*
Earl had explained they’d gotten the idea for the lion from some movie they’d seen last summer.
Skye couldn’t believe that the inspector had not been able to make the Dooziers get rid of the wild creature. Andrea had explained that it was an old circus animal, and they had all the correct paperwork, so as long as they didn’t allow people to actually pet it, there was nothing she could do.
She’d be back the next morning before the sale opened to make sure the Dooziers had corrected the violations she could enforce. If they hadn’t, she could shut them down. Otherwise, Skye was on her own.
The last stop on the inspector’s list was the goat cheese stand. It offered quite a contrast to the petting zoo. Here the goats were housed in enclosures nicer than the dorm room in which Skye had spent four years, and cleaner than her present cottage. The owner, Burnett Parnell, clearly doted on the creatures, and he earnestly explained the special diet they required to produce the milk to make the cheese. He eagerly showed them every step of his operation.
After escaping Burnett Parnell, the two women returned to the city hall. Andrea checked out the toilet paper supply before leaving, and Skye wrote her uncle a note about the Dooziers’ main—or should she say “mane”—attraction, then returned to her cottage, where she loaded her suitcases and a box of cat supplies into the trunk of the Bel Air.
She had just sat down on the steps to wait for the TV star to arrive when a silver Porsche zoomed into the driveway. The top was down, but all Skye could see of the driver was a stream of raven black hair blowing in the wind.
A Land Rover with a picture of an old trunk half open and spilling out treasure—the TV show’s logo—painted on its side, an Audi, and a Honda Civic stopped in a line behind the convertible. Faith and her entourage had arrived.
Skye got up and dusted off the back of her shorts, wishing she had taken the time to change clothes.
The TV star stepped out of the Porsche, and her staff rushed to follow suit, nearly trampling each other to be the first to reach her side. Faith ignored them and adjusted her amethyst off-the-shoulder minidress before marching toward the cottage.
Skye squinted at the approaching celebrity. Her right sleeve appeared to have a fluffy tan cuff mat covered her arm from her wrist to the elbow. Why is she wearing a fur muffin the middle of August?
Faith stopped in front of Skye, flicked a dismissive glance up and down her body, and said, “Skye Denison is supposed to be meeting me here.”
“I’m Skye.”
“Oh.” Faith gave a brittle little laugh. “Sorry, it’s just that Skye is such a pretty name.” Her tone left no doubt that the slur was intentional.
Skye felt herself flush but said coolly, “Why, thank you. My mother will be so relieved that you like it.”
Faith narrowed her eyes, then snapped, “Well, I haven’t got all day. Show me the house.”
“After you.” Skye held open the front door and Faith swept past her into the foyer, leaving a trail of lavender scent in her wake. Skye followed, and the TV star’s entourage trailed her. So far none of them had spoken, not even to offer introductions.
Faith spared a fleeting look at the guest bath, which opened off the entryway to the right, and an even shorter glance at the kitchen to the left, before striding into the great room.
Standing in the middle of the space, she turned in a half circle, then gestured to the built-in bookshelves lining the outer walls on either side of the glass doors that led out to the patio, which overlooked the river. “This is nice. I could do a lot with this. Have you ever thought of having it professionally decorated?”
Before Skye could reply, the muff on Faith’s arm transformed itself into a barking and growling Pomeranian that leapt onto the couch. Bingo, who had been asleep on the sofa cushion, jumped to his feet, arched his back, and hissed a warning.
Faith screamed, and Skye, without thinking, made a grab to save her pet. One of the TV star’s entourage pulled her back just before the dog’s teeth came down on her wrist. Her rescuer whispered urgently in her ear, “Don’t. That little rat will tear your arm off. It’s gotten a piece of each one of us at one time or another.”
The canine whined in frustration at having missed a chance to rip into Skye’s flesh. Bingo saw his opportunity and swiped his enemy across the muzzle. The dog yipped and backed away. Bingo advanced, but the Pomeranian turned tail and bounded back into her mistress’s arms, where she glowered at the cat, Skye, and the room in general.
Faith exploded. “What do you mean by having a vicious animal on the premises?”
Skye glared. “Bingo is not vicious, and he’ll be coming with me.”
“I want him out of here right now. Put him in your car until you’re ready to leave.”
“No,” Skye said in an even tone. “It’s too hot for him to wait in the car.”
Twin spots of red blazed on Faith’s high cheekbones and she turned to the man who had saved Skye from being bitten. “Nick, darling, do something or I’m walking out right now.”
“I’ll handle it, sweetheart.” The man patted Faith’s shoulder, taking care to avoid the dog’s reach. “Why don’t you look at the rest of the cottage?”
The TV star shook her head. “I’m staying right here until this problem is solved to my satisfaction.”
The man walked over to Skye. “Hi, I’m Nick Jarvis, the producer/director of Faith’s Finds. Would it be alright if Jody—she’s Faith’s personal assistant—sits with your cat in the Land Rover?” He gestured to a nondescript girl in her early twenties dressed in jeans and a T-shirt with the show’s logo on the front. “She’ll keep the AC running.”
Skye nodded. “I’ll get his Pet Taxi.”
After Skye returned with the plastic crate, put the protesting Bingo inside, and turned the container over to Faith’s personal assistant, Nick said, “Shall we continue the tour?”
Faith stuck out her lower lip. “No. Lovie is still too upset.”
“Lovie?” Talk about a misnomer. Skye raised a skeptical eyebrow. “She looks fine to me.” As far as she could see, the dog had wrapped itself around Faith’s arm and gone back to sleep.
“That shows how much you know.” Faith raised her chin and looked down her nose. “According to Lovie’s Bow-Lingual Dog Translator, she is still very sad.” The TV star thrust a small blue receiver at Skye.
Displayed on the tiny digital screen were two closed eyes, a round nose, and a tear-shaped mouth. Skye felt her jaw drop open and it was a while before she managed to ask, “And this device does what exactly?”
Faith pointed to a matching blue microphone/transmitter attached to the dog’s collar. “It picks up her barks and sends them to this walkie-talkie thingy. Using the Animal Emotional Analysis System, the device translates the barks into pictures that tell me how she’s feeling.”
“Now I’ve seen everything,” Skye muttered to herself. She watched as the face on the screen changed. Now the eyes were wide-open ovals and the mouth was curved upward with a tongue hanging out.
Nick took the receiver and turned it back toward Faith. “Look, darling, Lovie’s happy again. Let’s finish up so she can get settled in.”
Without acknowledging Nick, Faith moved into the bedroom and flung open the closet door. She whirled around and announced as if a great tragedy had occurred, “It’s not empty.”
Skye explained, “I cleared out half the space for your use.”
“But I need it all.”
“Sorry.” Skye shrugged. “This is the best I can do.”
Faith’s impossibly violet eyes locked onto Skye’s emerald-green ones. Neither blinked.
Nick immediately stepped forward. “Five hundred dollars if you remove your clothes.”
Skye spun around and sputtered, “I beg your pardon?”
Nick frowned. “I meant the ones in the closet.”
Skye thought quickly. Where could she stash them? “Okay, I’ll put them on the rod in the utility room.”
She held out her hand.
“It’s a deal.” He peeled five one hundred-dollar bills from his money clip and placed them in her palm.
Faith hadn’t stuck around for the transaction. She was now in the master bath, standing next to the two steps that led up to the oversized soaking tub and frowning at the oval window that was set high on the wall, positioned so the tub’s occupant could lie back and look outside. “That needs to be covered.”
“Right.” Nick made a note on a small leather-covered pad. He pointed his Mont Blanc pen at Skye. “You can clean out that closet while we unpack the cars.”
While Skye transferred armload after armload of heavy winter clothes to the utility room, she saw Faith’s staff bringing in cases of wine and liquor, bags of food, a seven-piece matched set of leather luggage, and an old-fashioned steamer trunk. It looked as if they were moving in for at least a year.
As Skye cleared out the last of her things from the bathroom, she noticed that her everyday white towels had been replaced with expensive plum-colored ones, and on one of her trips to the bedroom she watched as a young man stripped the bed and replaced all the linens with lilac satin sheets and huge down-stuffed bolsters.
He noticed her interest and blushed. “Jody would usually do this, but since she’s with your cat …” He trailed off, then said, “I’m Kirby Tucker, the head writer.”
“That must be interesting.” Skye smiled.
He shrugged. “It’s a start.”
Skye nodded and returned to her task.
She had emptied the closet and was back sitting on the front step when Nick, Kirby, and Faith emerged. She noted that while the others were red-faced, sweaty, and smudged, Faith looked as if she were ready to step in front of the camera. There wasn’t a wrinkle in her dress or a drop of perspiration on her forehead. Skye bet she hadn’t lifted a finger except to point to where she wanted something placed.
After the rental agreement was signed and Nick handed Skye the five-thousand-dollar check, she turned over the keys to her cottage, got in the Bel Air, and headed to her parents’ house. As she turned the corner onto Basin Street, it dawned on her that she had left something important behind—the confidential files from the high school.
The school board had decided to spiff up the high school by painting the walls and laying new carpeting over the summer. Skye had been directed to pack up everything in her office, so the custodial staff could store it all in the gym. Uncomfortable with allowing confidential files to be set out for three months in just a cardboard box, she’d had her father come by the school with a dolly and his truck and move the office file cabinet to her utility room at home.
Should she turn back and get the cabinet? It was locked and the key was on her school key ring, which was in her briefcase, which was in the trunk of her car.
Surely the files would be safe. Probably no one would even notice the cabinet. The TV people didn’t look like the type to do their own laundry. And if they did see the cabinet, it was locked and they had no reason to care what was inside. She was silly to worry; certainly none of them would break it into it just out of idle curiosity.
CHAPTER 6
Let’s Make a Deal
Skye wiped the sweat from her forehead with the bottom of her T-shirt. Wasn’t it supposed to get cooler as evening approached? She fumbled in her purse with one hand, searching for the super-sized bottle of Tylenol she had put there the day she took the job as the Route 66 Yard Sale coordinator. The rattling of the few remaining pills reminded her that she needed to buy a replacement before the opening ceremony tomorrow.
After dry-swallowing a couple of caplets, she looked into the rearview mirror at two glowing golden eyes and begged, “We’ll be there soon. Please, please, be quiet. I’ve had a really bad day.”
Bingo ignored her entreaty and continued to yowl. He hated his Pet Taxi, he hated riding in the car, and he hated change; and he was currently being subjected to all three.
Skye’s head throbbed, and as she turned the Bel Air into her parents’ driveway, the ache became worse. It wasn’t that she worried about her own welcome; she knew that her mother’s second dearest wish in the world was for Skye to move back home (her first wish was for Skye to get married), but May had an unreasonable dislike of animals, especially house pets. Skye was pretty sure that when Dante had arranged for her to stay with her parents for the next ten days, he hadn’t mentioned the cat. And when May had agreed, she’d forgotten all about Bingo.
The pea gravel glimmered whitely in the dusk as Skye parked in front of the left side of the large garage. She made sure the right side was unobstructed so her father could get his truck out for his daily six a.m. visit to his mother.
Skye took a deep breath. The night air smelled tantalizingly of freshly mowed grass and hamburgers frying on the grill. Her parents were sitting on the patio near the back door, and the voice of the Cubs’ announcer floated up from the portable radio on the table between them. Chocolate, her father’s Labrador retriever, lay by Jed’s side.
For a minute, the scene looked like a picture painted by Norman Rockwell. Then May spotted the Pet Taxi in Skye’s hand and snapped, “You’re not bringing that animal in the house. Bad enough I have to put up with Chocolate jumping all over me every time I come outside to empty the garbage or hang clothes on the line.”
Skye looked at her father, thinking he might take her side. He shrugged, a sheepish expression on his face. “Up to Ma.”
Skye put down the Pet Taxi and Chocolate lumbered to his feet. Skye watched in apprehension as the dog pressed his nose against the wire door. Would Bingo react as antagonistically to Chocolate as he had to Faith’s Lovie that afternoon? She held her breath as the animals stared at each other for a moment, then Bingo started to purr and Chocolate flopped down with his head resting on the cat carrier.
While Bingo and Chocolate were reenacting the Peaceable Kingdom painting, Skye’s mind was busy. She said to her mom, “If Bingo can’t stay here, then I can’t either.”
May scowled. “Animals do not belong in the house.”
“Fine.” Skye crossed her arms. “Let’s see. What are my options? The motor court is full, Trixie’s rented out all of her spare rooms, Vince hasn’t got the space for me, and Simon’s having the pipes replaced while he’s away.”
Simon had left that morning for a funeral directors’ convention in Sacramento; afterward he was staying with a college friend who lived in the area while he toured Northern California. He’d be gone until a week from Tuesday.
Skye felt a twinge of guilt. She had barely taken time to say good-bye to him the night before. He had wanted Skye to accompany him on the trip, but there was no way she could leave her job just as the sale was about to start.
May’s voice broke into Skye’s thoughts. “You should have gone with him. What if he meets someone out there?”
Skye refused to be drawn into that discussion. “Let’s stick to the real problem rather than worrying about one that could happen.” She sighed dramatically. “If Bingo isn’t welcome here, I guess we’ll have to live in my car.”
May gave her daughter a sharp look. “You can’t do that. People will talk.”
“What else can I do if you won’t let Bingo stay here?”
May exhaled noisily. “Okay. The cat can stay, but you have to keep him in your bedroom at all times. No roaming.”
“Thank you, Mom.” Skye reached down for the Pet Taxi, box of supplies, and her suitcase, then hurried into the house before May could change her mind or think of more restrictions. Chocolate woofed his good-bye to Bingo and the cat purred loudly in return.
After settling Bingo with bowls of water and food and filling his litter box, Skye joined her parents on the patio. She sat on the step next to her mother’s concrete goose. Skye had long since stopped trying to dissuade May from dressing up the statue, and instead now played a game with herself, predicting May’s mood on the basis of what she had chosen for the goose’s outfit.
; Today it wore little mechanic’s overalls and held a wrench in one wing and a tiny placard in the other. The poster read: WHAT’S GOOD FOR THE GOOSE IS GOOD FOR THE GANDER.
Skye whistled under her breath. It could mean only one thing. Her parents were still feuding over the time Jed was spending helping Bunny get her car running. Come to think of it, he’d been working on the project for more than two months. Maybe she should have a talk with her father and find out what was going on. Not tonight, though. After the yard sale. She’d take care of everything after the yard sale.
While Skye was lost in thought, Jed announced from the grill, “Hamburgers are about done, Ma.”
May walked over to the bright yellow picnic table Jed had built from scraps of lumber and black pipe. “Skye, grab the potato salad and baked beans from inside, and get yourself something to drink.” She tore open a package of paper plates. “I’ll be in to get the other stuff in a minute.”
After a pleasant but mostly silent dinner they went inside and Jed climbed into his recliner, grabbed the remote, and promptly fell asleep. As soon as the dishes were done, May sat in her chair and followed suit.
Skye curled up on the couch and read her book to the music of her parents’ snores. At ten o’clock she pried the TV control from her father’s fingers and turned to ABC for the news. She had just settled back into the sofa when the phone rang. Neither of her parents stirred, so after the third ring Skye answered it.
Her Uncle Dante’s voice boomed from the receiver, “Get your ass down to the police station right this minute. Wally just arrested Faith Easton.”
“I’ve told this cretin numerous times that I was not trespassing.” Faith Easton paced up and down the interrogation room at the Scumble River police station, her mauve high-heeled sandals clicking on the worn linoleum. “I just popped into a few booths to establish the best place to begin filming in the morning. I’m warning you, if I’m not released immediately, I may decide not to do the program after all.”
Murder of a Smart Cookie Page 5