Murder of a Cranky Catnapper

by Denise Swanson

  They were led into a large room filled with diners and shown to a large corner table partially shielded by a folding screen on one side and a large floral arrangement on the other. Undoubtedly, just as he had on their first date, Wally had called ahead and arranged for the secluded spot.

  Wally helped Skye into her chair, then sat next to her. Loretta took the seat on Skye’s left, with Vince, Abby, and Linc completing the circle.

  “Linc,” Skye said to the vet, who was directly across from her. “I wanted to thank you again for helping me with my counseling group. The boys made a lot of progress thanks to your pet therapy.”

  “I enjoyed it.” Linc twined his fingers with Abby’s. “Thank you for fixing me up with such a wonderful woman.”

  “I enjoyed it,” Skye echoed, then slipped her hand into Wally’s. “When you’re happy, you want everyone around you to be happy, too.”

  The waitress approached and said, “Hello, my name is Rhea Ann and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. What can I get you all to drink?”

  When both Skye and Loretta ordered soda, Abby raised a brow and said, “I understand about Skye, but Loretta, is there about to be another announcement?”

  Vince hurriedly asked for a beer. Wally and Linc said that they’d have one, too. Giving up her questioning, Abby asked for a Mojito.

  When the server left to fetch their drinks and appetizers, Linc said, “I wondered if there was anything more you could share about Palmer Lynch’s murder and the drugs.”

  There was a brief, awkward silence, then Wally said, “I really can’t say too much.”

  “All I want to know is if my animals are safe from future blackmail schemes,” Linc assured Wally.

  “I believe so.” Wally buttered a roll. “The county prosecutor is satisfied that Ramirez was not involved in Lynch’s drug business. He may have suspected that something wasn’t on the up-and-up, but he never received any compensation for handing the shoes out at the stores or collecting the envelopes for Lynch.”

  Everyone was quiet as their waitress served their appetizers and drinks, took the order for their entrées, and refilled water glasses.

  Once she left, Skye plucked a homemade toast point from those arranged around a small oval casserole dish, scooped a bit of the hot artichoke and crab dip onto it, and took a careful bite. All she needed was to have the appetizer spill down the front of her pale peach maternity dress and have to wear a food-spattered garment for the rest of the evening.

  Abby followed suit with the dip, then asked, “Do you think poor Virginia will go to prison for the rest of her life?”

  Skye opened her mouth, then glanced at Wally, who gave her a slight nod. Smiling at Abby, Skye said, “Virginia’s been charged with second-degree murder.”

  “Which means what?” Abby and Linc asked simultaneously.

  “It’s not premeditated killing,” Loretta explained, then added, “The sentence is usually between four and twenty years. Virginia has hired me to represent her, and I believe I can get the minimum once I finish negotiating with the prosecutor.”

  They were all silent as they processed Loretta’s words. Once their salads arrived, the conversation turned to plans for the summer, which carried them through the entrée.

  But as dessert and coffee were served, Skye touched Loretta’s arm and said in a low voice, “I wanted to thank you for taking Chantal’s case on a sliding fee scale. What do you think will happen to her?”

  “She and Yolanda have both agreed to testify against AJ Martino.” Loretta’s smile was satisfied. “Since neither of them saw a penny of the money, in exchange for their statements, they won’t be charged with insurance fraud.”

  “Wow!” Skye shook her head. “First, hope for the minimum sentence for Virginia and now this. You are an amazing lawyer.”

  “I am.” Loretta grinned. “And I’m thinking that there actually may be enough business in Scumble River for me to open a branch of my firm here.”

  “That would be awesome.” Skye sighed. “Whoever thought that when you first came to town to help my brother, we’d all be sitting here together?”

  Skye glanced around the table. Vince looked happier than he’d ever been. Linc and Abby’s relationship seemed to be going in a positive direction. And she and Wally were about to become parents.

  Whatever the future held for them, as long as they were together, Skye was certain they would be all right.

  If you missed out on Denise Swanson’s first book in the New York Times

  bestselling Scumble River Mysteries, keep reading for an excerpt of . . .

  Murder of a Small-Town Honey

  Available now!

  When Skye Denison was forced to return to Scumble River, Illinois, she knew it would be humiliating, but she never dreamed it would be murder. It was embarrassing enough to have been fired from her first full-time position as a school psychologist, but then she’d had to beg for a job in a place she had described as a small town, full of small-minded people, with even smaller intellects. Skye only wished she hadn’t said it to the entire population of Scumble River via her high school valedictorian address. Granted, the speech took place twelve years ago, but she had a feeling people would remember.

  Nonetheless, she was back, and nothing had changed. Skye had arrived in Scumble River last Sunday afternoon, barely in time for the start of school on Monday. Her plan had been to slip into town unnoticed and remain that way for as long as possible. But it was only Saturday, and she’d already been suckered into participating in one of the community’s most hokey events, the Chokeberry Days Festival.

  Skye stood behind a huge table made from sawhorses and sheets of plywood. Spread across its surface was a red-and-white-checked cloth on which were lined up hundreds of bright pink bottles of chokeberry jelly. The clashing colors made Skye dizzy, and the idea of actually tasting the contents of all those jars made her nauseous. How had she ever let herself be talked into judging the chokeberry jelly contest?

  Before she could make a bolt for freedom, a woman dressed in a magenta-colored polyester pantsuit descended on the booth. “Skye, it’s good to see you back home where you belong. Though I do remember you saying something when you left about Scumble River being too small for you.”

  “Aunt Minnie, what can I say?” She could think of lots of things, but none that wouldn’t get her in trouble. Minnie was her mother’s middle sister, and she would be on the phone griping to Skye’s mom in a minute if she felt Skye had been rude.

  “Did you hear about what happened Thursday night at the high school band contest?” Minnie was also gossip central for their family. She was better at getting the news out than Dan Rather.

  “No, what?” Skye asked warily. Her aunt reminded her of a Venus-flytrap, and Skye was always afraid she was about to become the bug.

  “Well, I thought you would’ve been there, since you got that fancy job working for the schools.” Minnie smiled sweetly.

  Swallowing the words she wanted to say—fancy job and Scumble River School District did not belong in the same sentence—Skye matched her aunt’s smile and said, “Gee, I didn’t know you all were impressed by my little job.”

  After a few moments of silence, Minnie went on as if Skye hadn’t spoken. “The problems started when half the kids discovered their music had disappeared and the other half claimed their instruments were missing. Both were later found stashed in the shower stall next to the boys’ locker room, but by then it was too late to go on with the contest.”

  Skye said, “Oh, my, I did hear some teachers talking about that yesterday in the teachers’ lounge. There was a fight, too, right?”

  “Right. The rival band members blamed each other for the missing items, and Scumble River’s tuba player ended up with a broken nose. A drummer from Clay Center took home two black eyes.”

  “How awful. The poor kids had pr
obably practiced for months for the competition.” Skye narrowed her eyes. “A prank like that is just plain mean. Do you know if they found out who did it?”

  Minnie shook her head.

  “I wonder if the band director kicked any kids out of the band recently.”

  “Not that I heard of. But that’s not all that’s been happening,” Minnie said and fanned herself with her handkerchief. “Yesterday at the catfish dinner, someone replaced all the salt in the kitchen with sugar. Seventy pounds of catfish, potato salad, and baked beans were ruined. The Feedbag was sponsoring the supper, so they’re out a pretty penny.”

  Skye frowned. The Feedbag was Scumble River’s only restaurant, other than the fast-food places along the road heading out of town. Like any small business, the Feedbag operated on a shoestring and couldn’t afford a big hit in the cash register. “Why would someone do that?” she asked.

  Minnie’s face grew angelic. “Why, honey, you’re the one with the degree in psychology. I’m just one of those people with small intellects you told us about in your graduation speech.”

  Skye felt her face turn the same color as her aunt’s suit, and decided the better part of valor lay in switching subjects—quickly. “Chokeberry Days has certainly changed a lot.”

  “This year is different,” Minnie said quietly. “There’s a bad feeling in town. Half the people want the festival to grow bigger and bigger.”

  Skye hazarded a guess. “The ones in town who stand to profit from the crowds, no doubt.”

  “Yes. And on the other side are all the folks that just see it for a nuisance.”

  “Who’s that?” Skye wrinkled her brow.

  Minnie held up her hand and counted on her fingers. “The junior high principal, Lloyd Stark, is the prime instigator of the anti-festival campaign. He hates how it ruins the beginning of school. There are classes for three days, and then Chokeberry Days starts, and half the kids play hooky for the rest of the week.”

  “I wondered why things were so quiet on Thursday and Friday.”

  Bending down a second finger, Minnie continued. “The people who live along Basin Street also hate the festival. Their windows get broken, garbage gets thrown in their front yards, and the noise is awful. Mike Young is the head of that group.”

  “Vince’s friend from high school?”

  “Yes. At the time we worried when your brother stuck by him, but Mike seems to have straightened up quite a bit since his teenage years.”

  “Oh, yeah. I remember now. He went to prison for a while for dealing drugs.”

  “Seems okay now. He owns the local photography shop.”

  “Nice to hear someone made good.” Skye closed her eyes briefly and visualized what her life had been like last year at this time. Living in New Orleans had been a dream come true. Everything was exotic and slightly forbidden. She loved nosing out the mysteries of the city. That is, until one of the secrets turned on her and caused her to be fired . . . and jilted. She shook her head. She had vowed not to think of her ex-fiancé and the pain he had caused her.

  “Skye, sweetheart, come give me a kiss.”

  Skye looked up from her reflections into the faded green eyes of her grandmother, Antonia Leofanti. “Grandma!”

  The two women hugged fiercely. Skye noticed how frail her grandmother had become in the eight months since she had last seen her. Antonia’s pink scalp peeked through her white hair, and her head barely made it to Skye’s chest. It felt as if she was embracing a skeleton.

  Antonia backed away first and looked confused for a moment. “Oh, Skye . . . ah, Minnie.” Her gaze cleared as she turned toward her daughter. “I almost forgot. They’ve got a problem at the Altar and Rosary Society’s craft tent. Someone switched all the price tags around. Iona Clapp’s handmade quilt is now marked twenty-five cents, and little Iris’s potholder is going for four hundred dollars.”

  Minnie gave a shriek and took off at a trot.

  Antonia spoke over her shoulder to Skye as she slowly followed Minnie. “Now that you’re back in town, you make sure you come visit me. It’s time I told someone the family history, and I think you’re the best one to hear it.”

  * * *

  Skye hurried toward the Port-A-Pots. One of the other judges had finally showed up to take over watching the jellies, and Skye was free for half an hour. When she arrived at the toilets she swore under her breath. The line snaked back past both the Lions’ lemonade stand and the Knights of Columbus fishpond grab bag game. As she took her place at the end, she heard a high saccharine voice attempting to tell a children’s story while a small child screamed in the background.

  By standing with her back to the line, Skye was able to observe the performance currently unfolding on the festival’s center stage. A tiny old lady, dressed in a loose white dress over a red-and-white-striped long-sleeved turtleneck and matching tights, was trying to ignore two little boys who were fighting over a stuffed animal. After one particularly loud screech, the woman finally stopped her storytelling and crouched next to the unhappy children. Her dress was so long and she was so tiny, the only thing that showed in this position was the rolled-up tips of her pointy-toed shoes.

  The old lady’s amplified voice could be heard throughout the food and games area. “Sweetie pies, could you do Mrs. Gumtree a big, big favor? If you stop fighting over that itty-bitty teddy bear, Mrs. Gumtree will get each of you one of her dolls when she finishes the story.”

  The children were quiet for less than a heartbeat, then a reedy young voice piped up, “Boys don’t play with dolls.”

  Skye watched as the two kids, now united against the enemy, an adult, stood and raced off the stage. It was hard to tell from such a distance, but it looked to Skye as if a fleeting expression of irritation crossed Mrs. Gumtree’s features before she turned back and pasted a smile on her face.

  As Skye used the facilities, smelly as they were, she shook her head over the way Mrs. Gumtree had handled the children. If she ever ran into the woman, maybe she’d give her a few tips on behavior management.

  She still had some time before she was due back to judge the chokeberry jellies, so she decided to walk to the pasture where Cow Chip Bingo was being held.

  To play Cow Chip Bingo, a flat piece of ground was divided into square-yard plats that were sold for twenty dollars each. On the specified day, plat-holders were provided with a barbecue dinner, which they consumed picnic-style on their section of grass. One well-fed cow was allowed to wander the field. The winner was the holder of the plat in which the cow dropped its chips.

  Skye heard screams and laughter as she approached the playing area. Hurrying forward, she saw people running in every direction. She was just in time to watch a father, holding his daughter over his head, step in a cow pie and go down as if he were sliding into home base.

  Skye asked a man leaning against the gate, “What’s going on here?”

  He half turned to her, but kept an eye on the field. “Somebody must’ve slipped something into the cow’s feed. It’s dropping a load every few feet. They called for the vet.” The man tsked. “Worse part is, no winner can be declared, and all the money has to be refunded. This is really going to hurt the 4-H club.”

  As he was talking, a middle-aged woman in a go-to-meeting dress and high-heeled pumps ran directly into a large pile of cow chips and went down. When she yelled, “Shit!” the crowd roared and agreed that was what she had stepped in.

  Skye watched for a moment longer before turning back to her duties. With all the pranks being played, she didn’t want to leave the jellies unguarded.

  * * *

  The crowd inside the corrugated-metal building where all the domestic goods were to be judged was buzzing when Skye returned.

  Her fellow jelly judge was bursting with news. “Did you hear what happened at the go-cart races?”

  “No.” Skye felt her stomach tigh
ten. She had always been afraid someone would kill themselves on the go-kart track. “What happened?”

  “Someone poured water in all the gas tanks. All the karts are ruined.” The woman’s face was so red from the excitement, Skye was afraid she was going to have a stroke.

  “How awful. I just came from Cow Chip Bingo and it was spoiled, too.”

  After Skye gave her the details, the woman excused herself. “It’s only quarter to. I’ll be back by three and we can get the judging going. I’ve got to find my sister and tell her the latest.”

  Looking for more?

  Visit Penguin.com for more about this author and a complete list of their books.

  Discover your next great read!