Murder of a Creped Suzette

Trixie hadn’t been pleased with her husband’s purchase, but the farmer’s daughter in Skye had been sympathetic. It was only a couple of weeks into the harvest, and already everyone knew that this year’s searing drought would cause yields to be at least twenty percent below average. Farming had such a thin profit margin, Owen probably felt the need to try something drastic to get into the black.

“I have no idea where Owen is.” Trixie took a gulp of her drink. “And those stupid animals are fine. They live better than I do.”

“He isn’t at home?” Skye raised a brow. Except for business, Owen rarely set foot off his acreage. And she doubted he was buying seed at seven o’clock on a Saturday night.

“No. He left around two thirty.” Trixie wrinkled her forehead. “He told me he had to talk to some guy, but he never answered me when I asked who. I assumed he’d be back by five for supper, but he didn’t show up.”

“Is that unusual?”

“Very.” Trixie bobbed her head. “He never misses dinner.”

“Hmm.” Skye wasn’t sure what to say. “That is strange. Maybe he had trouble with his pickup. You said the engine’s been cutting out.”

“If he had a cell phone like everyone else in the known universe, I could have called him.” She grimaced. “Now I don’t know if he’s dead, drunk, or joined the Foreign Legion.”

“Does he usually let you know where he’s going and when he’ll be home?” Skye wasn’t sure if Trixie was worried or angry or both.

“Most of the time.” Trixie tore a paper napkin in to shreds, not meeting Skye’s eyes. “But we’ve been fighting, and he might be mad at me.”

“I could ask Wally if there’ve been any accidents in the area,” Skye offered, not asking the reason for the couple’s quarrel.

“Maybe later.” Trixie pushed out her bottom lip. “I left Owen a note. If he doesn’t show up or phone before the end of the concert, we can involve Wally.”

“Okay.” Skye hugged her friend, and as she sat back she remembered attempting to reach Trixie earlier. “You know, when you were late, I tried your cell and it went straight to voice mail. Have you checked it lately? Maybe Owen tried calling, couldn’t reach you, and left a message like I did.”

“Shoot!” Trixie dug her phone from her purse and flipped it open. “I turned it off when I was at the library and forgot to switch it back on.” She pressed a button, then scrolled through the in-box.

“Anything?” Skye asked.

“Just you.” Trixie sagged against the tree trunk. “Nothing from Owen.”

“Darn.”

“Never mind.” Trixie pasted a smile on her face and handed Skye a bag of chips. “Let’s enjoy the music and worry about my missing husband later.”

Suzette had a good voice. Skye wasn’t sure if it was a great voice or if the girl had star quality, but Suzette was pretty and the crowd was well lubricated, so when she finished, the audience hooted, whistled, and applauded enthusiastically.

While Flint James was being introduced and taking his place, Trixie said to Skye, “So, you never did tell me where you were when I got here.”

Skye explained about her pressing bathroom mission and the scene she had witnessed, then added, “I haven’t heard anything about a country music theater going up in Scumble River. Have you?”

Trixie drained her cup and stood. “One of the kids mentioned that his father’s construction company had been hired to work at the old Hutton dairy farm, renovating the barn and outbuildings.”

“The property near the I-55 exit?”

“I think so.” Trixie wrinkled her forehead. “I’m surprised there haven’t had to be town meetings about zoning issues and other stuff regarding the theater.”

“I’m not.” Skye crossed her arms. “If this Rex guy approached Dante with a plan to bring tourist dollars into town, and the mayor liked what he heard, Dante would call a closed meeting of the town council and get whatever approvals he needed that way.”

“Yeah. The whole council is full of good ol’ boys your uncle can control.” Trixie pointed to Skye’s cup. “Want another one?”

Skye shook her head. “I’m good.” There had been enough rum in her first drink to last her all evening. Besides, alcohol made the heat feel worse.

While Skye watched Trixie join the line at the bar, Flint began his first song. His sexy baritone sent a shiver up her spine. He sang about shooting to the top, falling to the bottom, and starting all over again. A journey to which Skye could relate.

She was lost in the music when someone touched her shoulder. She swallowed a startled yelp and looked up. Owen had arrived.

“Hey.” He smoothed his straight black hair off his forehead.

“Hi.” Skye noted that his hair was wet. He must have come straight from a shower.

“Trixie around?”

“Yep.” Skye jerked her chin toward the bar. “She’s getting a drink.”

“Okay.” Owen fingered his silver belt buckle. “Thanks.”