaming down her face.

  Skye turned to Andrea, “Excuse me a minute. I need to see if she’s okay.”

  Without waiting for a response, Skye hurried off. She caught up to the girl around the corner. Frannie was sitting on a concrete bench staring at the river.

  Skye sat next to her and asked, “What happened?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  The girl shrugged. “Can you make someone be different?”

  “Probably not.” Frannie sniffed and Skye dug a tissue from her pocket and handed it to the distraught teen. “But I could talk to him. Sometimes a neutral third party can help two people hear each other better.”

  Frannie gave her a sharp look. “How do you know it’s a ‘him’?”

  “Just a good guess.” Skye smiled. “What was the argument about?”

  “Justin’s taking Bitsy to the concert in the park Sunday night.”

  Skye made a face. She was afraid something like that might be the problem. Frannie and Justin were best friends, and although Skye suspected that they had deeper feelings for each other, neither of them seemed ready to take the risk and explore those emotions. Unfortunately, one of the other girls on the Scoop’s staff had set her cap for Justin, and either he liked her or he was too oblivious to realize that she was reeling him in like a fisherman with a prize trout.

  “He asked her out?” Skye questioned cautiously.

  Frannie brushed back a strand of long, wavy brown hair. “Not exactly.”

  “She asked him and he said yes?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Then how?”

  “Justin is going with Brandon and his girlfriend. I can’t go because I have to go with my dad to my great-aunt’s birthday party.” Frannie stood and yanked up her jeans. The current low-riding style was a challenge for the teen’s rounded shape. Having a similar curvaceous figure, Skye understood Frannie’s urge to fit in with the size twos and fours of the rest of the high school class, so she resisted the temptation to suggest that Frannie buy more flattering pants.

  “Okay. But how does Bitsy fit into the picture?”

  “Brandon’s girlfriend invited Bitsy to go along and make it a foursome.” Frannie’s brown eyes narrowed. “Or so Justin says.”

  “Don’t assume treachery for what stupidity can explain.”

  A twist of Frannie’s lips expressed her skepticism.

  Skye was at a loss for what else to say. She couldn’t suggest that Frannie skip the family party and tag along with the kids to the concert, although that would probably be the best advice. She couldn’t suggest that Frannie ask Justin to miss the concert or go with some other friends, although that, too, would be a solution. She was stuck with option number three, the one that would make her look like a stupid grownup who didn’t understand anything. “It sounds like this isn’t his idea, so maybe the best thing would be to let it go. If you make it seem important, it might become more significant than it really is.”

  “Whatever.” Frannie blew out an exasperated breath. “It’s just that Bitsy is such a Slinky.”

  “A what?” Skye hadn’t heard that expression before.

  “A Slinky is someone who’s not really good for anything, but you still can’t help smiling when you see one tumble down the stairs.”

  Skye struggled not to grin. Not that she agreed with the sentiment, but it was darn funny.

  “Anyway, it’s not like I care what Justin does.”

  Skye patted the girl’s arm. “Of course not.”

  “But some of his new friends make me feel like I’m less than nothing.”

  “No one can make you feel inferior without your permission. So don’t give it to them.”

  Frannie’s brow furrowed while she considered what Skye had said. Then she nodded. “Got ya.”

  Skye glanced at her watch. Shoot! They had been gone nearly thirty minutes. “Ready to go back?” She hoped the inspector wasn’t too upset at the delay.

  Frannie nodded again and led the way.

  When Frannie and Skye returned to the lemonade stand, they found Justin, Andrea, and Trixie sipping from paper cups and laughing.

  Justin was saying, “So, uh, then would it be okay for me to follow you around sometime and do a story about being a safety inspector?”

  Skye smiled. Justin was interested in everything and a keen observer of what went on around him. That,
paired with the ability to blend into the woodwork and the tenacity of a mule, made him an excellent reporter.

  “Sure. Here’s my card. Give me a call,” Andrea answered, then caught sight of Skye. “But right now we have to get going.”

  Skye hurried over. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.” She lowered her voice. “A teen emergency.”

  “I understand. I have one of my own.”

  Before leaving, Skye pulled Trixie aside and asked, “Where were you?”

  “I had to pee. What happened?”

  Skye filled her friend in on her conversation with Frannie.

  Trixie’s response was not reassuring. “Maybe she’s right to be upset. You just can’t trust men.”

  As Skye turned to join Andrea, she wondered if everything was all right between Trixie and her husband, Owen.

  She sighed and continued toward the golf cart, but Justin stopped her. “Hey, Ms. D, do you know who that woman over there is?”

  “Where?” Skye squinted across the road.

  “By Cookie’s Collectibles.”

  Skye scanned the area but didn’t see anyone near where Justin was pointing. “I don’t see anyone.”

  “She’s gone now.”

  “Why did you want to know who she is?”

  “Just curious.” Justin twitched his shoulders as if an insect was buzzing around him, then muttered into his chest. “I’ve seen her around Ms. Caldwell’s before, and she’s not from town.”

  “Probably a friend.” Skye briefly reconsidered her previous thoughts about Justin. Maybe his reporter’s instincts were getting out of hand. Should she say something? Maybe later. Right now she had an inspector to show around.

  CHAPTER 5

  Wild Kingdom

  Skye and Andrea spent the next couple of hours visiting every public restroom facility and trash can along the yard sale’s five-mile path through Scumble River. The initial inspection was an eye-opener for Skye, who’d had no idea the whole process would be so involved.

  First Andrea walked around the outside of the Port-A-Potty cubicle looking for any leakage. Then she opened the door and sniffed, made a note on her clipboard, and turned to ask, “How often is maintenance scheduled for these?”

  Skye consulted her own clipboard and answered, “The owners will service them at the end of each day, and I’ve hired teenagers to restock them with toilet paper, paper towels, and liquid soap at noon and at four p.m.”

  “I’d like to see how much toilet paper you have on hand.” Skye fought a grin, recalling her uncle’s encounter with the Charmin. Was it really as squeezably soft as the ads claimed? “Sure. It’s at the city hall.”

  “Okay, then I’ll look at it when we go back there.”

  They finished the last trash can a few minutes past twelve and made a quick stop for lunch at the Feed Bag, the only real restaurant in town. After they ate, they examined a hot dog stand, an ice cream counter, and a trailer that would be selling cotton candy, elephant ears, and taffy apples. Food concessions needed to meet a variety of requirements to pass Andrea’s scrutiny, including the use of hair restraints, leakproof garbage bags, and a five-gallon container for wastewater.

  When they got back into the golf cart, after checking out the Altar and Rosary Society barbecue dinner tent, Andrea glanced at her list and said, “The last two sites are the Doozier Family Petting Zoo and the goat cheese stand.”

  Skye took a deep breath and nodded. She had been dreading this inspection. Nothing that had to do with the Dooziers, one of Scumble River’s most unusual families, ever went smoothly. In a town surrounded by railroad tracks it was impossible to say someone lived on the wrong side of them, but the Dooziers came mighty close. Skye took another breath, forced herself to smile at the inspector, who was looking at her questioningly, and started up the golf cart.

  The Dooziers had set up their concession on a sliver of family-owned land east of town, where State Road curved into Route 66. Skye steered the cart around the barricades at the corner of Maryland and Kinsman streets, which marked the end of the city limits. The rest of the sale’s path was open to automobiles.

  Skye was concentrating on avoiding oncoming cars when Andrea said, “A petting zoo is a little atypical for this type of event, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but then so are the Dooziers.” Skye struggled to explain. “Have you heard the term ‘red-raggers’?”

  “Yes. I know it’s derogatory, but I’ve never quite figured out what it meant.”

  “It’s people who live a different sort of life. Mostly they live in those shacks by the river. It isn’t that they’re poor, although they are. And it isn’t that they live in squalor, although they do. It’s more that they seem to enjoy living that way.” Andrea looked puzzled, and Skye summed it up with, “They’re the original out-of-the-box thinkers.”

  “Ah.” Andrea smiled. “And that’s what scares you.”

  “Exactly.”

  Loud voices and barking dogs greeted them as they approached the Dooziers’ corner. Their property was shaped roughly like a long, skinny triangle, and Skye parked at the tip.

  She said to Andrea, “Are you ready for this?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.” She got out of the cart and Skye followed suit.

  The women picked their way gingerly across uneven ground covered with weeds and rocks. Several feet back from the road various pens and cages had been arranged in a rough oval.

  To one side of the makeshift entrance, a folding table with a sign reading ADMISSION $5.00 duct-taped to the front edge teetered on crooked legs. Sitting with his cowboy-boot-encased feet propped up on the table’s surface was a scrawny, densely tattooed man wearing a pair of jogging shorts and nothing else.

  Beyond him, among the pens and cages, were two nearly naked boys wrestling in the dirt, a woman in a skimpy denim miniskirt and a shiny orange halter top, and a teenage girl dressed in black from head to toe, with waist-length ebony hair and dark maroon lipstick.

  Andrea murmured, “Oh, my.”

  Skye opened her mouth but could think of nothing to add. These were the Dooziers. There was no explaining them. It would be like trying to make sense out of an IRS document.

  When the man saw Skye, he jumped up, nearly knocking over the card table, and said, “Miz Skye, you’re early. We’re not quite ready for that there inspection you told us about.” She tried to edge past him to get a closer look at what was going on behind him, but he scooted in front of her and said, “Who’s this pretty lady?”

  Skye gave up trying to see what he was hiding and introduced them. “This is Andrea Pantaleone, the health inspector. Andrea, this is Earl Doozier.”

  Earl hitched up his shorts and stuck out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. We’ve got some mighty fine animals to show the nice people.” He leaned in close and confided, “I figure these city folk probably never touched a mule or a rabbit or such before, so I thought to myself, Earl Doozier, you need to help those poor people.”

  Skye narrowed her eyes. “Help them for a price, right, Earl?”

  He tried to look hurt, but couldn’t quite disguise the avaricious twinkle in his muddy brown eyes. “Miz Skye, I got to feed and house all those animals. That don’t come free now, does it?”

  “Nothing in life does.”

  Earl looked confused, scratched his butt, then took both women by the arms. “You and your friend come sit in the shade. Glenda will come get us dreckly.” He led them to a couple of rusted lawn chairs set up under an olive green tarp.

  Skye sat down cautiously. The plastic webbing on the seat looked frayed, and she was afraid it might split under her weight. Andrea didn’t seem as concerned, but then, she probably didn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds.

  Andrea clicked her pen and said, “Mr. Doozier, let’s use this time for you to give me a list of the animals you’ll be exhibiting.”

  Earl screwed up his face in thought. “Well, now, let me see. We got us three sheep, a cow, a whole passel of rabbit
s—you know, it’s hard to keep count. Those rascals make babies faster then I can pop open a beer. It ain’t human.”

  Skye hid her smile behind her hand.

  Andrea snickered, turning it into a cough, then asked, “Any other animals?”

  “Some chickens, a litter of piglets, and a mule.”

  “Good.” Andrea made a note. “Sounds nice and tame.”

  Skye saw a flicker in Earl’s weasellike eyes. What was he up to?

  Before she could figure it out, Andrea looked at her watch and said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Doozier, I really can’t wait any longer. I need to make my inspection now or you won’t be able to open tomorrow.”

  “Sure, sure. I understand. Just give me one more little minute and we’ll get started.” As Earl loped away, he yelled over his shoulder, “I don’t want to interfere with the duly constipated authorities.”

  For a split second, Skye wondered if Earl had a spy camera set up in the city hall bathroom to monitor the officials’ toilet habits.

  Luckily, before Skye’s mind could go too far down that path, Andrea said, “He’s hiding something.”

  “Yep.” Skye got up and edged toward the pens. “Probably some scam he doesn’t want us to know about.” She moved closer to where Earl stood talking urgently to his wife, Glenda. “He’s not the sharpest hook in the tackle box, but he’s caught a lot of fish in his time.”

  After Glenda turned and scurried away, Earl sauntered back to the lawn chairs. “Okay, ladies. You ready?”

  While Andrea took note of the condition of the pens, feeding areas, and other details, Skye kept an eye out for Glenda. She and the children had mysteriously disappeared. Andrea was going over a list of violations with Earl when Skye spotted activity over by a small U-Haul trailer.

  She strolled casually in that direction. As she got closer an incredibly foul odor assaulted her. She stopped a few feet away, her eyes watering. At first the terrible smell distracted her, but then she heard low voices. Suddenly there was a distinctive roar and Skye stumbled backward. Where had the Dooziers gotten a lion, and what were they planning to do with it?