“So do I.” Beilin continued to goose-step Earl toward her. “He’s the guy who destroyed my shed, stole my lawn mower, and killed my wife.”
Interesting that Jerita’s murder had come last on Beilin’s list of Earl’s crimes. She tucked that fact into a corner of her mind to think about later.
“He’s not the killer.” Skye was only ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure she was telling the truth, but that was enough for this situation. “Yes. He did those other things.” She glared at Earl. “And he shouldn’t have left the scene of the crime when the police wanted to question him, but he only found her body. He had no motive to hurt her.”
“Maybe he was trying to rape her and she fought back,” Beilin countered.
Earl let out an affronted squawk as he and Beilin arrived at the bottom of the RV’s metal steps.
“Definitely not.” Skye glanced through the motor home’s open door. She was thankful to see that CJ and Eva were still sleeping in their swings. Now if she only had her phone.
Beilin glared at Skye. “How do you know?” He loosened his choke hold on Earl, but kept a firm grip on the man.
“She was completely clothed, none of her garments were torn, and Earl was dressed in a turkey costume.” Skye wondered if she should mention that Jerita had been hit on the back of the head, which implied she’d been turned away, but although she couldn’t specifically remember Wally saying that he was keeping that information from the public, it was highly likely that he didn’t want the information disclosed. “However, most importantly, the ME found no signs of sexual assault.”
“Then he was trying to rob us,” Beilin argued. “He could have been the one that vandalized our place before and came back to finish up.”
“That’s not the Doozier way.” Skye was a hundred percent certain of that statement. “Scams and get-rich-quick schemes, but not breaking and entering. That would take too much physical labor.”
Earl’s voice cracked in outrage. “That ain’t a nice thing to say about a friend, Miz Skye. I ain’t lazy.” He shook his finger at her and added, “I’s just in power saver mode most ah the time.”
“Shut up, Earl.” Skye looked nervously at the contractor and said soothingly, “Beilin, how about you let me take him inside and call Wally. It’s his job to figure this out, not yours.”
The angry man didn’t move.
“I promise you Earl isn’t dangerous,” Skye pledged, putting her hand to her heart. “He’s just not the quickest rabbit in the forest.”
“Miz Skye!” Earl bleated. “I ain’t no kinda bunny. I’s a wolf.”
She ignored him. “Listen, you can stay right out here by the motor home’s steps, and if he tries to run away before Wally gets here you can tackle him or shoot him in the butt with your nail gun.”
“Shush, Miz Skye!” Earl clawed at the arm around his neck. “What are you sayin’? This idjiot don’t knows that you’re joshin’ him.”
Before Beilin could react, an ancient Lincoln Town Car roared into the driveway. Seconds later, the queen of the Red Raggers flung open the driver’s door and stepped out as quickly as her skintight jeans and high heels allowed. A lit cigarette hung from the corner of her mouth and smoke streamed from her nose like the dragon she resembled.
“Just what we needed.” Skye closed her eyes and mumbled under her breath, “Ms. Train Wreck. This isn’t your station.”
How had Earl’s wife, Glenda, known his location? Unless, of course, the moron had told her where he was going. Which, considering that Glenda hated Skye’s guts, would have been the epitome of stupid even for a Doozier.
Glenda’s bleached-blond hair was teased into a towering inferno and her Dolly Parton bust was barely contained by the low-cut sweater revealed by her unfastened faux-fur bolero jacket. She was dressed to kill, and with her wolverine personality, that wasn’t just a trite saying, it was an actual fact.
Ignoring everyone else, she glared at her husband and screamed, “Earl Doozier, you disappear on me for days, and I get a call that your car is”—Glenda extended a bright-red talon toward Skye and hissed like a snake—“in this one’s driveway!”
Earl shook his head and said, “Honey pie, I’s told you and told you, you ain’t got no reason to be jealous of Miz Skye. She’s jus’ my friend and I needed her help.” He grinned, displaying picket-fence teeth the color of Dijon mustard. “She ain’t my type.” In a loud whisper he added, “She’s way too chunky for me.”
“Gee. Thanks, Earl,” Skye muttered.
She contemplated going inside and leaving Earl to handle the situation on his own. No one could blame her for letting the freaky little man who had just called her fat get out of this mess without her help.
“She better be.” Glenda put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. “Get in your car and follow me home right now.”
“I’d love to, Sugar Beet, but…” Earl shot a pointed look at Beilin.
Glenda turned her attention to the contractor. “You let my husband go.”
“You just keep the hell back, lady,” Beilin growled. “Your husband murdered my wife and the only place he’s going is to jail.”
“But…” Earl struggled to free himself.
The contractor snarled, “That’s if I don’t kill him first.”
“I’m countin’ to three.” Glenda dropped her cigarette to the ground, then crushed it out under a scarlet stiletto-shod foot. “And you better have your hands off my man and some distance between you and him, or I’ll be forced to show you what it’s like to be up close and personal with my shiny red high heel when I plant it where the sun don’t shine.”
Skye seized the moment to run down the steps, yank Earl away from Beilin, and tow him up the stairs. She didn’t stop until she’d pulled the Doozier inside the RV with her and pushed him toward the sofa.
Glenda quickly followed at Skye’s heels, but Beilin’s reaction was a shade too slow, and the Red Ragger queen was able to slam the door before he could get inside. Smiling victoriously at Skye and Earl, Glenda tugged at the crotch of her jeans with one hand and triumphantly turned the deadbolt with the other.
Earl looked from his wife to Skye and back, chuckled like an insane clown, and said, “Ladies, not to be self-defecatin’ or nothin’, but there’s no needs to fight over me.”
Skye scowled at him and said, “You better not do that in my house.” Then she translated his remark from Doozierese to English and realized he meant self-deprecating.
“Look how much your youngen has growed since the baptizin’ party.” Earl headed toward CJ.
Skye jumped in front of him and ordered, “You two sit on the couch and don’t move or I’ll let Beilin in to deal with you both.”
When the Doozier king and queen obeyed, Skye grabbed her cell from its charger and dialed Wally. Keeping an eye on the couple as the phone rang, she shoved the device between her ear and shoulder, scooped up both twins, and headed toward the bedroom. She hated taking the chance that she’d wake them up, but with Earl and Glenda, she couldn’t be certain that a fight wouldn’t suddenly break out, and she didn’t want her children in the line of fire.
Depositing the drowsy babies in their bassinets, Skye gently closed the bedroom door and prayed they would fall back to sleep rather than start screaming. She didn’t want to leave them alone, but they were safer away from the Dooziers.
The instant Wally answered, Skye explained the situation, and before she even finished, he said he was on his way. He instructed her to stay on the line and she could hear running feet and him shouting instructions.
While she waited on the phone, Skye noticed that the kitchen timer was dinging. With a glance at the Dooziers, who were still where she’d put them, she took the lasagna out of the oven. Her mother’s voice niggling in her head about hospitality, Skye grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge and offered them to her unwelco
me guests.
Earl looked at the Dasani as if he had no idea what it was and whined, “Ain’t you got nothin’ else? I could use a Dew rights about now.” He winked. “Or somethin’ a bit stronger, if you knows what I mean.” He sniffed the garlic-scented air. “And I wouldn’t mind a piece o’ that noodle pie.”
“You fool. Those Eye-talian vittles will give you gas.” Glenda elbowed her husband, took the water Skye offered her, and with an expression on her face somewhere between acceptance and aggravation muttered, “Much obliged.”
Earl glanced around and asked, “Does you still gots your kitty?” Before Skye could answer, Earl crooned, “Here, critter, critter, critter.”
“Don’t waste your breath, Earl,” Skye snickered. “Dogs may come when commanded, but cats check their phones first to see if there are any better offers.”
Glenda shot Skye a puzzled look, then glared at Earl and said, “I told you not to go to that house. Was you drunk or somethin’?”
“A course not,” Earl said, then cackled, “Ons the other hand, in my mind, drinkin’ sensblee means I’s doesn’t spill it.”
“What house?” Skye asked, trying to refocus the couple on the important part of Glenda’s comment. “This one?” She blinked when she realized what Glenda meant, and she said, “No. You’re referring to the Quinns’ house.”
Glenda ignored her and continued to lecture her husband. “When he called to give you that big tip”—she made exaggerated quotes in the air—“about where to sell the turkey cakes, I told you that somethin’ was fishy and he’d be the last guy to help you.”
“But, dumplin’, I figured he was tryin’ to get on my good side. Yous know, so that I don’t sue him over Cletus.” Earl scratched under his baseball cap. “Why else would he have called?”
“Don’t be stupider than you already are.” Glenda whacked him upside the head. “He was settin’ you up and now you’re the one in hot water and he’s floatin’ down the river on a pontoon made of gold.”
Skye was still attempting to interpret Glenda’s tirade when the front doorknob rattled and Wally yelled, “Why is this thing locked?”
Skye hurriedly let in her distraught husband and explained about Beilin, then asked, “Is he still standing in the driveway?”
“Yep.” Wally marched over to the Dooziers, put his hands on his hips, and demanded, “Now what in the Sam Hill is going on here?”
Earl shrank into the sofa cushions and mumbled, “Bambi told me Miz Skye wanted to talk to me so I came over, but that crazy dill weed out there comes runnin’ up and chases me and tackles me.”
Suddenly exhausted, Skye sat in one of the chairs flanking the couch. Now that Wally was handling the Red Ragger couple, she had time to study Earl. The skinny little man was dressed in his usual camo and cowboy boots. He almost looked like a ten-year-old boy playing army. At least, until you noticed the dense tattoos up and down his forearms and exposed by his half-buttoned shirt.
“You shouldn’t have run away the day of the murder.” Wally scowled, then must have realized Earl wasn’t going anywhere because he took a seat on the other chair facing Skye’s.
“I meant to behave myself, but there were just too many other options.” Earl nodded as if he had just imparted a great nugget of wisdom.
“You call bulldozing a door with a lawn mower an option?” Skye shook her head. And she had thought dealing with teenagers’ logic was tough.
“I figured the cops would blame me for the lady with the knife in her head.” Earl’s nearly nonexistent chin dropped to his concave chest. “And”—his voice dropped—“I might have panicked a little bit. It was sceery being locked in that dark shed.”
“Running just made you look guilty.” Wally crossed his arms.
“But I ain’t!” Earl brayed like an enraged donkey. “I never touched her.”
“Well, in that case, you can come down to the station, make your official statement, and be fingerprinted.” Wally glanced at Glenda. “You can come along if you want or you can get Earl an attorney.”
“We ain’t got money for no shyster.” Glenda glared at Wally.
“We can get you a free one.” Wally shrugged. “Or Earl has the right to remain silent. Anything he says will be used against him in a court of law. With that all in mind, are you willing to talk with me about what happened the day Mrs. Quinn was killed?”
Skye wondered if the Dooziers realized that Wally had just read them their rights.
“Yeah.” Earl shrugged. “I guess. I ain’t got nothin’ to hide. But I wanna talk here. The police station gives me the heebie-jeebies. I’m a feared you’ll keep me there and I want to sleep in my own bed tonight.”
“It’s been kinda restful without your snoring.” Glenda looked at Earl out of the side of her eye. “And I don’t wake up with no covers on.”
“Baby, yous know I don’t snore.” Earl elbowed his wife and hooted, “I’s jus dreams I’s a motorcycle.” He unwisely added, “And I only take the covers to save you when yous havin’ a hot flash.”
“Earl Doozier, you better not be implyin’ that I’m old enough to be goin’ through the change.”
“What? No! Just that you’re one hot mama.” Earl’s sense of self-preservation finally must have kicked in.
Wally got up, walked over to Skye, and asked in a low voice, “Do you have time to interview him here?”
“Sure,” she whispered. “This might be our best bet at getting the whole story from him. Who knows what will happen if you force him to go the PD. He might even lawyer up.”
“Okay.” Wally returned to his seat and fished his cell phone from his pocket. “But I’ll have to record our conversation. And we’ll still need to go to the station for your prints.”
“Okeydokey.” Earl took off his filthy baseball cap, revealing muddy brown hair that formed a horseshoe around a bald spot the size of a cantaloupe. “Where does you want me to start?”
Recalling what they’d been talking about just before Wally arrived, Skye said, “Why don’t you begin with the telephone call you were discussing with Glenda. The one where the guy gave you the sales tip.”
“That’s a good place as any.” Earl blew his lips in and out, then said, “I’d been going door-to-door in some of the neighborhoods in town tryin’ to sell the Turkeygrams.” He looked at Wally and explained, “They’s homemade cakes shaped like turkeys.”
“Right. Skye told me.” Wally waved his hand and said, “Go on.”
“Anyways, I wasn’t havin’ much luck so I took a break at McDonald’s for lunch.” Earl glanced uneasily at Glenda. “Sorry, Snookie Bear. I was goin’ to bring you a Happy Meal. Cross my heart.”
“Just get on with it.” Glenda seemed to have run out of steam and was slumped in the corner of the couch picking at her nail polish.
“Wells, I was halfways through my McRib…” Earl paused, then said, “That’s one of the reasons I went there. It’s McRib season.”
“Yes. We all love McRibs.” Frustration oozing from every pore, Wally’s fingers dug in to his chair’s leather armrest. “But what about the call?”
“Oh. Yeah.” Earl scrunched his face and said, “My cell phone rang and when I answered it, you’ll never guess who was callin’ me.”
“Not if you don’t tell us.” Wally ground the words out between clenched teeth.
“It was Homer Knapik.” Earl shook his head in apparent disbelief.
“The principal?” Skye asked, knowing full well there was only one Homer Knapik in Scumble River. “Why would Homer be calling you?”
“He said his wife said that I’s sellin’ Turkeygrams and he found my entrism…enperl…”
“Entrepreneurialism,” Skye offered.
“Yeah, that.” Earl nodded. “Was admiral and wanted to help me out.”
“Admirable,” Skye translated for Wally, whose
Doozierese was less developed than hers.
“Right.” Wally looked at Earl and asked, “So how did he help you?”
“He said that I should try the snobby neighborhoods over by the cemetery.” Earl frowned. “Then he gave me an address and told me that he knew for a fact that family wanted to buy a Turkeygram.”
“And that address was the Quinns’,” Skye guessed.
“Yessiree Bob.” Earl frowned. “Cletus had my Regal so I had Glenda pick me up at the corner so as she wouldn’t be mad about me eatin’ at McDonald’s. Then she drived me there and drop me off. But when I knocked, no one answered the door. Then, likes I told Miz Skye, there was a car in the driveway and I heared somethin’ back yonder so’s I figured someone was home. So’s I walked around the house and poked around a mite, then I saw the dead woman.”
“Did you see anything else?” Wally asked.
“No.” Earl shook his head. “Just the lady with the knife in her head.”
“What kind of noise did you hear before you went around back?” Wally asked.
“It sounded like an elephant trompin’ in the forest.”
“Or a man the size of Homer escaping through the trees once he was sure his patsy had shown up,” Skye murmured.
“Yep.” Wally’s lips thinned. “That seems about right.”
Chapter 17
Homeward Bound
Skye glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was nearly six o’clock, and Wally had just returned from escorting the Dooziers to the police station where he’d fingerprinted Earl, then drove the couple back to their cars. Now Wally was hurriedly shedding his uniform as he rushed into the master bath, leaving the door between it and the bedroom open.
While he’d been gone, Skye had explained to Beilin Quinn what was happening. The contractor wasn’t happy that Earl would not be arrested, but he perked up when Skye mentioned they had another suspect. Since Beilin was still a person of interest himself, she’d been vague about the details pertaining to Earl’s statement, but the GC was still glad to hear they were making progress on the case.
Come Homicide or High Water Page 16