Murder of a Creped Suzette

Skye gave him the ball. “Good job on taking turns, Alvin.”

“Duncan, do you agree we should let our friend Clifford join us in our game?” Skye held up a miniature container of hand sanitizer.

“Yes, Ms. D.” Duncan reached for the bottle. “I want to take turns, too.”

“Excellent decision.” Skye checked her watch. The group was scheduled to last a half hour, and they still had ten minutes left. She handed the dice to Clifford and said, “Your friends agree it’s your turn.”

The rest of the time went well, and the boys were putting the game pieces away in the box when the same teacher’s aide who had brought the boys to the session eased the door open. “Sorry to disturb you, Ms. Denison, but Mrs. Smith needs you. Two of the older children are having a disagreement about the proposed music theater and she’s afraid it’s about to turn physical.”

“Oh, my.” Skye swiftly stood and hurried out of the room, leaving the aide to supervise the boys.

Once she had helped the special education teacher with a conflict resolution exercise, Skye picked up her counseling equipment, then headed back to her office. As she walked down the hall, she thought about the similarities between the students’ disagreement and the argument between Ginger and Theresa. It was sad that the kids had behaved better than the PTO board. The boys hadn’t hit each other, shredded any clothing, or called each other names.

Skye’s lucky streak continued, and she was able to leave school on time, which meant she had a luxurious half hour in which to pick up Toby and get over to the rectory. Skye thought she might even have a chance to talk to Simon about Suzette. If he hadn’t been able to figure out why the singer looked familiar, maybe Skye could nudge his memory.

Simon swung open the front door of his house as soon as Skye knocked, almost as if he had been waiting for her in the foyer. She cringed. Had Toby destroyed a valuable antique or misbehaved so badly that Simon couldn’t wait to get rid of him? No, that couldn’t be it. The little dog sat obediently at Simon’s feet, neither barking nor jumping.

“Hi.” Simon smiled warmly. “Do you have time to come in, or are you in a hurry?”

“Well . . .” A small voice inside her warned that being alone with Simon in his home might be misconstrued by both her ex and Wally. But it had been a month since Simon’s last over-the-top stunt in his quest to win her back, and she was hoping he’d finally realized his continued pursuit was futile. “I have a few minutes before I have to be at the church.”

“Great.” Simon stepped back so she could enter. “I want to show you a trick I taught Toby.” He led her down the hall, through the kitchen, and into a screened-in porch, gesturing for her to take a seat.

She chose a bronze wrought-iron chair with black-and-tan-plaid cushions. Simon perched on the end of a matching chaise longue.

“Look.” Simon made a motion with the flat of his hand and Toby trotted over. Another gesture and the little dog sat in front of Simon.

“How did you do that?” Skye asked, totally wowed by the performance.

“His mistress must have trained him, because as soon as I figured out the correct signals he was terrific.” Simon grinned. “Now watch this.” He pointed his finger at the dog and mimicked shooting a gun. Toby immediately fell over, all four paws pointed upward.

“Wow.” Skye beamed. “That puts a whole new twist on playing dead.”

“Yeah.” Simon reached into the pocket of his khaki pants and gave Toby a treat. “He’s extremely smart.” Simon scratched behind the dog’s pointy white ears and crooned, “Aren’t you, boy?”

“He sure seems that way when he’s with you.” Skye was pleased to see Simon so happy. It had been a rough year for him because of her engagement to Wally, as well as a friend’s betrayal. Maybe now that he wasn’t obviously trying to sweep her off her feet, they could be pals. “I’d say you two are getting along like gangbusters.”

“We are.” Simon stroked the dog’s silky fur. “He loves my fenced-in backyard.” Simon pointed through the screens. “And I really like having him around to talk to.”

Skye swallowed. She hated that she had caused Simon pain. He was a good man, and for a while she had thought she loved him. She remembered one evening together when he had brought her to his house for dinner. A trail of rose petals had greeted her at the door and led into the dining room, where the table had been set with a crisp white linen tablecloth.

Delicate china, sparkling crystal, sterling flatware, and candles in silver holders had contributed to the beautiful table setting, and a mouthwatering meal waited in the kitchen. But the gourmet food had grown ice cold before they ever got around to eating it.

Skye knew that too much had happened since then to go back, but she exhaled a long sigh of regret before refocusing on the present and asking, “Did the police drop off a picture of Suzette a day or two ago?”