Murder of a Smart Cookie: A Scumble River Mystery

by Swanson, Denise

  Skye’s stab of guilt turned into a shooting pain. When would she learn not to judge people so harshly? “I suppose her estate goes into a trust for Ned, and you’re now his guardian?”

  Nick nodded. After a moment of silence he asked, “So, is it okay to keep Cookie’s booth open for the remainder of the yard sale?”

  Skye got up. “As long as the sheriff doesn’t mind, it’s fine with me.”

  Nick followed her to the door. “Sheriff Peterson gave his okay yesterday. He’s releasing the body later today.”

  “Where will you have her funeral?”

  “I’ll have a private service in Chicago. Probably just Ned and me, unless her sister changes her mind.”

  Skye had already walked outside, but turned back and took his hand. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  While Skye drove back toward town, she thought about what she had learned. It seemed she could scratch Nick off her list of suspects. What possible motive could he have to murder his sister-in-law? Unless he thought Cookie had killed his brother. But then, why would he have waited so long to take his revenge?

  Glancing at her watch, Skye saw that it was nearly one o’clock. Still another two hours before she could talk to Montgomery Lapp. What should she do in the meantime? Her stomach growled an answer.

  Skye parked her car back at the city hall, checked out a golf cart, and headed toward the Altar and Rosary Society food tent. First she’d have some lunch, then it would be time for her long-overdue chat with Bunny—on behalf of both her parents and Simon. When she talked to them tonight, she would finally have something to report.

  An hour later, Skye left her golf cart in the bowling alley parking lot and mounted the outside stairs in the rear of the building. The narrow wooden steps seemed flimsy to her, and she hated having to use them. It felt as if they swayed as she climbed, so she clung to the railing.

  The wind had picked up, and the hot, dry gusts did not improve Skye’s mood. She hoped they weren’t in for a storm. Heavy rain could ruin the yard sale in a way that two murders hadn’t been able to accomplish, and Dante would no doubt find some way to blame her and withhold the bonus he had promised her. She scowled, hating that she wanted the money so much, but she did. She longed to buy her cottage and finally own something substantial.

  Normally, Skye would have approached Bunny’s place from inside the bowling alley, but the business was closed during the day for the week of the yard sale, and the entrance was locked. Fighting the wind to stay upright on the small wooden platform, Skye rapped on the apartment’s outside door. Several knocks later, she was ready to admit defeat and leave. Either Bunny wasn’t home, or she didn’t want to talk to Skye.

  Suddenly the door opened and Bunny stood rubbing her eyes, which were bloodshot and smudged with old mascara. She was dressed in a pink satin negligee mat was split from just beneath her surgically enhanced breasts to the floor. The cups were embroidered with crystal beads, and matching bikini panties peeked out of the slit every time she moved.

  Skye didn’t even blink. Bunny had been a dancer in Las Vegas for twenty years, and some things, like her taste in clothing, would never change. Skye just hoped that her addiction to painkillers and her penchant for running away with huge sums of cash had been reformed.

  Bunny grabbed Skye in a hug and dragged her inside, saying in one breath and not waiting for answers, “Skye, honey, what brings you here this time of day? I didn’t think I’d see you until after the yard sale wraps up on Sunday. Do you want some coffee?”

  “No, thanks. I—”

  “Well, I sure as hell need a cup.” Bunny didn’t let Skye go on. “I can’t seem to take the late nights like I used to. Before, I never went to bed until dawn. Now I can barely make it to two a.m., when the alley closes.”

  Skye followed her hostess into the apartment’s minuscule kitchen, where there was just enough room for a two-burner stove and a half-size refrigerator. Skye leaned against the doorjamb as Bunny prepared coffee. Looking around the tiny space, Skye didn’t think many meals had ever been prepared in it.

  After Bunny had had her first sip of caffeine and was settled on the living room sofa, Skye said, “I hear Dad’s been fixing your car. Is it about done?”

  “That sweet, sweet man. I had no idea it would take so much work to get that old thing running. I feel bad stealing so much of your dad’s time. But Jeddy says he’s enjoying the challenge.”

  Skye tried to untangle what had been said from what had been left unsaid. She still couldn’t figure out if her dad was just working on a car or if he’d moved on to its owner. She’d have to ask straight out. “Bunny, I don’t want to offend you, but my mom is really upset that he’s spending so much time over here. Should she be?”

  The older woman pushed a tangle of red curls out of her face. “Skye, you should know me better than to have to ask.” She took another sip of coffee. “I would never ride another woman’s train.”

  Skye opened her mouth to reply, but Bunny continued, “Of course, if May and Jed are splitting up, I wouldn’t mind being the first one in line to toot his whistle.”

  Skye couldn’t think of anything to say in reply. Her only conclusion was that she needed to talk to her father; Bunny was out of her control, although hopefully not out of control.

  Luckily, Bunny did not seem to notice Skye’s silence as she chattered away about the bowling alley and the yard sale.

  When she started on all the visitors in town, Skye spotted her opening. “Yes, I saw you at the concert the other night with the TV writer. How did you happen to become friendly with him?”

  “He was in the bowling alley bar having a drink on Saturday night, and we got to chatting.” Bunny fluttered her lashes, which was not very effective since she didn’t have her false ones on. “How do you know him?”

  Was Bunny accusing her of something or just trying to distract her? Skye answered. “I met him when the TV crew moved into my cottage.”

  “Oh, yeah, he mentioned that. Man, are they crowded. Miss Easton took the bedroom and master bath, and poor Kirby, Jody, and the cameraman are stuck in sleeping bags on the floor in the living room and sharing the guest bath. They flip a coin every night to sec who gets the couch.” Bunny shook her head. “I told him I spent a few nights on that sofa, and sleeping bags on the floor might not be a bad alternative.”

  “Really? I thought you said my couch was comfy. As I remember, you didn’t want to leave it.”

  Bunny gave Skye a roguish look. “Well, at the time I didn’t have many choices, did I?”

  “No.” Skye had to admit that when Bunny had been her houseguest, not many options had been open to her. She had been broke, stranded in a snowstorm, and estranged from her only son. Trying to wrest the conversation back to what she wanted to know, Skye continued. “Kirby seems a little young for you—or did you have some other interest in him?”

  Bunny smiled coquettishly. “Twenty years isn’t all that much.”

  “Try thirty.”

  “Oh.” Bunny shrugged. “Anyway, I wasn’t interested in him that way. I just thought my life would make a great made-for-TV movie, and maybe he’d want to buy the rights from me.”

  Skye winced. Simon would have a cow if Bunny’s story made the airwaves. “Was he interested?”

  “Kirby said it might be something he could sell, but my life has been too racy for the Christian network he currently writes for.” Bunny teetered to her feet, balanced precariously on three-inch stiletto mule slippers. “He said possibly he could sell the idea to the Playboy Channel, if I can come up with a good hook. He’s going to talk to the cameraman about maybe making a sample tape, if I think of something.”

  Yikes! Skye cringed. “Do you have something in mind?”

  “Kirby said I need something attention-grabbing, so I’m having a party at the bowling alley Friday night.”

  “Party?” Skye yelped. “What kind of party?”

  “Just a regular party. People buy tickets, and there’s
open bowling, music, and free snacks. Not only will it be a profit maker for the alley, but it’ll give me a chance to do something that will grab Kirby’s attention. Right now he’s wishy-washy about the idea, so I have to come up with something dazzling to seal the deal.”

  “Do you really think mat’s a good idea? People around here are pretty uptight about the sort of show that would be on the Playboy Channel, and Simon would be embarrassed.”

  “Scumble River could use some shaking up.” Bunny frowned. “But I wouldn’t want to upset Sonny Boy, at least not too much.”

  “Maybe you should talk it over with him before you do anything more.”

  Bunny chewed her lip for a second, then giggled. “Nah, I still look good enough for Playboy.” She put her empty cup down on the edge of the coffee table, where it wobbled precariously. “Anyway, how could me being a star be a bad thing?”

  Absently, while mulling over how to break the news to Simon about his mother’s plans, Skye reached out to steady Bunny’s discarded mug, and in doing so noticed the publication sitting next to it.

  As Skye made her good-byes and left, she couldn’t help but wonder what on earth Bunny was doing with PC Magazine. The idea of Bunny on the Internet was nearly as scary as the image of Bunny on the Playboy Channel.

  CHAPTER 17

  Cheers

  Skye checked her watch as she carefully climbed down the stairs outside Bunny’s apartment. Shoot. It was still too early for the antique picker to be back at Trixie’s. As she sat on the bottom step and contemplated her next move, she heard a loud thud, the clang of a heavy metal tool hitting a concrete floor, and a string of profanities.

  Tension settled into the back of her neck like a fifty-pound bag of kitty litter. Reluctantly, Skye looked across the alley. She had seen her dad’s pickup parked in the garage’s driveway when she arrived, but had ignored what the truck’s presence meant.

  Skye slowly got up and walked toward the swearing. She really, really, really didn’t want to have this conversation with her father, but things didn’t seem to be getting any better between her parents, and she felt compelled to try to help.

  Chocolate, Jed’s Lab, was curled up asleep in a patch of sunshine on the concrete apron in front of the open double door. He opened one eye when Skye approached, then got up and padded over to her as she stood at her father’s feet.

  Jed’s work boots were the only visible part of him as he was lying on a dolly underneath Bunny’s 1984 red Chevy Camaro. Like its owner, it had seen better days, and what had once been a hot ride was now showing signs of age and hard use.

  Skye petted the dog and waited until there was a pause in Jed’s cursing before saying, “Got a minute, Dad?” She had been taught as a child not to bother her father when he was working, and even now that she was an adult, it felt wrong to interrupt him.

  The sound of metal grinding against metal was followed by Jed’s bellow. “Son of a B!” A moment later he wheeled himself out from under the car and squinted in Skye’s general direction, as she stood haloed in the bright sunshine. He then heaved himself to his feet. “Ma send you?”

  “No, but I want to talk to you about her.”

  Jed took a rag from his back pocket and started wiping the grease from his hands. “What about her?”

  Skye frowned. He wasn’t making this easy. “She’s really upset with you.”

  “She’ll get over it.”

  “Maybe. Do you really want to risk it?”

  Jed ignored her question and walked over to an old fridge in the back of the garage. He opened it and took out a bottle of Budweiser. “You want a pop?”

  “Sure.” Skye smiled inwardly, wondering what it would take for her father to actually offer her a beer. Not that she liked beer, but his offering it would mean he acknowledged that she had grown up.

  He snapped open the top of a Mr. Pibb and handed it to her. Skye frowned at the can. The only person she knew who drank this brand was Bunny. Even though the garage was technically hers, or at least belonged to the bowling alley, the fridge being stocked with her preferred soda wasn’t a good sign. Skye couldn’t imagine a reason Bunny would spend much time out here if it weren’t for Jed’s company.

  Skye’s anxiety increased a notch, and when she noticed a couple of lawn chairs with a small white plastic table between them set up on the side, it went up another degree. Things were looking way too cozy for her comfort level.

  She sat in one of the chairs, and after a brief hesitation her father dropped into the other. Chocolate settled at his side, and Jed’s free hand automatically started to scratch behind the canine’s ears.

  Jed took a swig of Budweiser and said, “There’s nothing for your ma to get herself in such a state about.”

  Skye shrugged. “Maybe not, but she is.”

  Jed slowly considered Skye’s answer, then asked, “So, what should I do?”

  Skye looked at her father petting his dog and sighed. This was Jed at his happiest—a car that needs fixing, a dog at his feet, and a beer in his hand. How could she tell him he was wrong? She took a deep breath and stiffened her spine. She had to tell him; she was afraid he would lose his wife if she didn’t.

  “You have to finish up whatever you’re doing and not come back here.” Skye deliberately made her words vague enough to apply to many different states of affairs.

  “I’m waiting for a part. Should be here by Friday or Saturday, then I’ll be through.”

  Skye wanted to scream or at least shock him with the business end of a cattle prod. He just didn’t realize how serious the problem was, and obviously she was not conveying the urgency of the situation. “What would happen if you just walked away right now, today?”

  Jed was silent. He stared at his calloused, oil-stained hands as they dangled between his knees. When he lifted his head, he said, “Wouldn’t be right to leave a job half finished. It’ll be done by Saturday or Sunday.”

  Skye nodded, knowing there was nothing more she could say that might change his mind. Once Jed made a commitment, he was as difficult to move as the lid on a jar of caramel sauce.

  They both got up. Jed threw his empty bottle into the cut-off oil drum that served as a garbage can. Skye poured the rest of her Mr. Pibb out on the lawn before following suit. The soda was just too sweet for her.

  She felt awkward as she stood in the open garage door next to her father, both of them having run out of words. Finally she kissed him on the cheek and said, “See you tonight, Dad.”

  “Yep.” He lightly socked her in the arm. “Know what your ma’s cooking for dinner?”

  “Your goose if you don’t straighten things out pretty darn soon,” Skye muttered as she started across the alley toward her golf cart.

  Skye pulled into Trixie’s driveway at three-thirty, pleased to see a blue BMW X5 with vanity plates reading LAPOLXY. Trixie had said that Montgomery Lapp’s business was called Lapp of Luxury, and that he drove an SUV Beamer, so odds were he was back from his daily foraging.

  She took a minute to comb her hair and put on fresh lipstick before getting out of the Bel Air. Trixie’s description of Montgomery Lapp’s personality convinced her that this was not the time to neglect good grooming habits. As an added measure, she sprayed on some Chanel No. 5.

  She was glad she had dressed in nice khaki slacks and a black polo shirt with the words “First Annual Route 66 Yard Sale” embroidered in white above her left breast, rather than her usual shorts and T-shirt. Lapp sounded a little intimidating.

  Trixie must have been watching for her, because as Skye got out of her car she came running from the backyard, motioning for Skye to follow her.

  “I thought it’d be a good idea for you to come in through the kitchen. It’ll seem more casual that way.” Once they were behind the house standing at the back door, Trixie said, “Monty just got back a few minutes ago. He’s in his room cleaning up, but he should be down for refreshments soon.”

  “Great.” Skye followed her friend into the kit
chen, sniffing appreciatively. “Something smells delicious. Have you been baking?”

  “I made Snickerdoodles and brownies.” Trixie bustled around assembling a tea tray. “Can you grab the creamer from the fridge?”

  Skye wondered if the fact that Trixie had baked Owen’s favorite cookies meant they were getting along better.

  Before she could ask, Trixie provided an answer. “Don’t let me forget to give you the rest of the Snickerdoodles before you leave. I want Owen to smell them, but not get any.”

  “No progress on that front, huh?”

  “No. He’s as stubborn as baked-on grease at the bottom of an old casserole dish, and he refuses to apologize.”

  “Have you asked him to?” Skye asked.

  “No.”

  “Have you told him what you’re mad at yet?”

  “No. He should be able to figure that out for himself.” Trixie blew her bangs from her eyes and added the finishing touch to the tray, a small crystal vase containing a few sprays of minature peach gladioli. “Before we decided to run a bed-and-breakfast for the yard sale, we talked about how much work taking people in for this week would be, and he agreed to do his share. But now that we have their money and they’re here, he leaves the whole thing on my shoulders and tells me the cows are more important than I am. He’d have to be pretty dense not to know why I’m mad.” Trixie picked up the tea tray and walked toward the kitchen door.

  Skye opened it and followed Trixie through the dining room and down the hall. She had a bad feeling that Owen had no idea what he had done to tick off his wife, and unless someone told him, this was another marriage that might implode over a lack of communication.

  She just hoped she wouldn’t have to be the one to talk to him. It was bad enough having to have mat kind of conversation with her dad. She couldn’t even picture herself explaining things to Owen. He was an extremely private person, and the whole situation would be beyond awkward.

  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.