Murder of a Creped Suzette

Bingo glared.

“Hey. You usually sleep with me anyway, and I lugged your litter box, not to mention your food and water bowls, up here, so what’s your problem?”

Bingo rose, hopped off the bed, and sat facing the closed bedroom door, his tail twitching.

“Fine.” She swung her legs over the side of the mattress. “But you’re staying in here until I work out what to do with Toby.”

Which reminded her—she’d better check on the dog. Thank goodness he appeared to be house-trained, but it had been seven hours since his last walk.

Skye padded barefoot down the staircase and groaned when she stepped into the foyer. Sometime during the night, Toby must have escaped the barrier she had constructed. Up and down the hall, shredded magazines and books made it look like a huge confetti balloon had burst.

In the parlor, throw pillows had been chewed and tossed around, and the air swirled with their feathery remains. But by far the worst mess was in the kitchen. Whatever had been on the counter or table was now on the floor. Canisters of flour and sugar had been knocked to the tiles and broken open. Torn tea bags were strewn everywhere, and ribbons of cloth chewed from her pale yellow place mats added a decorative touch. How in the world had a dog less than two feet tall jumped so high and done so much damage?

Following the trail of telltale paw prints, Skye found Toby asleep in the sunroom—right where she had left him the night before. Bits of what might have been her favorite candy-apple-red lace bra adorned his fur. It was obvious that Toby could not be trusted alone while she went to work.

As Skye leaned against the wall, her head spinning from the extent of the demolition, Toby opened one bright brown eye and gave her his best canine smile. Her shoulders slumped. It wasn’t his fault. Yesterday had been traumatic for him, and last night she’d left him alone too long. A bored doggie was a destructive doggie.

When she scooped him up, he yipped excitedly. “Do you need to go outside?” she asked.

He yelped again, and she carried him to the back door. Shoving her feet into a pair of neon orange Crocs, she clipped on his leash and trudged down the back steps. It crossed her mind that if she were to keep Toby, she’d have to have her backyard fenced.

Once his immediate needs were taken care of, the little dog ate his breakfast and settled down for a nap. Hoping he stayed asleep, Skye cleaned up the mess he had made, then hurried upstairs to get ready for work.

After a quick shower, Skye walked into her bedroom just as the radio alarm she’d forgotten to shut off clicked on. As she stood looking into her closet, trying to decide if she could stand to wear yet another pair of black slacks to school, she hummed along with Glen Campbell singing “Galveston.”

The announcer’s voice distracted her from her fashion dilemma. “It’s six o’clock on a beautiful fall Tuesday morning. Today’s temperature will be in the high sixties, with light breezes and sunshine. And all of you will be pleased to hear the high humidity is finally gone.”

Yes! Yes! Yes! Skye grinned. At last it was sweater weather.

As she reached for her zebra-print twinset, the DJ said, “Now for some breaking news. Early yesterday evening, the body of a woman was discovered at the old Hutton dairy farm. This property was recently purchased by Rex Taylor, a music promoter from Nashville, for a country music theater. Mr. Taylor hopes to turn our area into the Branson of Illinois.”

Skye was tempted to cover her ears and sing La la la, but she forced herself to listen to the rest of the report so she’d know exactly what information had been released to the public.

“The police have verified that the victim was found under a large piece of construction machinery, but they refused to provide any further details.” The announcer’s voice deepened. “Murder has not been ruled out.”

When the DJ switched to sports, Skye turned off the radio. Sound bites of athletes mangling the English language drove her crazy.

As she finished dressing, the phone rang. “Morning, darlin’,” Wally greeted her. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes. Much. Thank you for persuading me to leave last night.” Skye wedged the handset between her shoulder and neck and sat down at her dressing table to apply her makeup. “What time did you get home?”

“Close to midnight.”

“You must be exhausted.” Skye examined the circles under her own eyes and reached for a tube of concealer. “What kept you so long?”

“First it took the techs forever because it was an outdoor crime scene; then we had a hard time locating Rex Taylor, and when we did find him, his wife demanded that she accompany him to the barn. After watching the guy flirt with the female EMT, I can see why Mrs. Taylor insisted on coming with him.”

“Yikes.” Skye stroked taupe eye shadow on her lid. “That couldn’t have gone well.”

“Nope.” Wally’s tone was not amused. “When she saw the body, the idiot woman fainted and her husband made us get the paramedics to take care of her.”