Murder of a Creped Suzette

“Did it rhyme with Suzette?” Skye asked, realizing the absurdity of the suggestion before the last word slipped from her lips.

“What boy’s name ends with ette?” The English teacher glared in contempt at Skye’s stupidity.

“Oh.” Skye ground her teeth, angry she had given Pru an opening to ridicule her. The woman had done enough of that when Skye had been in her class twenty years ago. “Right.”

“Let’s see.” Pru tsked. “I almost had it when you interrupted me.”

“Sorry.” Uh-oh. Being interrupted was one of Pru’s major pet peeves.

“I remember thinking the name was appropriate.” Pru’s pause was indisputably for effect. “The little boy was such a hellion.”

Skye held her breath, waiting for the big revelation to which Pru was building up.

After several seconds, Pru shook her head. “No.” She rubbed her temples. “I’m afraid it’s flown out of my head.”

Sheesh! What a letdown. “Well, thanks for trying.” Skye barely refrained from shaking Pru until the teacher came up with the name. “If you think of it, let me know or call Chief Boyd. The police would be grateful for your cooperation in this matter.”

“Of course.” Pru looked meaningfully at the wall clock, then glowered at Skye. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to use the few minutes left of my planning period for my own work, instead of yours.”

As Skye walked back to her office, she processed what Pru had told her. What boy’s name could be associated with the word hellion?

“Adolph?” Wally guessed. It was four thirty and they were in his Thunderbird on the way to the Up A Lazy River Motor Court to talk to Flint James. “Damian?”

“That’s a good one.” Skye had been thinking of names since she’d left Pru. “Attila?”

“Fidel?” Wally parked the Ford in an empty slot next to a red Maserati.

“I’ve got it.” Wally exited the T-bird, walked around the hood, and held out his hand to Skye. “Cain. Wasn’t he the ultimate hellion?”

“Yes. I’d have to say killing your brother qualifies you for that title.” Skye marched up the sidewalk to cabin number two and knocked, paused, then knocked again when there was no response. “That’s odd. He should be here. When I called Uncle Charlie just before we drove over here, he said that Flint James was in his room. He’d pulled in a few minutes before I phoned.”

Wally moved Skye out of the way, stepped closer, and pounded on the door.

This time they heard a muffled voice yell, “Be right there!”

While they waited, Skye spotted the bass player from Flint’s backup band peering out his cottage’s window. She waved and he let the curtain drop. Turing to Wally, she said, “Speaking of Cain, do you think Suzette’s brother might have killed her? After all, the media has been all over this murder and he hasn’t come forward. Maybe that’s why.”

Before he could respond, the door was flung open and Flint James in all his nearly naked glory stood on the other side of the threshold.

Skye swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. The small bath towel that Flint wore wrapped low on his hips didn’t leave much to the imagination. She caught herself hoping for a strong gust of wind.

“Sorry.” The singer grinned and hitched the terry cloth rectangle a little higher. “I wasn’t expecting company. Rex had me on the dog and pony show circuit all day and I needed to wash off the sleaze.”

“No problem, partner.” Wally got his Texas on and he slung his arm around Skye. “We were on our way to dinner, but I saw your car and thought this might be a good time to clear up a few things.”

Skye hid a smile. So that’s why Wally was dressed in jeans and cowboy boots and they were using his private car. He had said they would try to keep this laid-back to throw the suspects off, but she hadn’t realized they were going in disguise.

“If you don’t mind, could we come in and talk for a minute?” Wally asked.

“Sure.” Flint stepped back. “Make yourself to home.” He headed toward the bathroom. “Let me throw on some clothes.”

While the star was dressing, Skye whispered to Wally, “I take it my role in this little performance is as the dumb girlfriend.”

“Not necessarily dumb.” Wally leaned his backside against the desk. “Just not as smart as you really are, at least at first.”

“Gotcha.” Skye sat on the only available chair and studied the room. It contained a double bed, a dresser with a TV on top, and two nightstands. She noted that Flint’s belongings were all neatly arranged.

A few seconds later Flint returned, toweling his hair. “What can I do you for?”

Wally asked routine questions about the singer’s activities on Monday afternoon, where he’d been at the time of the murder, and what his relationship with Suzette had been like.

Flint’s answers were exactly the same as in his first interview. He’d been alone in his room from two until five, and he and Suzette were friendly colleagues.

Finally Flint said, “Man, I answered all these questions before. If you don’t have anything new, I need to get ready for an evening gig and I’d like to rest for a couple of hours before then.”