Murder of a Sweet Old Lady srm-2

by Denise Swanson

  “Thanks, Thea. Could you let Chief Boyd know I’m going to be a little late? He wanted me there at eight, but it doesn’t look like I’m going to make it until eight-thirty or quarter to nine.” Skye stretched the cord and grabbed a black-and-white gingham skort outfit from her closet.

  “Sure, honey. You take your time. That man ain’t got nothin’ else to do anyways.”

  The doorbell rang as Skye hung up the phone. She grabbed her robe and fought her way into it as she ran to the foyer. May’s face was framed in the side window.

  Skye released all the locks and ushered her mother inside. “Hi, what are you doing here so early?” As soon as the words passed her lips, she knew it was the wrong thing to say.

  “Early? You call five to eight early? We’ve got to do something about those slovenly habits you picked up in New Orleans.”

  Skye edged back toward her bedroom. “Okay, okay. What’s up?”

  “I came to drive you to the police station. Your dad’s still working on the tires.” May followed closely on Skye’s heels. “What are you wearing?” May was dressed impeccably in navy cotton slacks and a white blouse.

  Skye held up the ensemble she had picked out.

  May puckered her mouth. “You know, honey, since you’ve gained weight, do you really think you should wear things that are sleeveless and above the knee?”

  Skye frowned. About eighteen months ago she had decided to exit from the diet roller coaster. At first she had gained quite a bit of weight, but then she’d reached her setpoint. She exercised regularly and now felt comfortable with who she was.

  Ignoring her mother, Skye took the outfit and walked into the bathroom. When she emerged twenty minutes later, she was wearing her original choice, had styled her hair in a French braid, and wore her usual makeup.

  May didn’t comment.

  Thea grabbed May in a hug as soon as Skye and her mother entered the police station, then drew May behind the counter, sat her down, and began to converse in low tones. Skye was left to find Chief Boyd on her own.

  Obviously, Tuesdays were slow days for criminal activity in Scumble River. The building seemed deserted and so quiet that Skye could hear the rustle of paper as she approached the chief’s office.

  He looked up as she entered. “Glad you could finally find time in your busy schedule for us.”

  Sighing, Skye sat on one of the visitor chairs. “Sorry. I’m sure you don’t want to hear the litany of excuses any more than I want to go through them.”

  Chief Boyd made a note in a file and stuck it in a drawer. “You’re right. I’m in a bad mood today and didn’t mean to take it out on you. Let’s start over.”

  She wiggled, trying to get comfortable in the cracked leather seat. “Thanks. How come you’re in a bad mood? I hope it’s not because I insisted on an autopsy for my grandmother.”

  “No, personal problems.” His face closed and he lost all expression.

  Skye knew he and his wife, Darleen, had been having difficulties with their marriage for the last year or so, but she thought things had gotten better. “I know how tough that can be. Maybe you both should talk to a counselor.”

  “Are you volunteering your services as a psychologist?” He raised an eyebrow.

  Blushing, Skye shook her head. “No. I’m only qualified to work with children and their parents. But I could give you a name of a very good therapist who specializes in couples.”

  He moved around the desk and sat on the edge. His knees were a fraction of an inch from hers. “I thought maybe you couldn’t take the case because you were too close to the people involved.”

  Turning a deeper shade of red, Skye tried to find the words to answer him. “Well, ah, that too. After all, I’ve known you since I was a teenager and I work with Darleen.”

  She felt herself getting lost in the depth of his brown eyes. It felt as if something were sitting on her chest. Of all the men she knew, why did this one have to be married?

  The sound of a throat being cleared in the doorway stopped her before she could speak.

  Skye’s eyes darted in that direction, and she met her mother’s worried gaze. She stood up and turned to May. “Mom, we were, ah, filling out the report about my tires.”

  May smiled thinly. “Fine. I’ll help.”

  Chief Boyd went back behind his desk and pulled out a partially completed form. “So, Skye, give me a list of all the people you’ve recently infuriated.”

  CHAPTER 5

  There Was a Crooked Man

  The phone was ringing as Skye unlocked the door to her cottage later that morning.

  She hesitated, figuring it was either more bad news or one of her relatives calling to yell at her about last night.

  Tugging Skye’s arm, May pulled them both into the kitchen. “You’d better hurry and answer the phone before they hang up.”

  She sighed, and lifted the receiver. After a few minutes of conversation she said good-bye and turned to her mother. “Great. Just what I needed.”

  May held up the dishcloth she had been using to wipe out the sink. “What’s up?”

  “I have to go into school.”

  “Why? Surely you’re entitled to a personal day off.” May looked around and attacked a spot she noticed on the counter.

  “They’re sorry for my loss, but they’ve got an irate parent coming in at one, and Neva Llewellyn wants me there.”

  “Couldn’t you say no?” May unplugged the toaster and shook it over the trash can in the corner.

  “I suppose so, but after what happened at my last job I need to get sterling references from this one or I can kiss my career good-bye.”

  May finished emptying the crumbs from the toaster’s trap and started polishing the chrome. “But what happened in your last school was not your fault. You did the right thing.”

  Shrugging, Skye pulled out a chair and sat down. “You know I was right, and I know I was right, but if anyone calls that school system, all they’re going to be told is that I was fired for insubordination.”

  Both women were silent as May finished with the toaster and plugged it back in. She finally spoke. “It’s only a little after eleven-thirty now. How about if I take you to lunch and then drop you off at school? Dad and I will bring Grandma’s car there as soon as he finishes with it.”

  “That sounds good. I’m sorry you guys have to chauffeur me around. As soon as I get my insurance check, I’ll buy a car.” It was tempting just to give in and let her parents take care of her, but there was no way Skye could stay in Scumble River if she didn’t keep fighting to remain independent.

  May stopped cleaning. “Skye, you know we want to make your life easier. We wouldn’t offer if we didn’t enjoy it. We do the same for Vince.”

  Skye nodded. It was a fine line between accepting help she needed and insisting on doing things for herself. “Are you going to call Dad?”

  “No, he won’t be near a phone. He’ll either be fixing the Buick or in the fields.” May walked into the tiny bathroom across the foyer from the kitchen.

  Skye raised her voice to be heard above the running water. “You guys really need to get a cell phone and an answering machine.”

  “We’ve been just fine for thirty-five years without any fancy gadgets. Next thing you know you’ll be wanting us to get a computer like Hugo talked Dante into.” May snorted. “To keep updated farm records, my eye. He just wants to play around on that Sinnernet. I heard down at the police station that pictures of naked women just pop up when you turn the machine on.”

  Knowing when to end a conversation was an art Skye had picked up early in dealing with her mother. She wasn’t about to begin to explain the Internet to May, let alone pornographic Web sites. “Okay then, let me freshen up and get my briefcase. Where do you want to go to lunch?”

  May and Skye slid into a mauve-colored booth. The Feedbag had recently been redecorated, and was now only ten years behind the times.

  They picked up the plastic-coated menus and silently
studied the multiple pages. After a few minutes Skye closed hers, but May continued to contemplate the choices.

  “What are you having, Mom?”

  “I don’t know. There’s too much to pick from.” May flipped the pages frantically and tears started trickling down her cheeks.

  Skye plucked the menu from her mom’s hands. “You’ve had a lot to deal with in the last twenty-four hours. You don’t have to carry on as if nothing has happened.”

  Her mother’s quiet weeping turned into sobs.

  “It’s okay to cry.” Skye scooted around the booth to sit beside May. She put her arms around her mother. “You and Grandma were very close and her death is a shock to all of us.”

  After a few minutes, May straightened and took the tissue Skye offered. “I loved her so much. We weren’t just mother and daughter, we were friends.” May wiped away a lingering tear. “It was funny. She was always in total control of everything in the house until Dad came home from work, and then suddenly she turned into a meek little lady. When he was gone she was a tiger—we’d play music real loud and sing, but when he was there we had to be quiet and make sure we didn’t disturb him.” May’s voice faltered. “It was almost as if Mom was afraid of him.”

  “I really don’t remember Grandpa,” Skye said. “My earliest memories of Grandma are going to her house to help her bake and hearing about her childhood. She never wanted to talk about her adult past, so I was really surprised when she decided to tell me the family history.”

  “When we hired Mrs. J, Mom finally realized she wasn’t immortal. She didn’t want those stories to die with her.”

  “But they did. It was too late.” This was a side of May Skye rarely saw and she wanted to keep the conversation going. “You seem to have had a different relationship with Grandma than your siblings did.”

  “Ever since Dad died, Dante’s treated Mom like a child. And he’s always whining about having to sell off his land because the housekeeper was so expensive. He wanted us sisters to take eight-hour shifts and get rid of Mrs. J.”

  “You’re kidding!” Skye was surprised by the extent of her uncle’s self-centeredness.

  “No.” May smiled ruefully. “And Mona and Minnie were always afraid of her.” May smiled sadly. “She was-n’t one to mince words and they don’t like to hear the truth.” She paused and patted Skye’s hand. “You remind me of her. Not afraid to tell it like it is.”

  “I thought you didn’t like me to do that.”

  May touched Skye’s face. “It’s just that I’m afraid for you. You have such a strong sense of right and wrong that you make a lot of people uncomfortable. And you never know what a nervous person will do.”

  Skye glanced at her watch as she hurried into Scumble River Junior High School. It was five after one and she was late.

  Just as she was about to knock on the principal’s closed door, Skye remembered. Simon was supposed to come over to her house that afternoon. He’d be ticked if she wasn’t there. She’d better call and hope she caught him before he left.

  She turned back to the secretary’s unoccupied desk, snatched up the phone, and dialed Simon’s number. She got his answering machine at his house, his assistant at the funeral home, and his pager; she left messages everywhere.

  It was now quarter after and Skye knew Neva would be seething. At first she frowned when no one answered her knock on the principal’s door; then she smiled and sat down. No secretary, no principal, she could easily have been waiting fifteen minutes for someone to tell her where the meeting was.

  Ursula Nelson, the school secretary, rushed around the corner and came to a halt when she spotted Skye. “Why aren’t you with Mrs. Llewellyn and Mr. Doozier?”

  “Where are they? I’ve been waiting here for quite a while.”

  “They’re using the art room. The art teacher is sick today so it’s available.”

  “Why aren’t we using Neva’s office?” Skye nodded toward the closed door.

  “Mrs. Llewellyn felt it would be unwise to meet with Mr. Doozier in such a confined, windowless space,” Ursula said.

  “I guess she really is afraid of him.” Skye picked up her briefcase.

  As she headed down the hall, Ursula called out, “I was only gone a few minutes. You couldn’t have been waiting long.”

  The small art room smelled of turpentine and glue. Scraps of construction paper were scattered on the faded blue linoleum. The windows were open, but there was no breeze to ruffle the paintings thumbtacked to the bulletin board.

  Neva and Hap Doozier sat facing each other across a long table. Neither was speaking. Skye would have recognized Mr. Doozier without Ursula’s warning. He was short and skinny like his brother Earl, although not as densely tattooed.

  Skye assessed his mood by his clothing. He appeared to be dressed for a Saturday night date, in tight blue jeans, a belt with a huge silver buckle, and a shiny western-style shirt. As she stepped near the table, the stench of his cologne mixed with the alcohol on his breath was overwhelming.

  She extended her hand. “Hello, I’m Ms. Denison, the school psychologist. Sorry I was late, but I didn’t know where this meeting was being held.”

  Mr. Doozier looked at her outstretched hand and gingerly gave the three middle fingers a hurried squeeze, releasing them as if they were infectious. “Hap Doozier. My kid’s Cletus.”

  Neva started to speak as Skye eased into the molded plastic chair. “Mr. Doozier has been telling me that Cletus is a liar, and we are not to believe any further stories he tells us.”

  “Oh?” Skye raised an eyebrow. “I spoke with his teachers yesterday afternoon, and they all felt him to be too impulsive to make a very good liar.”

  Frowning, Mr. Doozier leaned forward. “It ain’t no one’s business in this school to go talkin’ about my boy. Not to his teachers, or to no caseworker from the government.”

  Skye forced her hands to remain still and looked Mr. Doozier in the eye. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I know you care for your son and want the best for him. That’s what we want too.”

  He pounded his fist on the table. “I give the boy everything he needs. He ain’t got no mama or brothers or sisters. It’s just him and me. No one has got a right to tell me how to raise my own kid.”

  Speaking in a neutral voice, Skye said in a low tone, “I’m sure you do what you think is best, but maybe we could help you find ways that might work better.”

  Mr. Doozier’s face turned red and veins popped out alongside of his neck. “No one tells me how to punish my own flesh and blood. If I think he needs to be whupped, I’ll whup him, and no DCFS bitch is goin’ make me stop.”

  Skye glanced nervously at Neva, who sat with her mouth partly open and her expression trancelike. “Mr. Doozier,” Skye said, “I hear you saying that you don’t like people to interfere in your business, right?”

  He nodded grudgingly.

  “Well, if you continue to hit Cletus, we have no choice but to keep calling the Department of Children and Family Services. They then have no choice but to send a caseworker. If this continues, DCFS will ultimately have no choice but to take Cletus away from you. Is that what you want?”

  For a brief moment, Skye was sure she had succeeded in talking some sense into Mr. Doozier, but within seconds he lunged out of his seat, making the chair fly backward. Leaning on the table with both fists, his face a dark shade of crimson, he sputtered, “Ain’t no one doin’ no such thing. Y’all think you’re so smart in your fancy clothes, with your fancy degrees, but Cletus and I can disappear with the snap of my fingers. Then what you and DCFS goin’ do?”

  When neither woman answered he seemed to become more enraged. He grabbed one of the chairs and flung it at the window. The glass shattered into a spider web of cracks. “But I ain’t goin’ nowhere, because all you old maid busybodies are goin’ quit stickin’ your noses in my business, or you’re goin’ get hurt worse’n that window.”

  Neva and Skye sat in stunned silence for long minutes
after Hap Doozier stomped out of the room.

  Finally Skye shook her head. “Forget about registering guns, register six-packs. Each can of beer takes you closer to shooting yourself in the foot.”

  Neva stood up and smoothed her skirt. “That guy fell out of the stupid tree and hit every branch on the way down.”

  They walked down the hall, glancing around nervously as they proceeded through the empty corridor. Both breathed a sigh of relief when they reached Neva’s office.

  Neva settled behind her desk and gestured for Skye to take a seat. “Now what?”

  “I’m not sure. I think he threatened Cletus so that means another call to DCFS.” Skye dug out a tissue from her briefcase and dabbed at her face. She wasn’t sure if she was sweating because of the heat or the adrenaline. “The tires on my car were slashed last night. I wonder if Mr. Doozier had anything to do with it.”

  “Well, there is no question he threatened us. I’m calling the police.” Neva reached for the phone.

  Grandma’s Buick was waiting for Skye in the parking lot when she finished talking to Officer Quirk about Hap Doozier. The broken classroom window was a misdemeanor, Quirk had explained, but there was little the police could do about Hap’s threats.

  This was not reassuring to Skye as she got into the unlocked car. The keys fell from behind the visor as she pulled it down. Jed’s hiding places were very predictable.

  Skye didn’t bother with the radio or air-conditioning, since the drive home would take less than five minutes. When she arrived, Simon was pacing in front of her door. From the look on his face, Skye guessed he had not received any of her messages.

  She reluctantly got out of the car. They’d been fighting a lot lately. Her head was pounding and she was soaked in sweat. “Gee, looks like you didn’t get my messages. Sorry. I hope you didn’t have to wait too long.”

  Simon, a thunderous expression on his face, stood between her and the house. “That’s it? Everything is supposed to be all right just because you say you’re sorry? Where have you been all afternoon?”