Murder of a Creped Suzette (3 page)

The woman ran around the front of the RV, disappeared from Skye’s view for a second, then reappeared in the trailer’s window as she flung herself at Rex’s feet, sobbing. “I’m so sorry. My cousin insisted on taking me to meet his friends in Joliet and I-55 was a parking lot and the battery on my cell phone is dead and—”

“We’ll talk about it later, Suzette.” Rex hauled the girl off the floor. “Right now you need to perform.”

“But my hair and makeup—” Suzette touched her waist-length black mane.

“There’s no time for that.” Rex propelled her backward. “You look fine.”

“But my costume,” Suzette wailed. “My beautiful sparkly dress.”

“Next time.”

As Rex and Suzette disappeared from sight, Flint called after them, “Don’t forget to tell that new bass player that a diminished fifth is not an empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s.”

Rex grunted before screaming at the band to get onstage. A few seconds later Skye could hear him yelling, “Get your rear in gear, Suzette, while we still have some audience left.”

Skye turned her attention to the pickup. It was still idling by the side of the trailer, but from her angle she couldn’t make out the driver. Who was Suzette’s cousin? Black pickups were as common as cornfields in Scumble River, so that was no clue.

As if sensing Skye’s interest, the driver backed up and screeched away in a cloud of dust; a soccer ball tow-hitch cover and a metallic oval bumper sticker sparkled in the taillights. She glanced toward the Airstream, but the window was now closed. The shades had been pulled down and there was nothing left to see.

This was her chance to escape unnoticed. Skye slipped out of the bathroom, sprinted across the grass, and zipped around the sawhorses.

Once she was past the barrier, she could hear instruments tuning up, and she took off running toward the grandstand. It looked like the concert would finally start, and after all she’d been through, no way would she miss a minute of it.

Skye spotted Trixie at the very rear of the audience, sitting on a blanket spread under an enormous tree. There was a good view of the grandstand and the oak’s trunk provided a backrest. Trust Trixie to get a good spot, even when she was among the last to arrive.

Waving, Skye headed in her friend’s direction. Trixie wore cutoffs, a tight hot-pink tank top, and fuchsia sandals that laced up her calves. Not exactly the look most small towns expected from their high school librarians. But with her short cap of smooth brown hair and big brown eyes, Trixie looked cute in the outfit rather than trashy.

As Skye sat down, Trixie handed her a blue plastic cup and demanded, “Where have you been?”

“Where have
I
been?” Skye took a sip and coughed. Trixie had added rum to the Diet Coke. Quite a bit of rum.
Uh-oh.
Trixie generally drank only when she was upset. “I was here on time. Where were you? And where’s Owen? Is one of the animals sick?”

Owen was a farmer, and the livestock’s well-being was his number one priority. A while back he had sold off all the cattle and pigs, but a few days ago he’d bought a herd of exotic animals, having decided to try his luck with emus and llamas.

Trixie hadn’t been pleased with her husband’s purchase, but the farmer’s daughter in Skye had been sympathetic. It was only a couple of weeks into the harvest, and already everyone knew that this year’s searing drought would cause yields to be at least twenty percent below average. Farming had such a thin profit margin, Owen probably felt the need to try something drastic to get into the black.

“I have no idea where Owen is.” Trixie took a gulp of her drink. “And those stupid animals are fine. They live better than I do.”

“He isn’t at home?” Skye raised a brow. Except for business, Owen rarely set foot off his acreage. And she doubted he was buying seed at seven o’clock on a Saturday night.

“No. He left around two thirty.” Trixie wrinkled her forehead. “He told me he had to talk to some guy, but he never answered me when I asked who. I assumed he’d be back by five for supper, but he didn’t show up.”

“Is that unusual?”

“Very.” Trixie bobbed her head. “He never misses dinner.”

“Hmm.”
Skye wasn’t sure what to say. “That is strange. Maybe he had trouble with his pickup. You said the engine’s been cutting out.”

“If he had a cell phone like everyone else in the known universe, I could have called him.” She grimaced. “Now I don’t know if he’s dead, drunk, or joined the Foreign Legion.”

“Does he usually let you know where he’s going and when he’ll be home?” Skye wasn’t sure if Trixie was worried or angry or both.

“Most of the time.” Trixie tore a paper napkin in to shreds, not meeting Skye’s eyes. “But we’ve been fighting, and he might be mad at me.”

“I could ask Wally if there’ve been any accidents in the area,” Skye offered, not asking the reason for the couple’s quarrel.

“Maybe later.” Trixie pushed out her bottom lip. “I left Owen a note. If he doesn’t show up or phone before the end of the concert, we can involve Wally.”

“Okay.” Skye hugged her friend, and as she sat back she remembered attempting to reach Trixie earlier. “You know, when you were late, I tried your cell and it went straight to voice mail. Have you checked it lately? Maybe Owen tried calling, couldn’t reach you, and left a message like I did.”

“Shoot!” Trixie dug her phone from her purse and flipped it open. “I turned it off when I was at the library and forgot to switch it back on.” She pressed a button, then scrolled through the in-box.

“Anything?” Skye asked.

“Just you.” Trixie sagged against the tree trunk. “Nothing from Owen.”

“Darn.”

“Never mind.” Trixie pasted a smile on her face and handed Skye a bag of chips. “Let’s enjoy the music and worry about my missing husband later.”

Suzette had a good voice. Skye wasn’t sure if it was a great voice or if the girl had star quality, but Suzette was pretty and the crowd was well lubricated, so when she finished, the audience hooted, whistled, and applauded enthusiastically.

While Flint James was being introduced and taking his place, Trixie said to Skye, “So, you never did tell me where you were when I got here.”

Skye explained about her pressing bathroom mission and the scene she had witnessed, then added, “I haven’t heard anything about a country music theater going up in Scumble River. Have you?”

Trixie drained her cup and stood. “One of the kids mentioned that his father’s construction company had been hired to work at the old Hutton dairy farm, renovating the barn and outbuildings.”

“The property near the I-55 exit?”

“I think so.” Trixie wrinkled her forehead. “I’m surprised there haven’t had to be town meetings about zoning issues and other stuff regarding the theater.”

“I’m not.” Skye crossed her arms. “If this Rex guy approached Dante with a plan to bring tourist dollars into town, and the mayor liked what he heard, Dante would call a closed meeting of the town council and get whatever approvals he needed that way.”

“Yeah. The whole council is full of good ol’ boys your uncle can control.” Trixie pointed to Skye’s cup. “Want another one?”

Skye shook her head. “I’m good.” There had been enough rum in her first drink to last her all evening. Besides, alcohol made the heat feel worse.

While Skye watched Trixie join the line at the bar, Flint began his first song. His sexy baritone sent a shiver up her spine. He sang about shooting to the top, falling to the bottom, and starting all over again. A journey to which Skye could relate.

She was lost in the music when someone touched her shoulder. She swallowed a startled yelp and looked up. Owen had arrived.

“Hey.” He smoothed his straight black hair off his forehead.

“Hi.” Skye noted that his hair was wet. He must have come straight from a shower.

“Trixie around?”

“Yep.” Skye jerked her chin toward the bar. “She’s getting a drink.”

“Okay.” Owen fingered his silver belt buckle. “Thanks.”

When he turned away, it struck Skye that she rarely saw him wearing anything but work clothes. Tonight he had on navy dress slacks, a blue-and-yellow-plaid pearl-snapped shirt, and snakeskin Tony Lamas. She eyed him thoughtfully. Owen was attractive in a sinewy, ascetic way. Not her type, but she could see the appeal.

Skye watched as he intercepted Trixie on her way back to the blanket. He took his wife’s arm and they moved several feet from the performance area. Skye was glad they had opted for privacy. She didn’t want to be present for a conversation that was bound to be unpleasant. Besides, Trixie would tell her all she wanted Skye to know, and that would be best for both of them.

Flint sang two more songs before Trixie returned, alone. She sat silently until the concert ended an hour later, with Flint and Suzette singing a duet.

Once the clapping died down, Mr. Suit took the stage and announced, “Hello. My name is Rex Taylor.” He had a compact build, tightly curled sandy-colored hair, and an air of commanding self-confidence. “I’m a music promoter from Nashville and I have a vision. A vision of prosperity for all. A vision of Scumble River as the next Branson, Missouri.”

Skye narrowed her eyes. Rex didn’t look like a psychic, and she’d bet his vision had less than a fifty-fifty chance of coming true.

He had paused, no doubt expecting applause, but the audience was unusually hushed, as if waiting for the next cowboy boot to drop.

Skye scanned the crowd, noting a mixture of smiles, frowns, and puzzled expressions. Clearly, her fellow Scumble Riverites were as wary as she was.

Finally, after the silence built to an uncomfortable intensity, Rex cleared his throat and went on. “I put on this free concert tonight so you could see what the future can be like. See that if you help my dream come true, you can share in the rewards.”

Was this some pyramid scheme? Skye wondered. Now people were buzzing with anticipation. She bit the inside of her mouth, worried they were about to be taken in by a con man.

Rex allowed the excitement to build, then said, “This project will mean an influx of jobs for the community, not to mention tourist dollars.”

Trixie elbowed Skye. “This guy’s awfully slick. The town better be mighty careful.”

“I wonder how deep Uncle Dante is already into this scheme.”

Before Trixie could answer, Rex’s voice rang out, “Right now, we’ll be hiring mostly construction workers, but once the first venue is ready, we’ll need employees for various types of positions.”

Skye and Trixie looked at each other. All the small towns in the area had been hard-hit by factory closings and crop failures. People would definitely want to buy the goods this guy was selling.

Rex finished his speech with, “And since I want all of my new friends to have a good time, the bar is staying open until ten.”

A rousing cheer went up, followed by a mad dash toward the free drinks.

Skye got to her feet, saying to Trixie, “Want to come with me and talk to the mayor?”

“No, thanks.” Trixie started packing up. “I’d better head home.”

“Okay.” Skye hoped everything would be all right between Trixie and Owen. “Good luck.”

As Skye walked toward the grandstand, the straw that had been spread over the ground in an attempt to make the area look like the inside of a barn clung to her bare legs. She frowned. It was a good thing Rex hadn’t brought in cows and pigs for an even more authentic ambiance, or the sandals she was wearing would really have been a fashion mistake.

While Skye made her way through the crowd, she overheard the owner of the real estate agency saying to the people seated around him, “This could be exactly what Scumble River—heck, all of Stanley County—needs. We’ve been trying for years to get tourists off the highway and into our town to spend their money.”

A couple of steps later, Skye came upon Dr. Wraige, the school district superintendent, making a speech to several parents clustered in front of him. “Our school budgets are so far in the red they look like a Valentine’s Day card. Taylor’s plan will bring in businesses that will provide a tax base of which we are sorely in need. And as I always say to our students, if opportunity isn’t knocking, it’s time to build a door.”

The last group Skye passed before reaching her uncle was a bunch of eighteen- to twenty-year-olds. Several of them looked familiar, especially the girl leading the discussion. Xenia Craughwell wore the righteousness of youth and the irreverence of black nail polish.

Skye was well acquainted with Xenia, a high-IQ rebel who had barely made it through Scumble River High and now attended film school in Chicago. Xenia had raised an arm and was outlining a plan of attack to persuade Rex Taylor to include other types of music in addition to country, and to build a movie theater as well.

Skye pursed her lips. All three factions had good points, but she was still worried. She’d seen too many get-rich-quick schemes come and go. And she didn’t want her town or its citizens to be bamboozled.