Murder of a Bookstore Babe

Nevertheless, as Skye bit into the chocolate-covered wafer, something was bugging her. Something Hugo had said had pertained to Xavier. But what was it? Finally she stopped trying to think of it, hoping it would come to her after she had a good night’s sleep.

CHAPTER 21

All the King’s Men

Saturday afternoon, Skye arrived at Tales and Treats early for the store’s first author event. She was eager to meet a real live novelist, as well as intent on talking to Risé about her previous job. Wally had agreed that since Skye had established a rapport with the shop owner, she would be the best one to approach Risé regarding her past and to ask her if any locals had lost money when her employer went to jail.

A chat with Xenia was also on Skye’s to-do list. She didn’t believe for a minute that the girl was really working at the store to earn a salary. Xenia’s true motivation had to be something more Machiavellian.

As per Skye’s usual luck, both Risé and Xenia were busy with customers when she stepped through the door. Frustrated, she walked over to a rack of greeting cards near the register. From this location she could watch and seize whatever opportunity arose to speak to either woman.

Skye was giggling over a humorous birthday card featuring a black cat wearing a tiara when a commotion near the entrance drew her attention. Curious, she looked over her shoulder, blinked several times, then froze, unable to believe her eyes.

Oh, my gosh! What were the Dooziers doing at a book signing? They weren’t a family that generally valued the written word, nor did they attend many of Scumble River’s social occasions. So, what in the heck were they doing here? Spelling not being their long suit, had they supposed that a store with “tales” in its name sold hunting dogs? Or maybe, because beer was the ultimate delicacy, they figured that the “treats” part had to mean a bar?

Earl Doozier, the patriarch, led his brood straight through the middle of the store. Tattoos covered most of his body, and he usually wore shorts and a tank top so everyone could enjoy them. But today he had on overalls, a corduroy blazer with leather elbow patches, and a limp fedora with a chunk missing from the brim. Skye wondered whether one of his hounds, or possibly one of his offspring, had taken a bite out of it.

Following him like reluctant ducklings were his son Junior, his nephew Cletus, and his twelve-year-old daughter Bambi. All three of the kids’ sullen expressions matched that of the woman who brought up the rear.

Earl’s wife, Glenda, was clad in a denim miniskirt that showed her butt cheeks with every step she took and a red T-shirt that had been ripped open and tied back together just under her breasts. Skye thought the high-heeled purple cowboy boots were a nice touch.

Glenda’s chalk white skin and heavily made-up face caused her to look more corpselike than any cadaver Skye had ever seen in a casket. Topping off this fashion disaster was a head of poorly dyed-blond hair that had been styled into an elaborately teased tower that soared a good two feet in the air. By comparison, the six-inch feather earrings and daggerlike fuchsia fingernails seemed almost ladylike.

Skye had dealt with most of the Dooziers in the years she had been the Scumble River school psychologist. They had a family tree full of stunted twigs and thorny branches, but in a funny way, she counted them among her friends. Maybe not pals she’d go to the movies and dinner with, but allies she could count on.

With that in mind, and not wanting them to stumble into any trouble or get their feelings hurt, Skye replaced the greeting card she’d been reading in the rack, pasted a smile on her face, and sprinted over to the Dooziers. Better she find out right now why they were there, and be prepared, than wait for something to happen. Where Dooziers went, trouble usually followed.

“Hi.” Skye popped up in front of the family, halting their march to the front counter. “Everyone recovered from the big wedding?” She had attended Earl’s younger brother’s nuptials last June. It had been quite a sight. A couple dozen beer cans, a wire-hanger arch, and a cement-filled kiddie pool had transformed their backyard into a chapel. The reception had been held next to a rusted-out pickup decorated with plastic flowers and NASCAR flags.

“Miz Skye. It was the bestest ever.” Earl smiled broadly, revealing several missing teeth.

“How are Elvis and his new bride doing?”

“Those two are as happy as two flies in a spit cup. Mavis’s gonna pop out the kid any second now.”

“Great.” Skye slid a glance at Earl’s wife. They hadn’t been on the best of terms since their first meeting, when Skye had tried to offer some parenting tips to the bleached blonde. “Hello, Glenda.”