Murder of a Smart Cookie: A Scumble River Mystery

by Swanson, Denise

  Skye cringed. Too many folks seemed to think her degree in school psychology gave her magic powers. If that were the case, would she still be working for the Scumble River School District? And would she have to take a summer job as a shop assistant to make ends meet?

  Before Skye could explain the limits of a school psychologist’s abilities, Cookie glanced at her watch and said, “It’s nearly noon.” She made an impatient face. “I have to attend that luncheon for local business owners at city hall. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

  Last winter the new mayor, Skye’s uncle Dante Leofanti, had come up with a scheme to get people off the highway and onto the state roads, thus bringing tourists—and their dollars—through Scumble River rather than allowing them to bypass the town while zooming by on Interstate 55. He had convinced the officials of other Illinois communities also situated along the famous Route 66 to co-sponsor a hundred-mile-long yard sale. The sale was now less than eight weeks away, and the purpose of the business lunch Cookie would attend was to bring the movers and shakers up to speed on the current status of plans for the event.

  After her boss left, Skye stood behind the counter of the empty store and looked around. Unlike many antique or collectible shops in the area, this one was beautifully arranged, with the merchandise grouped into inviting tableaux. There was plenty of room to walk around, and everything was bright and clean.

  Growing bored with the inside of the store, Skye turned her attention to the front window. The early-June sun glinted off the windshields of cars parked along Basin Street, Scumble River’s main drag. Other than the empty road, there wasn’t much to see. Her view was limited to Ye Olde Junque Emporium, on the opposite corner from Cookie’s Collectibles, which didn’t seem to be doing much business either. Or maybe it wasn’t open. Much of downtown had taken to closing on Mondays due to the lack of customers.

  Skye was glad her boss hadn’t decided to follow that trend. Not that she enjoyed standing around, bored out of her mind, but she needed the money, especially now that the owners of her rental cottage had decided to sell it. Skye had to either come up with an offer to buy or move out.

  All in all, this was not turning out to be a good summer. Skye had lost her usual summer job because of goose poop. The Scumble River Recreation Club, where she had worked the past few years as a lifeguard, had been forced to shut down its beach when an invasion of geese polluted the swimming area. Who knew that bird shit could be so toxic?

  As she stood idle, Skye’s thoughts returned to Alma Griggs. She had felt an immediate kinship with the older woman, almost a sense of déjà vu, as if they’d had a relationship in another life. That connection, and something about Cookie’s desire for Mrs. Griggs’s vase, nagged at her. Skye wondered how much it was really worth. She checked her watch. It was only twelve-thirty; her boss wouldn’t be back for at least another ninety minutes, maybe more.

  Skye moved closer to the window and looked both ways down the sidewalk. The coast was clear. She spun around and headed toward Cookie’s office. It was small but exquisitely decorated in a style that reminded Skye of a Victorian lady’s parlor. An ornately carved walnut settee, upholstered in moss green velvet, faced a delicate porcelain-inlaid writing table that served as a desk.

  A bookcase full of reference books stood against the far wall. Skye moved a gilt chair out of her way and scanned the shelves. She selected a couple of volumes on ceramics and quickly returned to the sales counter.

  Half an hour later, Skye was still trying to find an example of Mrs. Griggs’s vase. Since she didn’t know what to look under, the index was useless, and she was forced to go through the book page by page.

  She finally found the vase in the section on art pottery. It was one of a series made by Frank Klepper, a Dallas-based artist who worked in ceramics during the early 1930s. A similar vase, Curtain of the Night, had been sold at auction a couple of years ago for eight thousand dollars.

  Before Skye could assimilate the fact that her boss was about to cheat a little old lady out of thousands of dollars, the bell above the front door tinkled and a high, thin voice called out, “I’m back.”

  Skye’s heart stopped for a quarter second, until she recognized the returnee as Mrs. Griggs, not Cookie. Then her pulse started to pound at double speed when she realized she had to decide immediately whether or not to tell the woman about Cookie’s deception.

  Mrs. Griggs came up to the counter and asked, “Could I see Miss Caldwell, please?”

  “I’m sorry, she’s stepped out for a while.” Skye pasted a smile on her face, her thoughts racing. “Can I help you?”

  “Well, I went home and thought about it and decided that if my vase is only worth five hundred dollars, I’d better figure out some other way to raise the money to pay my taxes, so I wondered if Miss Caldwell would be willing to come out to my house and see if there’s anything else she’d be interested in buying.” The older woman’s voice broke, but she swallowed and went on. “Mr. Griggs and I used to be fairly well off, and we traveled a great deal. There has to be something I can sell to save my house.”

  Once again Skye felt a weird sense of connection with the older woman and she made an abrupt decision. She couldn’t let her invite Cookie into her house to cheat her over and over again. Skye took a deep breath. “Mrs. Griggs, that may not be such a good idea.”

  “Why ever not?”

  Should she sugarcoat it or tell it to her straight? Skye struggled to make the right choice. “Well, uh, I think Miss Caldwell may have made an error earlier when she appraised your vase.”

  “What do you mean?” Faded blue eyes narrowed suspiciously at Skye.

  Skye flipped open the book she had been consulting, pushed it toward Mrs. Griggs, and pointed to the relevant section. “Look here.”

  The elderly woman clicked open the gold tone clasp of her pocketbook and drew out a pair of glasses. After adjusting them on her nose, she peered at the part of the page Skye had indicated. The minutes ticked by as she read and reread the passage. Finally she picked up the volume and held it close to her face, examining the small picture. Her chest strained the fabric of her dress as she took a deep breath and slammed the book closed. “That bitch! She was going to rip me off!”

  Skye jumped slightly. She couldn’t have been more surprised by Mrs. Griggs’s reaction if she’d started to speak Klingon. “Um, maybe it was a genuine mistake.”

  “When pigs fly.” The older woman thumped her purse down on the counter. “When is she coming back?”

  Skye looked at her watch. It was nearly two. Cookie would be back anytime now, and then the goose poop would surely hit the fan.

  CHAPTER 2

  Truth or Consequences

  A few minutes later the bell over the front door tinkled, and Skye cringed behind the sales counter as she watched her boss stroll into the store. Cookie’s powder blue silk sheath and matching high-heeled sandals looked as if she had just put them on, though she’d been wearing them since eight that morning. Skye had noticed that clothes didn’t dare crease or stain on Cookie, nor did wrinkles have the courage to mar her smooth, golden-tanned face. If Cookie had not mentioned the year she’d graduated from high school, Skye would never have guessed that the shop owner was in her late forties.

  Before Skye could think how to avert the impending disaster, Cookie spotted the woman standing near the counter. “Mrs. Griggs. What brings you back here so soon?”

  “I had decided to sell you my vase at your price, but lucky for me there’re still some honest people around.”

  “What do you mean?” Cookie’s expectant smile flickered.

  “You’re not from Scumble River originally, are you, dear?” Mrs. Griggs moved closer to the store owner.

  “No.” Cookie took a step back. “I moved here from Chicago a couple of years ago.”

  “Well, maybe they do things different in the city,” Mrs. Griggs said, continuing to advance, “but around here we don’t lie and cheat our neighbors.”
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  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Cookie had retreated until she was pressed against the front window.

  “Skye, here, showed me a picture of my vase in the pricing guide. Seems it’s worth about sixteen times what you offered me.”

  Cookie threw a venomous glare at Skye before turning to Mrs. Griggs. “Pricing guides are only a suggestion. There’s no guarantee that your vase would bring anywhere near the amount they list.”

  “You know, if it were a couple of hundred dollars cither way I’d believe you, but more than seven thousand—I’m not senile yet.”

  “I’ve got to make a living,” Cookie cajoled. “Think of my overhead.”

  Mrs. Griggs moved in front of the store owner and ordered in a cold, clear voice, “Don’t say another word.”

  Cookie ignored the woman’s command. “But—”

  Mrs. Griggs didn’t hesitate; she drew back her hand and slapped Cookie full in the face. Before Cookie could react, Mrs. Griggs leaned forward until their noses were nearly touching. “I’m leaving now, and when I get home, I’m getting on the phone and telling everyone I know what you tried to do to me. You might as well close your doors right now, because not a single soul in Scumble River will ever do business with you again.”

  Cookie stood frozen, her hand cradling her cheek, until Mrs. Griggs left. The sound of the slamming door seemed to rouse her, and she whirled on Skye. “What have you done to me?”

  “Nothing!” Skye was trapped behind the counter, her furious boss blocking her only exit. She had never noticed the muscles in Cookie’s arms before, but now she remembered a conversation they’d had about Cookie’s obsession with playing tennis. Suddenly Skye was afraid the enraged woman would physically assault her. What could she use to defend herself?

  “Nothing?” Cookie screeched. “You ignorant hick. You’ve ruined me. Why would you tell that woman the true value of her merchandise?”

  “Because it’s not right to cheat people?” Skye said the first thing that came to her mind as she reached for a pair of scissors on a shelf to her left.

  “It’s called business, you hayseed.” Cookie shot forward and grabbed Skye’s arm, pulling her out from behind the counter before she could grasp the shears. “Caveat emptor. Ever heard of that?”

  “But isn’t that ‘let the buyer beware’? Mrs. Griggs was the seller.” As soon as the words left Skye’s mouth she regretted them. When would she learn to shut up?

  “Get out! Get out right now!” Cookie went ballistic, shoving Skye toward the door. “You’re fired!”

  Skye started toward the back room to get her purse.

  “Where do you think you’re going? I told you to get out of here.” Cookie plucked a sword with an elaborate hilt from a box with SOLD written across the side in red Magic Marker.

  A hollow elephant’s foot full of walking sticks was to her right. Skye tried to grab a cane to protect herself, but Cookie slashed the sword downward between Skye and the umbrella stand, nearly slicing off Skye’s hand.

  Cookie thrust her weapon at Skye’s chest. “Don’t ever come back into my store.”

  Skye abandoned the idea of retrieving her purse, turned, and pushed frantically on the bar that opened the door. Suddenly, just as the heavy door began to swing outward, she felt a painful smack across her derrière. She twisted around just in time to see Cookie pulling the sword back for another wallop.

  Skye yelped and ran outside. As she cleared the threshold, she heard Cookie muttering, “Enough is enough. I’ve done my time in Scumble River. I’m moving back to civilization. I don’t care who finds out.”

  CHAPTER 3

  All in the Family

  Skye sat in her car trying to regain control of her breathing and figure out what to do next. How had she managed to get fired from yet another job? First her school psychologist job in New Orleans three years ago, then the lifeguard position earlier this summer, and now this. But none of the dismissals had been her fault, had they? Well, she definitely hadn’t had anything to do with the geese pooping in the lake. And no way could she have ignored the teen in Louisiana being molested by the girl’s own father. But maybe she should have kept her mouth shut about the vase.

  She rocked from cheek to cheek. Cookie was obviously a terrific tennis player with a great backhand. That whack from the sword still stung.

  Skye twisted a chestnut curl around her finger until it formed a dreadlock. Now what should she do? Without a summer job, how could she earn the extra money she needed for the down payment on her cottage? She couldn’t even make an offer until she was sure she’d have the cash.

  Suddenly a wave of exhaustion hit her and she slumped over the steering wheel. Just when things started going well in her life, there was always a bump in the road. Maybe that was why her dad and godfather had restored such a sizeable vehicle for her. They must have known that nothing less substantial than a 1957 Chevy Bel Air convertible could take the jolts. Although why the car had to be bright aqua she would never know.

  Sighing, she straightened up. Self-pity wouldn’t get her anywhere. She had to think. Where would she find another job in this economy? She had already checked around to see if there was any contractual work for psychological testing in the neighboring school districts, but school budgets were too tight for any extras.

  Was she allowed to do private counseling? She’d have to check with the Illinois School Psychologists Association to see what the rules were about that. Should she go home and try to call someone right now? It had been such a salmon day—she felt as if she’d spent the entire twenty-four hours swimming upstream, only to get screwed and die in the end—maybe it would be better to wait.

  As she was pondering her next move, a white Oldsmobile pulled up behind the Bel Air. Skye paled as she watched a short woman wearing a dark blue police dispatcher’s uniform and an angry scowl on her face jump out of the car and scurry toward her. Skye felt her eyelid twitch; things were about to get worse.

  As the passenger door was wrenched open, Skye’s mother, May, exploded, “That man will drive me to my grave.”

  Skye looked at her mom’s red face and, half afraid of the answer, asked, “What did Dad do now?” May had never quite forgiven her husband for his failure to tell her when he discovered the dead bodies of the town’s perfect couple, Barbie and Ken Addison, last Thanksgiving. Because she held that grudge, anything else Jed did was twice as annoying to her.

  “I’ve been asking him to fix the toilet in the big bathroom since Christmas and he’s always too busy.”

  “Well …” Skye struggled to defend her father. “Farming takes a lot of time, and he is the only mechanic in the family, so he has to keep everyone else’s tractors running, too. Plus he cuts both your lawn and Grandma’s.”

  “I understand that.” Emerald green eyes that matched Skye’s own blazed. “What I don’t understand is, if he is so dang-blasted busy, how did he find the time to work on that old clunker Bunny Reid just bought?”

  Oh, oh. No wonder May was blowing a gasket. Skye’s mother had taken an instant dislike to Bunny when she had moved to town last November. Knowing Jed was spending time with that woman, even innocently, would drive May wild.

  Skye had been silent too long. May huffed, “I suppose you think that’s perfectly all right. That he should help her get that car running. Don’t you?”

  To complicate matters, Bunny was the mother of Skye’s boyfriend, Simon Reid, the town coroner and owner of the local funeral home, which placed Skye squarely in the middle of the situation. Although she opened her mouth several times, nothing brilliant sprang into her mind to say.

  After a few seconds May demanded, “So, whose side are you on? Mine or your father’s?”

  Skye knew she should refuse to answer on the grounds she might infuriate her mother even more, but she felt compelled to try and smooth the waters between her parents. “Well, uh, I understand how frustrated you must be with the toilet running all the time, but it is usable, right?
”

  May nodded grudgingly.

  “And Bunny really has no transportation until Dad gets her car running, so—”

  “So, nothing. He’s my husband, and I don’t want him hanging around with that hussy. She only bought that wreck so she could get Jed over to her place and into her clutches.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true, Mom.” Skye tried to pat May’s hand, but her mother snatched it away. “Bunny knows Dad is happily married.”

  “Oh, really?” May sputtered. “Then why did I catch her with her arms around your father’s neck when I stopped over there a few minutes ago?”

  Shit! Skye’s eyes widened and her mind raced trying to come up with an innocent reason for the embrace.

  Finally she settled for saying, “I’m sure there’s a good explanation.”

  May snorted, crossed her arms, and tucked her chin into her chest. “Your father went over to that woman’s place right after lunch. Since I hadn’t seen him all afternoon and wanted to tell him something before I started my shift at the police department, I decided to stop by on my way to work and talk to him. You know he doesn’t answer the phone when I’m gone, right?”

  “Right.” Skye was well aware of her father’s aversion to the telephone. It had made communicating with him difficult when she had lived away from Scumble River. “Then what happened?”

  “At first I wasn’t sure where he’d be. I knew Bunny lived above the bowling alley, but I didn’t know where she’d keep her car, so I called Simon. He said there was a garage in back that was part of the property and her car was there. By the way, he wasn’t at all happy to hear that she had roped Jed into helping her either.”

  “So you went to the garage?” Skye prodded, ignoring the side issue of Simon’s displeasure.

  “Right. And when I walked in, that floozy was wrapped around your father like hair around a curler, and she wasn’t wearing nothing but chiffon and feathers.”