Murder of a Creped Suzette

“Right. And what did that get me last time? A blown knee and a ruined career.” Flint shook his head. “Now I’m looking out for number one.”

“With that attitude, I don’t know how you fool all your fans into thinking you’re such a nice guy.”

“Really?” Flint let out a scornful huff. “You’re the one who taught me that sincerity is everything, and once you can fake that, you’ve got it made.”

Rex ignored Flint’s jab. “You seem to be forgetting that you’re my creation.” Rex snapped off each word as if they were bites of peanut brittle. “Without me you’d still be singing at a honky-tonk, living in your truck, and depending on the tips from a pickled-egg jar to eat.”

“Don’t give me that crap. We both know you didn’t do me any favors.” Flint spat out the words contemptuously. “If I hadn’t been a damn good singer and songwriter, you wouldn’t have raised a finger to help me.”

“There’s more to success in this business than talent,” Rex retaliated, his voice rising.

“Bullshit!” Flint leaned down until he was nose to nose with the smaller man. “Now find that little whore and get her out onstage before I really get mad.” He grasped Rex’s lapels and lifted him off his feet. “I’m not letting you or her ruin my career.”

Yikes! Skye whipped out her cell phone. It was time to call the cops.

CHAPTER 2

“Seven-Year Ache”

Before Skye had finished dialing Wally’s number, a dusty black pickup pulled perpendicular to the Airstream. She craned her neck around the doorway and watched a young woman dressed in a ruffled denim miniskirt, a pink stretch-lace, off-the-shoulder top, and pink cowboy boots bolt out of the truck before it had completely stopped moving.

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.