Murder of a Creped Suzette

Evidently, as Father Burns had said in one of his sermons, even though there are no new sins, the old ones are getting a lot more publicity than in the past. They’d been fairly lucky that previous deaths involving somewhat well-known individuals hadn’t attracted as much notice. In those cases, either the celebrities had been too minor for reporters to bother, or word of the murder hadn’t spread until after the case was solved. Up until now, the over-the-hill supermodel’s murder had been the worst, with reporters stealing trash from the crime scene, but this all-out blitz went way beyond that coverage.

While Suzette was far from a household name, it was clear that the manner of her death or the fame of the others involved—or both—had chummed the water, and a feeding frenzy was in progress.

A door on one of the vans was flung open, catching Skye’s attention. She turned in time to see a tall, skinny young man with a massive camera perched on his shoulder bolt out of the vehicle, followed by an overly made-up young woman clutching a microphone.

Holy crap! They were coming straight at her. Skye revved the Bel Air’s engine and slammed the gas pedal to the floor. Bitter experience had taught her that any contact with reporters was to be avoided at all costs.

Her tires squealing, she sped out of the lot, then tore down Maryland, hanging a right on Kinsman. Once she was out of view, Skye slowed and turned into the driveway of Holy Redeemer, a recently defunct nondenominational house of worship. After parking as far from the church as possible, she exited the Chevy.

With Toby on his leash, she started across the grassy strip separating the PD and the church’s parking lot. This time she not only had to smuggle a dog into a building; she had to sneak herself in as well.

As she walked, she dug through her tote looking for the key to the police garage’s back entrance. Thank goodness Wally had given her one after a recent mix-up. Of course, the little piece of metal was at the very bottom of her bag, hidden by a gum wrapper, an expired cat food coupon, and a crumpled tissue.

When Skye neared the steel door, Toby stiffened and started barking. At first she thought he had caught the scent of a squirrel or a rabbit, but as she scanned the area, she noticed a journalist lurking near the corner of the building. Duh! Of course, someone would cover the rear of the station.

She tightened her hold on Toby’s lead and asked him loudly, “What’s there, boy?”

The little dog growled.

“Is it a nasty reporter?” Skye stuck the key in the lock and turned it.

The growling increased.

“If anyone tries to push his way inside with us,” Skye said, scooping up Toby, “bite him.”

She darted over the threshold and slammed the heavy door behind her. Looking around, she noted that both squad cars and the chief’s cruiser—Scumble River PD’s entire transportation fleet—were parked in the garage. No one was out patrolling.

Skye threaded her way among the vehicles and into the station’s rear entrance, which led to a short passageway. To her right she could hear loud voices coming from the reception area. She wasn’t sure who she felt sorrier for—her mother, who was the dispatcher on duty, or the journalists trying to get past May.

The cubicles that lined the hallway, usually empty, were filled today with officers on the phone or the computer, or both. From the snatches of conversation she overheard, half of the officers were looking for background information on Suzette, while the others were handling calls from the media.

As soon as those in the latter group hung up, the telephone would ring. They’d pick up the receiver, listen for a moment, and repeat, “We have no more information at this time.”

Shuddering, Skye was glad she hadn’t been assigned to that duty. She and Toby hurried to the back of the building and trotted up the steps. They paused at the top as she glanced uneasily through the archway. She was half afraid the mayor would pop out at her like a malevolent jack-in-the-box, so when she saw that Dante’s office door was closed, she took a relieved breath. She felt even better when she saw that there wasn’t any light coming from underneath his door.

Her uncle must have left for the day or was downstairs talking to the media. Either way, Skye was glad she wouldn’t have to deal with him. Since she’d been the one to discover the body, she was sure the mayor would find a way to blame her for any bad publicity Scumble River received.

Skye’s heart turned over when she saw Wally behind his desk. He exuded a masculine magnetism that reached out to something inside her. As she got closer and saw the lines of exhaustion etched around his eyes and mouth, her chest tightened. While she had been home resting last night, he’d had to stay at the grisly crime scene, dealing with everyone involved and all that went into an investigation of this magnitude.