Murder of a Creped Suzette

“It’s Skye, Earl.” Skye took a step closer but then quickly moved downwind. The excessive use of cologne could delay the need to bathe for only so many days, and Earl was way overdue. “Chief Boyd and I are here to talk to you about some complaints from your neighbors.”

Earl finally tore off the bandanna and scowled. “You sceered me half to death, Miz Skye.” A confused look stole over his face. “Hey, what happens if you gets sceered half to death twice?”

Having no good answer, Skye ignored his question and settled for apologizing. “Sorry for startling you, Earl.”

“That’s okay, Miz Skye.” His wide smile revealed several stumps and missing teeth. “What’re you doin’ here? I heared yew and yer intended were hot on the trail of a murderer.” He loped toward her.

“We are, but one of your neighbors called the police station and said you were shooting at them, so we came to check it out.” Skye allowed herself to be hugged, trying not to make contact with any of his many tattoos. Tattoos usually felt smooth, but Earl’s were as odd as he was and they radiated a heat that Skye figured explained his penchant for going shirtless even in the coldest weather.

“They’s lyin’.” Earl let Skye go and scratched the bowling ball–size potbelly that hung over his waistband. “Ain’t nobody shootin’ at ’em. We was jes’ settin’ up our new Paintball Advenchore bizness. You know, gettin’ ready for the zillions of payin’ customers that that Country Roads guy promised to bring in.”

“Rex Taylor talked to you?” Skye was surprised that the entrepreneur had enlisted the Dooziers in his schemes. “When was that?”

“I cain’t rightly say.” He tugged at his greasy brown ponytail. “A couple or three days afore that free concert he put on.” The sunshine highlighted the cereal bowl–size bald spot on Earl’s head. “He invited the whole part and parcel of us along the river here to a shindig at the country club. He tol’ us that iffen we come up with stuff for the tourists to do or somethin’ for them to buy, we’d all get rich.”

Skye turned to Wally, who had joined her, but before she could speak she spotted an elderly woman wearing a flowered neon green muumuu and red high-top sneakers teetering across the dead grass toward them. She looked old enough to have had dinosaurs for pets and meaner than a soccer mom whose son didn’t make the team.

The infamous MeMa was on the prowl. She was the clan matriarch and Earl’s grandmother, or maybe great-grandmother; Skye had never quite untangled the Dooziers’ twisted family tree.

MeMa walked up to Skye, squinted, and said in a thin quaver, “I heared you were nosin’ around askin’ questions about the Neals.”

“Yes.” Skye paused to consider the best way to respond. Mentioning her connection with the police would be a mistake. “I’m trying to help find out who murdered that poor girl.”

“Ain’t nobody cared who killed her ma.” MeMa glared at Skye. “And she was a mighty fine lady.” The old woman’s tone was defiant. “I cleaned for her once a week back then and she always treated me real nice. Made me a hot lunch. She even poured the beer into a glass.”

“Paulette’s death was an accident,” Skye said cautiously. “Wasn’t it?”

“Maybe, maybe not.” MeMa shrugged. “But consid-erin’ her husband was playin’ around on her, I sure wouldn’a taken his word for what happened.”

“Do you know who his lover was?”

“Yeah.” MeMa’s smile was like a bear trap, her faded brown eyes disappearing into the wrinkles around them. “Theys thought they was so la-di-da smart, but I seed them a-kissin’ and a-huggin’ in her fancy car.”

Skye’s heart was pounding. “Who was it?”

“You sure you want to know?” A crafty expression stole over MeMa’s face.

“Yes.” What did the old woman mean by that? Skye hoped the can of worms she was about to open wouldn’t be too slimy.

“Your aunt.” MeMa turned and tottered back toward the house.

“Which one?” Skye called after her.

“The mayor’s wife.” The screen door slammed shut behind MeMa, cutting off anything else she might have added.

Holy smokes! Skye was stunned. Did Uncle Dante know that Aunt Olive had had an affair with Quentin Neal? More importantly, had Olive been involved in his wife’s death? And if she had, was she also involved in Suzette’s?

Wally, who had been silent, stepped forward, allowing Skye time to recover from MeMa’s shocking news. “Earl, you said that Rex Taylor encouraged you to start a paintball attraction?”

“Not eggsacly.” Earl reached into a cooler, fished out a dripping can of beer, and popped the top. “Axtually, we was gonna do another pettin’ zoo, like the one we done for the Route 66 Hundred Mile Yard Sale, but instead of a lion, this time we were gonna get more tamish kindsa animals.” Earl chugged some beer, then continued. “So we goed to the llama and emu ranch over near Kankakee. But we seed Owen Frayne workin’ there and we figured he already took that idea.”