Murder of a Creped Suzette

“Oh. Thank you.” Suzette’s cheeks turned a pretty pink. “I forgot that people might recognize me now.”

“Did you run out of gas or break down?” Skye asked, looking around. There was no sign of any vehicle in the driveway. There weren’t any other buildings along this section of Brook Lane, a barely paved, narrow, twisting farm road. The only explanation Skye could think of for Suzette’s presence on her front porch was a combination of car trouble and a dead cell phone.

“No.” Suzette nibbled on a ragged cuticle. “Actually, I jogged out here.”

“Oh.” Skye wrinkled her brow. “Are you staying in the RV at the park? That has to be at least five miles from here.”

“No.” Suzette shook her head. “Most of us are at the motor court. Only Rex and Mrs. Taylor are using the RV.”

“I see.” Suzette’s answer solved the how of her arrival, but not the why. “So you ran out here for exercise?” When Suzette didn’t answer, Skye added, “I try to swim three or four times a week, but I don’t always make time. You must be pretty dedicated to jog after a demanding performance.”

“Can we go inside?” Suzette twisted her head, as if checking for spies. “We’re pretty exposed out here and I really don’t want anyone to know I’m talking to you.”

Exposed? Skye blinked. It was after ten at night and the only hot-blooded creature that might see them had four legs and fur. What was Suzette up to?

“Please.” The singer’s voice cracked.

Skye mentally shrugged. Letting a stranger into her home wasn’t a good idea, but Suzette was, at most, five feet tall and a hundred pounds. Skye topped the young woman by seven inches and more pounds than she cared to admit. Surely she could take Suzette down if she had to.

“Of course.” Skye stepped back and allowed Suzette to precede her.

“Thanks.” Suzette darted over the threshold into the foyer, the rubber soles of her shoes thumping on the hardwood floor. “I’m sorry it’s so late, but it’s hard to go anywhere without everyone knowing about it.”

“That’s fine.” Skye followed her, flipping on the light before closing the door. She wondered how Suzette had slipped away earlier that day, and why she felt the need for secrecy. “I imagine when you’re touring and living in close quarters, privacy is at a premium.”

“Yes.” Suzette grimaced. “I had some important personal business in Joliet today, and because I had to sneak away, I was late getting back for the concert. If Mrs. Taylor didn’t watch me like a hawk, I could have gone earlier and been back in plenty of time.”

“Why does Mrs. Taylor monitor your movements?” Skye pointed down the hall with its recently painted mocha walls and past the freshly varnished curving staircase. “Let’s sit in the kitchen.”

“Mrs. T doesn’t like me. I’ve always been nice to her”—Suzette’s brown eyes were shiny with tears that she quickly blinked away—“but she keeps trying to convince Rex to get rid of me.”

“Hmm.” Skye could think of several motives for Kallista Taylor’s animosity. “Maybe she’s jealous of you. After all, you’re a little younger, a little thinner, and a little more beautiful than she is.”

“Rex flirts with all the gals.” Suzette shrugged off Skye’s compliments, but she bit her lip and looked away. “I’ve never given him any encouragement and Mrs. T knows it.”

“Is she a singer, too?” Skye noticed Suzette’s discomfort at the mention of Rex’s attentions and offered the young woman another motive for Kallista’s behavior. “Maybe she’s envious of your talent.”

“Mrs. Taylor used to sing, but something happened to her vocal cords.” Suzette knelt on the newly tiled floor and called, “Here, kitty, kitty.”

Bingo, Skye’s black cat, sat next to his empty dish and stared. Clearly he wasn’t budging until he’d been fed. When Skye didn’t immediately pop open a can of Fancy Feast, he nudged the bowl in her direction.

“Eat your dry food.” Skye shook her finger at the feline. “You know the vet said only one container of the mushy stuff per day.”

“Mew.”

Skye ignored Bingo’s attempt to sound like he was starving and asked Suzette, “Can I get you something to drink? How about some of my mom’s famous chocolate chip cookies?” The twenty-pound cat was in no danger of fainting from hunger or expiring from malnourishment, but the tiny singer looked like she might be.

“Coffee would be great.” Suzette perched on a kitchen chair, her feet not quite reaching the floor. “I can’t have anything to eat, though. I wish I could, but I can’t afford to gain a pound or my costumes won’t fit and Rex will call me a fat cow.”

Skye bit her tongue. A cow? Except for her boobs, which had to have been surgically enhanced, Suzette was the size of a ten-year-old.

“I imagine you and Mr. James will be leaving Scumble River tomorrow.” Skye pasted on her best hostess smile. “Where’s your next engagement?”

“Nowhere for a while.” Suzette gaze flicked around the kitchen, resting briefly on the granite counters, then the stainless-steel fridge, and finally the cherry cupboards. “This is real nice.”