Murder of a Creped Suzette

“I was looking for the phone—you know, back then there were no cells, and most people only had one telephone in the whole house.” Olive shook her head. “But Quentin walked in the door before I found it, saw what had happened, and ordered me to leave.”

“So he took over?” Skye asked.

“Yes.” Olive put her hands over her face. “Up until then, I had no idea the twins were in the house, but he told me they were there and he’d handle everything.”

“Was Paulette alive when you left?”

“No.” Olive shook her head. “Quentin checked and said she didn’t have a pulse. He said he’d clean up the blood and put her in the bathroom so it would look as if she’d slipped in the tub.”

While Wally asked several additional questions, Skye considered what her aunt had told her and whether she believed Olive’s story. Olive had had no warning that Skye and Wally would be confronting her, and once she’d admitted to the affair, she had given her account of Paulette’s death with no hesitation.

Yes. Skye nodded to herself. She did believe her aunt. Olive had never been a good liar, and Skye was sure she would have been able to tell if her aunt hadn’t been telling the truth. What a relief that Paulette’s death was truly an accident—but what a waste of a life.

“Quentin blamed himself, you know.” Olive’s voice broke into Skye’s musings. She sounded as if she were saying aloud something she’d thought about for years. “He wasn’t the same man after that. And then, one day, he and the children were just gone.”

“One more question, Olive,” Wally said. “Did Suzette Neal contact you when she came to town?”

“No.” Olive looked surprised. “I didn’t put together who she was until after her death. Quentin always called her Suzie, and Neal is a fairly common name.”

“But you were the one who stole the contents of the police file on Paulette Neal’s accident, weren’t you?” Wally raised a brow.

Olive looked Wally in the eye. “Yes. I overheard you talking to Dante on his cell phone. You said you were going to look for it that afternoon. I was afraid something in it might connect me to Quentin, so I borrowed Dante’s key to the storage facility and took it. Do you want it back?”

“Yes.”

Olive pushed away from the table, rose, and crossed over to a cupboard. She took out a box of spaghetti, opened the flap, and pulled out the rolled-up pages. “Here.”

Wally got to his feet. “Okay.” He, Skye, and Olive moved to the foyer. “We won’t mention any of this to Dante unless it turns out to have something to do with Suzette’s murder.”

Olive blew out a breath. “Thank you.”

Once they were in the car, Skye said to Wally, “I believe Olive. How about you?”

“I believe her, too. Your aunt didn’t kill Suzette, and Paulette’s death was accidental.”

As Wally flipped through the pages of the police report, Skye put the Bel Air in reverse and drove away.

Several minutes passed while Wally read. Finally he said, “As I predicted, the accident report is short—only three pages—and contains minimal information about the incident. Nothing we didn’t already know.” He replaced the paper clip and threw the pages in the backseat. “We’re back to square one.”

CHAPTER 25

“Stand by Your Man”

Since Skye had persuaded the superintendant to let her skip the district’s Teacher Institute meetings, she had Monday off. Few if any of the institute’s programs would have any relevance for her, and in exchange she would attend the Illinois School Psychologists Association’s conference in January, where she could earn the continuing-education credits she needed to renew her certificate.

Celebrating having the day to herself, Skye slept until ten; then, after feeding Bingo—Toby was still with Simon—she decided to treat herself to an early lunch and a good book.

As Skye drove toward McDonald’s, traffic was heavier than usual on Water Street. With the kids out of school, Scumble River’s main drag was bustling. While she was stopped to wait for a gaggle of pedestrians to cross the street—including all five members of Flint James’s backup band—she scanned the parking spaces along the road. Ever since Suzette’s murder, she’d been looking for the black truck she’d seen the singer getting out of at the park.

Nothing on the left side. On the right, red Jeep, green Jag, and blue Avalanche by the dry cleaner. Black pickup in front of Stybr’s Florist. Yel—

Skye’s gaze swung back to the truck. Now that she saw it, she remembered the unusual tow-hitch cover and the metallic bumper sticker. That was the pickup Suzette had gotten out of Saturday night before the concert ! Holy moly! How could she have forgotten those details? If she hadn’t been an idiot, Owen would have never been a suspect.

Abruptly, Skye spun the Bel Air’s steering wheel to the right and pulled in behind the truck. Since the florist was bracketed by empty buildings, the driver was probably in the flower shop. Jumping out of her car, she ran across the sidewalk and pushed open the door.