Skye looked at her watch. It was ten to twelve. “They should arrive any minute.”
Before she could say any more, the screen door opened and Xavier Ryan entered, followed by Frannie. He nodded to the women. “Mrs. Kessler, Miss Skye.”
“Hi.” Joy whipped off her apron and thrust it at Xavier. “Sorry, I’ve got to run. I need to get home.” She held open the door. “Come on, Bitsy. We don’t want Alex to be home alone too long, do we?”
Skye had worked with Joy’s son that past school year. He had attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder, and his parents had chosen not to medicate him. He had made some gains on the behavior-management program Skye had set up, but he was still a handful, especially in an unstructured situation like being home alone.
While Joy waited impatiently for her daughter to wash her hands and take off her apron, she turned to Skye. “I’m opening up a new business this fall. It’s a workout place just for women. You should come try it out. The first session is free.”
Skye narrowed her eyes. Was Mrs. Kessler insulting her? She couldn’t tell, so she joked, “Thanks, but I get enough exercise just pushing my luck.”
Joy looked puzzled, but rushed out without answering.
Skye turned to Xavier and Frannie. “Any word” from Justin?”
Both shook their heads.
“I was hoping he’d at least call.” Skye chewed her lip. “As soon as I finish my morning check of the yard sale, I’ll get Mrs. Frayne and we’ll look for him.”
Frannie nodded. “I can’t believe he’s doing this.” She appeared to be torn between anger and the urge to cry. Her voice quavered when she asked, “Who’s going to help me at the window?”
Rusty had been silent, which was not unusual. In the short period of time he had been a member of the school newspaper staff Skye could barely remember him saying three sentences.
Now he added a fourth. “I can stay.”
Frannie hugged him. “Thank you.”
Skye looked at Xavier. “Okay with you?”
He nodded.
“Great.” Skye turned to go. “Leave me a message at Mrs. Frayne’s if Justin turns up within the next couple of hours. After that, call me at my parents’ house.”
The last loop on Skye’s inspection tour was to the east and included Doozier territory. As she steered the golf cart around the curve, she braced herself for turmoil. It was even worse than she’d expected.
Pandemonium stretched out in front of her as far as she could see. Faith Easton’s TV crew had set up their camera in the middle of the road, blocking traffic, and people were honking their horns because they could edge past only one car at a time. Others were stopping their vehicles completely and getting out to see what was happening.
It was one giant gridlock, and Earl Doozier stood in the center of it, toe-to-toe with Burnett Parnell, the goat cheese guy. Burnett was heavily muscled and wore a leather vest, jeans, and motorcycle boots. The guy towered over Earl like a Great Dane next to a Chihuahua.
Spittle flew from Earl’s semi-toothless mouth and spattered on the other man’s bare chest as Earl yelled, “I keep telling you, Burnett, I ain’t seen your goats!”
Burnett picked Earl up, his feet dangling several inches off the ground. “Then what are you feeding that mangy lion of yours?”
Skye tensed. Everyone in Scumble River knew you didn’t accuse a Doozier of wrongdoing, at least not to his face and without backup, but this guy was from out of town.
Just then, Earl’s wife, Glenda, had materialized next to her husband, holding a shotgun. His son Junior and nephew Cletus had crept up behind Burnett; one had a shovel and the other a bow and arrow. Flanking the fighting duo to the right was Elvira, Earl’s niece, who flicked open a switchblade as Skye watched.
Skye knew she had to step in before blood was shed. She just didn’t want it to be her blood. Maneuvering her cart through the crowd, she pulled up to the left of the two men, snatched a bullhorn from the backseat, and barked in her most authoritative voice, “Put the Doozier down and step back.”
Burnett dropped Earl and swung on her. “Are you in charge?” When she nodded, he pounded on the front of the golf cart, causing it to tilt downward. “This guy is stealing my prizewinning goats and feeding them to his lion.”
Skye paled at the horrifying image.
Before she could respond, Earl bleated, “No, I ain’t, Miz Skye. I loves goats. Honest.”
Skye climbed out of the cart and asked Earl’s attacker, “How do you know Mr. Doozier is taking your animals?”
Burnett snarled and pointed at Junior and Cletus. “They told me.”
All eyes swung to two skinny boys wearing dirty shorts and flip-flops. The redhead froze for a moment, then tried to dart away.
His mother grabbed him as he ran past her. “Junior Doozier, you explain yourself right this minute!”
“Ma.” He tried to wiggle away, but Glenda’s grip tightened. “Shucks, Cletus and me was just havin’ some fun.”
“What kinda fun?” Glenda shook him slightly.
“Burnett kept yelling at us to stay away from his goats, so I told him Pa would feed them to the lions if he didn’t quit it.” Junior finally squirmed free and looked at the muscled man. “We was just funnin’ you.”
“Then what happened to my goats?” Burnett turned to Skye, a tear on his cheek. “One’s disappeared every night this week.”
Skye squatted down and gently turned the boy to face her. “Did you have something to do with that, Junior?”
He scuffed the dirt with his toe. “Cletus and me lured them out of their pen, and we corralled them up yonder behind the old barn.” He glared at Skye. “They’re fine. We made sure they had food and water.”
Burnett hurried away in the direction Junior had indicated, but said over his shoulder to Earl, “This isn’t settled, Doozier.”
Before he could respond, someone screamed, a roar ripped through the air, and Earl took off running toward his petting zoo.
As Skye stood frozen, a man yelled, “Oh, my God, the lion’s got Wanda!”
Skye, along with the rest of the crowd, looked toward where the man was pointing. The lion was standing over a middle-aged woman he’d pinned to the ground and was sniffing her. Her brown eyes bulged from their sockets, and she was breathing in shallow gasps.
Suddenly Earl appeared, brandishing what looked like a giant butterfly net and yelling, “Here, kitty, kitty.”
The animal glanced at him, gave Wanda one more sniff, and loped away.
Skye rushed up to the woman. “Are you okay? Do you need an ambulance?”
Wanda brushed off her red stretch pants, pulled down her orange T-shirt advertising a nearby bar, and shook her head. “I’m okay.”
“Are you sure?”
The woman nodded and poked at her beehive hairdo, dislodging a twig and some gravel. “Boy, that animal’s breath was worse than my ex-husband’s.” She paused, then added, “And he was about as subtle in getting me on my back.”
After verifying that Wanda was unharmed, Skye attempted to follow Earl and the lion, but it was too late. Faith had spotted her and blocked her path.
The TV star spoke rapidly into a microphone, not allowing Skye time to answer her rapid-fire questions. “Here is the person in charge, Skye Denison. Skye, can you explain to our viewers why you’ve allowed a lion to run loose through the Route 66 Yard Sale? Are you a member of some renegade animal rights group? Is this a statement against caging animals or just a publicity stunt?”
“Get that thing out of my face.” Skye shoved the microphone away and tried to push past Faith. “Are you nuts? I didn’t allow the lion to run free, and I’m not a member of any animal rights group.”
“So, you are in favor of animal experimentation?” Faith still blocked her way.
“Yes. No. No comment.” Skye finally squeezed past the TV star and ran after Earl and the lion.
Faith and her crew followed.
Skye stopped a few feet
from where the animal had paused to sniff and paw at the ground.
She looked around at the crowd that had gathered in a semicircle around the scene, and raised her voice. “Has anyone notified the police or animal control?” No one answered. “Does anyone have a cell phone?” Several small devices were waved at her. “You there in the Cubs hat, dial 911 and tell them to bring a tranquilizer gun.”
That taken care of, Skye turned to Earl. “How in the name of all that’s holy did that lion get loose?”
Earl moved his skinny shoulders in what might have been a shrug. “Miz Skye, I don’t rightly know. Probably some more snafoolery the boys got up to.”
“You told me you had a padlock on the lion’s cage and the only key was on a string around your neck.” Skye forced her voice to remain calm. “How could this be the boys’ fault?”
“I plead contemporary insanity.” Earl stared at his feet.
Skye closed her eyes and prayed for the strength to resist swatting Earl upside the head. After regaining control of her urge to do the little man bodily harm, she opened her eyes and asked, “So, how do you plan on getting him back into his cage?”
Earl’s face crumpled like a used tissue. “The guy who rented him to me gave me this here net. Said if you put it over old Kitty’s head, he’s trained to lay down and go to sleep.”
Rented? Who rented out lions for a living? The same person who named a lion Kitty, no doubt. As Skye was puzzling out these last bits of information, Earl’s wife marched up to him, still carrying the shotgun. “Earl Doozier, you are too stupid to be a moron.”
“Glenda, honey, don’t you be saying stuff like that.” Earl drew himself up straight and attempted to stick his sunken chest out. “That’s definition of character. I could sue you.”
Although he was right, it was a definition of his character, Skye kind of figured Earl meant “defamation,” but she wouldn’t waste her time explaining it to him. It would be like trying to put makeup on a hog—annoying for the pig and frustrating for her.
Glenda grabbed Earl by the ear and screeched, “If you don’t get that lion back in his cage in the next ten seconds, I’m going to knock you into the middle of next week!”
Skye stared. When had Glenda found a way to time travel? Skye tore her attention away from the feuding couple to check on the lion.
The animal was ignoring everyone and everything as it ambled down the ditch, stopping occasionally to investigate an intriguing odor or swat at an insect. As Skye watched, he started digging at the mouth of a nearby drainage pipe, growling softly.
Suddenly someone from the crowd shouted, “Look, the lion’s found something.”
Everyone turned to stare as the animal pulled a blue-and-yellow-striped plastic bag from the drainpipe. Skye’s mind raced. Her family had ordered a case of those bags to use at their farm stand. This one bulged interestingly. Could it have something to do with the murder? If it did, and the lion tore into it, whatever evidence it contained might be ruined.
Without thinking, Skye grabbed the net from Earl’s hand and advanced on the lion.
Earl, ever helpful, yelled out, “Careful, Miz Skye. Kitty don’t know you.”
She ignored Earl and stepped closer to the lion, which was now batting the plastic bag around like a toy. Holding the pole at the very end, Skye measured the distance between her and the animal. One more step. She advanced, aimed, and gently lobbed the huge net over him. Bull’s-eye. All those games of lawn darts she’d played as a child had finally paid off.
The lion roared and Skye took off running. He pawed at the mesh once, yawned, and settled down for a nap.
When Skye got back to where the Dooziers were standing with their mouths hanging open, she asked, “So, now how do we get him back into his cage?”
Earl’s slack expression became even blanker. “Uh, the owner never told me that part.”
Before Skye could throttle the little man, the sheriff’s squad car arrived, and since she thought it would be a bad idea to be caught in the middle of an assault, she once again restrained herself. Shit! She had forgotten that this section of the yard sale was in part of Buck Peterson’s new territory, too. The whole rezoning thing was starting to get really annoying.
CHAPTER 14
Search for Tomorrow
“And then the sheriff shot the lion in the rump with a tranquilizer dart and posed for the cameras like a great white hunter who had single-handedly saved the native village from being destroyed by a savage beast.” Skye finished telling Trixie about her morning as they sat on the front porch of Trixie’s house, eating tuna sandwiches and potato chips. She took a sip of her Diet Coke. “It was just plain disgusting to watch him put on his good-old-boy act.”
There was no sign of Owen, and Skye hadn’t gotten up the nerve to ask about him yet. It had been easier to face the lion.
“Buck Peterson reminds me of an old tire—bald and overinflated,” Trixie said, shaking her head in disgust. “What did he do when you showed him the plastic bag?”
“After I pointed out to him that the bags were a special order for my family’s booth, and would have only been given out since Saturday, which meant that since the lion had dug it out from beneath a pile of dirt, someone had to have deliberately buried it, he said”—here Skye deepened her voice to sound like the sheriff—”Well, young lady, I doubt that old bag has anything to do with the murder, but don’t you worry your pretty head. My men will look it over real close.”’ She returned to her own tone. “The only reason he was even that polite was because of the TV cameras.”
“So, what was in the bag?”
“That was the most frustrating part. They took it away without opening it.”
“How rude.” Trixie crunched a potato chip, swallowed, and then got down to the business at hand. “Where are we going to look for Justin?”
“I wish I knew. Any ideas?”
“He’s on foot, unless someone picked him up. Would he take a ride from a stranger?”
“I don’t think so. But maybe we should talk to his friends. They all have driver’s licenses. Maybe they took him somewhere.”
“I thought Frannie already spoke to that group.”
Skye smiled grimly. “If he’s hiding out because of her, the boys would never tell her. The question is, will they tell us?”
It took them the rest of the afternoon, but Trixie and Skye finally managed to find all the boys on the school newspaper staff. Rusty was the only one who admitted to seeing Justin since the concert in the park Sunday evening. When pressed, he reluctantly told the women he had seen Justin on Monday morning and that he had been looking for Skye and seemed upset.
“Why would he have been looking for me?” Skye asked Trixie from the passenger seat of the golf cart, as they made the day’s final yard sale inspection.
“From what Rusty said, it sounds as if Justin had the fight with Frannie and wanted to talk to you about what to do.” Trixie was having fun driving—darting in and out of the crowd.
“So, why didn’t he?”
“Maybe he changed his mind, figured you’d take Frannie’s side, you being a girl and all.”
Skye considered Trixie’s explanation, but she was soon distracted by a group of middle-aged women walking down the middle of the road four abreast, quarrelling about lunch.
One of the ladies, who looked as if she was wearing a poodle on the top of her head, was saying, “When I go to a yard sale I shop. I don’t eat. I shop.”
The others argued that they were starving, but Mrs. Poodle Hair kept repeating, “When I go to a yard sale I shop. I don’t eat. I shop.”
Skye snickered and wondered who would win—the shopper or the lunchers.
As Trixie and Skye zoomed by, narrowly missing them, the women shrieked and scattered, only to reassemble into a solid wall as soon as the cart had whizzed past. Trixie giggled and waved to them.
Skye shook her head at her friend’s antics, then resumed their prior conversation. “But even if Justi
n changed his mind about speaking to me, why would he suddenly decide to run away?”
“Have you talked to his parents recently?”
“I’ve tried, but his mother’s coping with her own chronic depression, and his father’s in such poor physical health he doesn’t seem to have the energy to deal with anything else. They’re both pretty absorbed in their own needs.” Skye put her hands over her eyes as Trixie nearly ran down a guy who was too busy balancing three huge wands of bright pink cotton candy to notice the golf cart speeding toward him.
“Where haven’t we looked?” Trixie asked.
“We’ve checked the places Frannie knew about, talked to his friends, asked the campers at the Recreation Club to keep an eye out for him.” Skye rubbed her temples, trying to stimulate a brainstorm. “I’m out of ideas.”
Trixie turned the golf cart into the city hall parking lot and hopped out. “The problem is, with all these people in town, I don’t even know where we should start.”
“Me either.” Skye followed her toward the Bel Air. “But Justin’s mom did promise to call the police if he doesn’t come home by nine tonight, so at five after, I’m going over to the Bowards’ and make sure she keeps her word.”
Skye dropped Trixie off at her house and headed toward May and Jed’s. Trixie hadn’t brought up her quarrel with Owen, and Skye had been too chicken to ask how things were going, especially since she had to face her parents’ bickering once she got home.
It was close to six by the time Skye walked into the utility room. To gauge the atmosphere, she paused at the swinging doors that led to the kitchen, then blew out a breath of relief. Things seemed normal. May was bustling around making supper, and Skye could hear the TV coming from the living room, tuned to her dad’s favorite news program.
For just a moment, Skye allowed herself the luxury of imagining that her parents had made up.
Then her mother turned to her and said, “Tell your father that supper will be ready in five minutes, and he’d better be washed up and at the table, or I’m giving it to that precious dog of his.”
Murder of a Smart Cookie: A Scumble River Mystery Page 13