Skye hurried to catch up with Trixie in the parlor and was just in time to see her set the tea tray on the table in front of a tall, slim man already ensconced on the settee.
He sprawled across the cushions, reminding Skye of a character from an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel. His shoulder-length black hair flowed over the back of the seat, and his fair skin magnified the navy blue of his eyes. He held his pose for several seconds, then straightened and nodded at Trixie, shooting an inquisitive glance at Skye.
Trixie settled into the wing chair facing the sofa, and after Skye took the matching seat Trixie said, “Monty, this is my friend Skye Denison. Skye, this is Montgomery Lapp, our visitor from Chicago.”
Skye stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Monty. I hope you’re enjoying our sale.”
“Yes, I am.” He limply squeezed three of her fingers. “I’ve found some really yummy things. I had no idea you people had so many treasures down here.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice dramatically. “In fact, I was led to believe there was only schlock.”
Skye raised an eyebrow. “People from the city often underestimate us. Appearances can be deceiving.”
Monty nodded, his expression droll. “That’s so true. I was driving up I-57 from Missouri and came across a town called Arcola, then a community named Tuscola. I was sure the next one would be Coca-Cola, but instead I got Champaign.”
Skye laughed politely at his witticism, then said to Trixie, while continuing to focus on Monty, “Shall I be Mother?” Trixie looked confused, and Skye explained. “I mean, shall I pour the tea?”
Trixie nodded.
“Lemon or milk?” Skye asked. She had deliberately used the British expression, figuring Monty to be an Anglophile. Her ex-fiancé’s mother had been fond of that affectation, and she wanted to emphasize to Monty that Scumble River was not the backwater he obviously thought it was.
After the tea and sweets had been handed round, the threesome settled back to chat.
Skye asked, “How were today’s pickings?”
“Not bad.” Monty smiled enigmatically. “I don’t like to discuss my finds.”
Trixie shot Skye a look that said, “I told you so.”
“I understand. It’s always best to be cautious,” Skye said. “Until I became yard sale coordinator, I hadn’t been around many collectors, but since the sale started I’ve seen some really appalling behavior.”
“You’re the coordinator?” Monty’s look sharpened. “I’ll bet you know where all the good stuff is hidden away.”
“Well …” Skye didn’t, but she thought it might be a smart idea to let Monty think she did.
“You can tell me. I can keep a secret. No one would ever have to know you told me.”
As he talked, an idea occurred to her. “Sorry to say, most of the really good stuff isn’t even being displayed. It’s still in the old folks’ houses.” Skye held her breath. Would he bite?
Trixie cringed slightly, but didn’t say anything.
Monty took a sip of his tea and agreed. “Isn’t that the truth.”
“It’s too bad I couldn’t convince some of them to set up a table.”
“What a shame.” Monty shook his head. “Especially the really old ones with no family. It’s not as if they have anyone to leave their antiques to. The state will just auction them off when they die.”
Skye decided to go a little farther. “In fact, I knew one lady in her eighties who had a houseful of valuables and needed the money, and I still couldn’t get her to show the stuff.”
“I heard about someone like mat in Scumble River. Was her name Griggs?
“Yes.” Skye feigned surprise. “Who told you about Mrs. Griggs?”
“Cook—” He broke off abruptly and a flush crept up his cheeks.
“Cookie Caldwell?” Skye closed in for the kill. “You knew Cookie?”
Trixie had been watching the action as if she was at a play, but now she joined in the conversation. “I wondered why you were so interested in her murder.”
“Interested? Me?” Suddenly there were sweat stains under the arms of Monty’s silk shirt.
“You always knew little tidbits of information about the case before they became general knowledge,” Trixie added. “How did you do that?”
“One hears things, as one is out among the sellers.” Monty took a gulp of tea and choked, dribbling the brown liquid down his elaborately embroidered vest. “What are you insinuating?”
“I’m not insinuating anything,” Trixie replied. “I’m asking you how you knew that Cookie was murdered with a piece of jewelry before the sheriff released that information to the public.”
“I told you, I heard people talking.” His manner of speaking had lost much of its haughty inflection.
“Who?” Trixie asked.
“How am I supposed to know? They were probably locals. How would I know their names?” He looked to Skye for help, but she kept her face expressionless.
“What were they selling?” Trixie wasn’t letting him off the hook.
“I don’t remember.”
“Really?” Disbelief was thick in Trixie’s voice. “I thought you told me that after the first day you had the whole sale mapped out in your mind, that you had a photographic memory. Or did you forget to take the lens cap off?”
“I … uh … well, that is …”
Skye watched him struggle for a few minutes, then said, “Maybe you don’t remember what they were selling because they weren’t vendors.”
“That’s it. I must have heard the bits about Cookie’s murder from someone who wasn’t selling anything.” He shot Trixie a triumphant look.
“Right,” Skye said, enjoying her role as good cop. “In fact, I’ll bet they didn’t have anything to do with the sale at all.”
“Uh, maybe.” Monty’s expression was half smile, half frown.
“You know who I think you heard the information from?” Skye asked in a deceptively pleasant tone.
“No.” His voice quavered the tiniest bit.
“I think you heard it from one of the TV people.” Skye closed in for the kill.
He flinched. “Well, I suppose—”
Skye interrupted him. “You heard it from Nick Jarvis, didn’t you?”
A strange look crossed Monty’s face, and he quickly said, “No, you’re wrong. I didn’t hear it from Nick.” Monty straightened, and his manner became more confident. “Like I told you two ladies several times before, I don’t remember whom I heard the information from. It was just a bit of gossip, not that important to me.” He rose from the settee. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready for my evening engagement.”
After he left, Skye and Trixie sat in silence for a while, then Skye said, “I blew that, didn’t I?”
Trixie nodded.
“The first rule of therapy is never interrupt a client, and I broke it.”
Trixie handed Skye a brownie on a napkin. “No one’s perfect.”
“If I had just kept my mouth shut instead of filling in the blanks. But I was sure it was Nick Jarvis who told him.”
Trixie bit into a Snickerdoodle, chewed, and swallowed. “What do you think he was going to say before you gave him Nick’s name?”
“I don’t know.” Skye nibbled at the brownie, then said, “Maybe no one told him. Maybe he knew the details because he’s the murderer.”
CHAPTER 18
Love Boat
Dante was not happy with Skye’s report of her day’s activities, or with the progress she was making in solving the murders. Not that she cared. Skye showed up at her afternoon appointment with him only to keep peace in the family, and after his first bellow, she switched on her new favorite daydream, which featured Angel from the Buffy the Vampire Slayer reruns she was currently watching. Man, that guy was hot.
She licked her lips, smiled, then frowned. Why was she fantasizing about a TV character instead of Simon? And more important, why did Angel suddenly look so much like Wally?
Skye shook her head; she wasn’t ready to answer those questions. Thankfully, she noticed that Dante was finally winding down, and she slipped out of his office, saying, “Yes, Uncle Dante. Right, Uncle Dante. I’ll do that first thing tomorrow.”
As she headed toward her parents’ house, the exhaustion from the previous night’s lack of sleep overwhelmed her. She wanted nothing more than a shower and some mindless time in front of the TV.
It said a lot for her condition that she didn’t even consider reading instead of watching television, since she was in the middle of a great book by one of her favorite authors.
The first hint that she was not in for a quiet evening at home was the sight of May, Trixie, and Frannie sitting on the patio with a cooler, a picnic basket, and a pile of beach bags at their feet.
Skye considered throwing the Bel Air into reverse and backing out, but it was too late. Her mother was waving, with a big smile on her face. Skye had no choice but to continue down the driveway toward the house.
Before Skye could get out of the car, the three females ran up to it.
Skye’s mom spoke first; her words gushed breathlessly.
“Trixie borrowed a pontoon boat. We’re going to have a girls’ night out on the river. I made a picnic supper, and Trixie mixed up margaritas and mudslides. And Frannie brought her portable CD player.”
Skye looked at her friend, who was grinning like an idiot. “Why?”
“Why not?” Trixie heaved the cooler into the Bel Air’s backseat. “It’s about time we had some fun this summer.” The picnic basket followed. “All you and I do is work. Do you realize that we have to go back to school in a week and a half?”
Skye finally managed to open her door and get out of the car.
May ignored her daughter’s less-than-enthusiastic response to the plan and hopped into the front seat, yelling, “Shotgun.”
Frannie giggled and got into the back.
Trixie attempted to follow her, but Skye grabbed her friend’s arm and propelled her toward the house, saying, “Help me change clothes.”
As soon as they were inside, Trixie asked, “Since when do you need assistance getting dressed?”
Skye ignored her question. “Okay, I get the part about a girls’ night out. Hey, I even understand bringing my mom along since she’s been a little down lately. But why is Frannie Ryan coming with us?” Skye continued through the hall to her bedroom and pulled open a drawer.
Trixie frowned. “Well, I ran into Frannie at the grocery store while I was picking up snacks for tonight, and she seemed so dejected about Justin and all, I thought we could cheer her up.”
“You know I love Frannie, and I understand what you’re saying, but is it appropriate for her to be with adults in a situation like this?”
“Probably not, but I think she’s more comfortable with us than her friends, especially discussing Justin. And she doesn’t have a mother to turn to.”
While they were talking, Skye had changed into her swimsuit and put on shorts and a T-shirt over it. Now she slipped her feet into flip-flops and stuffed a beach towel into a canvas tote bag. “I see what you’re getting at, but shouldn’t we be encouraging her to trust her friends and not depend on us?”
“You’re right. But this is a very special circumstance. In the future we’ll definitely encourage her to be with her friends more.”
Skye gave in, tired of always feeling as if she had to be the conscience of the group. “Sounds like a plan.” Heck, they were probably tired of her thinking that way, too.
“Great.”
Skye fed Bingo and gave him fresh water, then said, “Guess I’m all set.”
When Trixie and Skye came out of the house, May, who was still in the front seat of the car, asked, “So, are we going pontooning, or should I get out and start the laundry?”
“Hold your horses, Mom. We’re going.” Skye settled herself behind the wheel and started the motor. “Geesh. We were only gone a few minutes.”
Frannie giggled and whispered to Trixie when the older woman joined her in the backseat.
Skye eyed them in the rearview mirror as she drove the Bel Air out of Scumble River, wondering what they were up to.
The boat was tied up at the dock of a summer cabin located several miles north of town where the river was calm, with only a mild current.
As they unloaded their gear, Skye asked, “Do you know how to drive a pontoon, Trixie?”
She shrugged. “My friend said it was easy. There are instructions on how to start the engine and how to dock the boat taped up by the wheel. That’s about all there is to it. He says it’s like driving a lawn mower. Any ten-year-old can do it.”
Skye felt her anxiety level go up and was mad at herself. Why couldn’t she ever just lighten up? She was not responsible for the whole world. Still, she couldn’t help but take inventory. She knew that she and Trixie were strong swimmers, but what about Frannie? And May couldn’t even tread water.
While the other two women arranged the picnic basket and cooler just the way they wanted them, Skye quietly asked Frannie, “Can you swim?”
“Sure, Ms. D. Remember, we have lessons in gym class.” The teen looked at her questioningly.
“Good. Just checking.” Skye was relieved. She knew she could get her mom to shore without any problem if everyone else could take care of themselves.
Trixie must have been reading Skye’s mind, because after they were on board and she was maneuvering the boat away from the dock, she pointed aft and said, “The life jackets are back there in that bench. Maybe we should all take one and keep it handy.”
Skye flashed her a grateful look, sat back in her lawn chair, and told herself to relax.
They putted peacefully down the river, keeping near the bank and away from faster traffic, until they spotted a quiet area not far from shore.
Trixie stopped the boat and asked, “Anyone want to go swimming?”
Frannie and Skye nodded. May volunteered to get the picnic supper ready. Trixie, Frannie, and Skye swam off the back platform, splashing and dunking each other. Their whoops of laughter drifted on the slight breeze. No one would have guessed that they all had life-changing issues to deal with back in town.
When May had supper ready, she called them, and they clambered back onto the boat. They ate slowly, enjoying the food and the company.
After licking her fingers and tossing the last chicken bone into the trash, Trixie got up and started the motor. “Let’s see what’s up ahead.”
The late-summer night was clear and warm, and there were lots of people out enjoying the water. When they came to a small tributary, Trixie steered them into it, and suddenly they were alone except for the fishes and frogs. The surface of the water was green with algae and clogged with water plants.
The overhanging trees darkened the area and drowned out most sounds. May lit the citronella torches and Frannie started up a jazz CD.
After a few minutes, Skye got up and put on her shorts and T-shirt. It was cooler here than on the main body of the river.
Trixie handed out drinks—margaritas for the adults and soda for Frannie. Skye’s weariness was creeping back, and she let the others carry on most of the conversation while her thoughts drifted. When Trixie got up for another round of margaritas, she was surprised and begged off, having hardly touched the one she already had.
May, however, had polished off her first drink and took a big gulp of the second before saying, “When are men going to figure out that there is always free cheese in a mousetrap?”
Skye had officially turned off her brain for the night, and it took her a second to figure out what her mother was getting at, so before she could respond Trixie said, “That’s because men are like microwaves.” She waited a beat and finished the joke, “They get hot in fifteen seconds.”
May chuckled. “Yeah, that doesn’t give them a lot of time to stop and think.”
Skye laughed, but was too tired to come up with anything witty.
&nb
sp; When the giggles died down, Frannie said, “What I don’t understand is why boys aren’t willing to talk about stuff. Justin just ignores me when I want to talk about how I feel.”
Trixie explained, “That’s because men are like mascara, they both run at the first sign of emotion.”
They paused in their male bashing for another round of drinks; this time May and Trixie switched to mudslides. Skye, afraid she’d fall asleep if she drank too much on top of her fatigue, took one of Frannie’s sodas instead.
After a big gulp, which left a chocolate-milk mustache, Trixie said, “What I don’t understand is if they can put one man on the moon, why can’t they put all of them up there?”
“That’s right.” May hiccupped. “The only reason men are alive is for lawn mowing and to fix the car.”
The women hooted, but after the laughter stopped, Skye could detect a hint of sadness in their expressions.
May sighed. “I remember the good old days when the worst thing a boy could do to you was give you cooties. Now they all seem to want to break your heart.”
Trixie and Frannie nodded in concurrence, then they all turned to Skye, a strange look on their faces.
“Don’t you agree, Skye?” Trixie narrowed her eyes and walked over to stand in front of her. “Or have you switched sides now that you’re dating Mr. Wonderful?”
When Skye didn’t reply right away, May glared and joined Trixie. “Speaking of that, when is Mr. Wonderful coming home? Seems he’s been at that conference a long time.”
They moved closer to Skye, who had instinctively stood up in order to better defend herself. She backed up until her butt hit the rail that ran around the outer edge of the pontoon. “Mom, you know he’s staying afterward to visit with his college friend, Spike Yamaguchi.”
“When’s the last time you talked to him?” May demanded.
Skye bit her lip. When had she last talked to Simon, and why wasn’t she missing him enough to know the answer? Perhaps the reason she hadn’t joined in when her mother, Trixie, and Frannie had been complaining about their significant others was because in order to be that upset with someone you had to feel passionately about him. Maybe she no longer felt that way about Simon.
Murder of a Smart Cookie Page 17