Murder of a Creped Suzette

Wally took a head shot out of the folder he had in front of him and passed it to Jess. “This is Suzette.”

“Suzie!” Jess stared at the image, his face ashen. “I kept telling my adoptive parents that I dreamed of having a sister named Suzie, but they told me I was an only child.”

“If Suzette was indeed your sister, you were twins,” Skye explained. “She was raised by an elderly aunt after her mother died in an accident and her father joined the military.” Skye mused, “I’m presuming she was told she was an only child as well.”

“But why would my adoptive parents lie to me and Suzette’s aunt lie to her?” Jess was so upset he was nearly crying.

“They probably thought a clean break would be easier for everyone concerned,” Skye soothed. “My guess is the aunt could handle only one child, and you were too energetic for her, so you were the one put up for adoption.”

“I was nearly kicked out of kindergarten for my behavior.” Jess gave a ragged laugh. “That’s when my mom decided to call me Jess instead of Jesse. The psychologist suggested I might be trying to live up to the Jesse James image.”

Ah, Skye thought to herself. That’s what Pru was trying to remember. Jesse James was an outlaw—or hellion, as Pru had so quaintly put it. Aloud, Skye asked, “When’s your birthday?”

“September first, 1974.”

“That means that even if we eventually searched the birth records in all fifty states, we would have never found your birth certificate.” Wally tapped his chin with his index finger. “Suzette’s DOB was August thirty-first, 1974. You must have been born shortly after midnight.”

“That’s right—at twelve oh two a.m. So I did have a sister.” Jess’s tone was bitter. “All those years that we could have known each other were stolen from us, and now it’s too late.”

“The only way to be certain that you were Suzette’s twin is to compare your DNA to hers,” Wally cautioned.

“Sure,” Jess agreed. He slumped in his chair. “Whatever you need.”

After Jess left to get his cheek swabbed, Skye and Wally went upstairs to his office. Once they were behind closed doors, Wally said, “You agree he had no idea that Suzette was his sister?”

“Absolutely.” Skye pursed her lips. “Unless he’s a sociopath—and I’ve never seen any indication of that—then he was telling the complete truth.”

“That’s my feeling, too.”

“My only question is, how did he end up in Scumble River?” Skye furrowed her brow. “How did he end up with an adoptive mom who was related to someone in town? How did he and Suzette end up back here together ?”

“Maybe”—Wally crossed his arms—“Quentin Neal was friendly with Fayanne when he lived here. And after his wife died, he confided in her when he decided to put the twins up for adoption. Fayanne might then have put him in touch with her cousin, who she knew wanted children but couldn’t have them.”

“That could be it.” Skye nodded. “Come to think of it, I have one more question.” Skye looked sideways at Wally.

“What?”

“Are you upset with me for going to the Brown Bag with Simon?”

“Are you kidding?” Wally hesitated, obviously searching for the right words. “All I ask is that you tell me what you’re doing and why. Which you did. The only time I’d get mad is if you try to hide anything from me.”

“Thank you.” Skye wiped imaginary sweat from her brow. “That’s a relief.”

“Besides, you two found an answer to one of the bigger mysteries surrounding Suzette.”

“We did, didn’t we?” Skye grinned. “Still, I’m relieved you’re okay with what I did.”

Wally was showing Skye how okay he was when the intercom buzzed. He gave her one last lingering kiss, then pushed the button. “Yes?”

“It’s the Dooziers, Chief.” The dispatcher’s voice was resigned. “You better get over there right away. You won’t believe what they’re up to this time.”

CHAPTER 23

“Crazy”

When the dispatcher reported that the Dooziers had opened fire on their neighbors, Skye volunteered to accompany Wally to the scene of the crime. After five years of working at school with the endless supply of Doozier offspring, she had a friendly relationship with the eccentric family—unlike the other law enforcement employees in Scumble River and Stanley County.

Because of that rapport, she was hoping to act as a goodwill ambassador between the cops and the crackpots. But with the Dooziers, a breed unto themselves, there were no guarantees.

They lived by their wits, which should not be mistaken for smarts, and by their own set of rules, which should not be mistaken for what society calls laws. The latter was generally what got them into hot water. The former was generally how they got out without being scalded.