Murder of a Creped Suzette

Skye looked around. There was no sign of a note. Son of a gun! She’d been stood up. It was just plain rude to arrange to meet someone from whom you were asking a favor, then not honor the appointment. Maybe she wouldn’t help Suzette investigate her mother’s death after all.

Frustrated, Skye headed back to her car. She was about to slide into the driver’s seat when the little white dog reappeared in front of the Bel Air’s hood. Skye slowly stood back up and moved toward him, but he scurried toward the barn. He stopped halfway and barked, then ran on, stopping every few steps to stare at her.

Skye had seen enough reruns of Lassie on Nick at Nite to know that Toby wanted her to follow him. But why? She doubted Timmy was trapped in a well, and she sure hoped Toby didn’t want to show off a snake or a possum he had killed. Skye’d had her fill of Bingo’s mouse carcass trophies.

She trailed Toby, calling out,“Yoo hoo, anyone around?”

The dog kept ahead of her, never letting her get within grabbing range. He paused in front of the barn, but as Skye caught up, he shot off. Did Toby want her to go inside? It sure would be easier if dogs could talk.

The barn door was closed, but not locked. When Skye entered, she saw they hadn’t started work on the interior yet. She walked through the cavernous space, but saw nothing that would make Toby behave as he had.

The flight of stairs to the hayloft was steep, and Skye was not thrilled at the prospect of climbing them. She kicked off her heels and yelled, “Is anyone up there?”

No answer. She ascended the wooden steps, wincing as they creaked. If she fell and broke her neck because of a dog, her mother would kill her. May hated all animals, especially pets.

Reaching the top, Skye couldn’t see anything at first because the loft was so dark. But as her eyes adjusted it was clear that there was nothing there but a century’s worth of dust and a few wisps of hay.

Skye’s sense of unease grew. Whatever Toby wanted to show her wasn’t here. When she exited the barn, the dog was pacing outside the door. Spotting her, he woofed and trotted away.

This time he kept Skye in sight, never getting more than a few feet in front of her. He led her around the back of the building to where the parking lot was being installed. Heavy earth-moving equipment was parked haphazardly across the vast dirt and gravel square.

Once Skye caught up with Toby, he ran to a steamroller and sat beside it, whimpering. Peeking out from under the massive roller was a pair of pink cowboy boots.

A shiver ran down Skye’s spine. She hesitated a long moment, praying she wasn’t seeing what she thought she was seeing, then ran over to the machine. In her head she knew that whoever was wearing those boots was dead, but she crouched down anyway and tried to reach an ankle to check for a pulse.

The flesh felt cold and hard, and when Skye withdrew her hand, it was covered with blood.

CHAPTER 8

“I Fall to Pieces”

Skye fought to stay calm, chanting silently, I’ve discovered bodies before. There’s no need to panic. She sank to the ground while a voice inside her head whispered, But this is so much worse than anything you’ve seen before. Her stomach churned and she tasted bile.

Stop it, Skye commanded herself. You are a psychologist and a consultant for the police. You’ve been trained to remain detached, to distance yourself. You can do this. She swallowed hard.

You need to walk over to your car and get the cell phone from your purse. She closed her eyes and tried to disconnect her emotions.

Before she could force herself to her feet and do what she knew she had to do, Toby crawled over and pressed his little body to her side. She scratched behind his ears as she tried to process the situation, but her psyche refused to cooperate.

Skye lost track of time as she knelt in the mud, mindlessly petting the little dog until the rain and the wind finally penetrated the fog that had fallen over her. She got to her feet, clutching Toby to her chest. He laid his head on her shoulder and sighed.

Still in a near trance, Skye walked to the Bel Air, found her phone, and dialed Wally’s private line. It rang four times, then went to voice mail. She got the same response from his cell.

Skye wrinkled her brow, then exhaled noisily and dialed 911. Her mother was the dispatcher on duty and she steeled herself for May’s reaction.

“Scumble River police, fire, and emergency,” May answered on the first ring. “How can I help you?”