Murder of a Creped Suzette

Mmm. Skye sighed contentedly and snuggled between the smooth cotton sheets. Struggling not to wake up, she kept her eyes closed and reveled in the touch of Wally’s strong fingers on her body. She felt a twinge of disappointment when his hands withdrew, then shivered when she felt the warmth of his breath on her ear.

Wally’s lips brushed hers, a teasing promise that finally forced Skye fully awake. His brown eyes sizzled with heat that burned through her core, and she moaned. Immediately his mouth covered hers and he pulled her hard against him.

After they made love, they fell back asleep, and the next thing Skye knew, sunlight was pouring through the gap in the drapes. She checked the clock on the nightstand. Crap! It was ten after seven. She had exactly twenty minutes to get dressed, drive to school, and sign in before she was officially late.

She nudged Wally awake, leaped from the bed, and sprinted into the bathroom, shouting over her shoulder, “I thought you said you set the alarm.”

Her shriek as she stepped into the cold shower drowned out his reply. Five minutes later, when she rushed back into the bedroom, Wally had disappeared. Grateful that she now kept some clothes at Wally’s house, she pulled on an aqua blouse and a black twill pantsuit, then shoved her feet into black loafers. With a quick glance in the mirror, she twisted her damp hair into a knot on the top of her head. There was no time to do her face or have breakfast, and the enticing aroma of brewing coffee nearly made her whimper with frustration.

Dashing through the kitchen, Skye thrust her hand into her tote bag, searching for her keys. Thank goodness they had picked up her car and parked it at Wally’s house after returning from Oak Brook.

Wally tried to hand her a commuter cup as she ran by, but she was moving too fast to grab it. He called after her, “Sorry about the alarm. Maybe I turned it off in my sleep.”

“Whatever,” Skye muttered. She had other things to worry about right now. Like the three principals evaluating her performance. And at the moment, she couldn’t remember if she was supposed to be at the grade school or high school first. Luckily the two buildings were close.

While she drove in their general direction, she flipped through her calendar and discovered she was due at the elementary. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw her first appointment wasn’t until eight.

Skye squealed into the parking lot at seven twenty-seven, took the first available spot, bolted out of the Chevy, and jogged to the entrance. Using her key, she let herself in and made a beeline for the office. As she signed the attendance book, she checked the clock. Seven thirty on the dot.

Phew! That was close. Caroline Greer was the nicest of the three principals Skye worked for, but she would definitely be upset if there was a problem she needed the school psychologist for and Skye wasn’t available.

Though Caroline was the nicest principal, she had provided the worst office space for Skye. It had started out as a storage room for the dairy refrigerator and other cafeteria supplies, and still smelled like sour milk.

After unlocking the door, Skye squeezed past the pair of folding chairs occupying two-thirds of the floor space, edged behind her desk, and settled into her seat. She rummaged in her tote bag until she found her makeup case, then hastily applied a dusting of bronzer, a couple coats of mascara, and pale peach lip gloss.

Checking her watch, she saw she didn’t have time to get a cup of coffee before her consultation with the PE teacher, so she tucked her purse into the drawer and pulled out the teacher’s file. Skye’s body cried out for caffeine. She sighed. The day hadn’t even started and she already felt stressed. Which was exactly why she hated running late.

Considering that the gym teacher didn’t like Skye, and didn’t agree with the educational philosophy she was urging him to follow, the discussion went well. They were just finishing up when there was a knock on the door.

Skye frowned but called out, “Yes?” She had the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the knob—not that it ever stopped anyone from interrupting her.

Fern Otte, the school secretary, poked her head inside. The tiny wrenlike woman’s feathers were visibly ruffled and she twittered, “Ms. Denison, Mrs. Greer needs you at the PTO meeting immediately.”

“Okay.” Skye rose from her seat, said good-bye to the PE teacher, and asked Fern where the meeting was being held.

Passing a row of windows on her way to the gymnasium, Skye glanced outside. The sun was already beating off the asphalt. More unusually high temperatures were predicted for that afternoon along with a thunderstorm, and she was thankful she was scheduled to spend the afternoon in the air-conditioned high school.

Skye heard two arguing female voices as she eased inside. She surveyed the assemblage. A dozen or so women in their late twenties and early thirties sat around a couple of long tables ina T formation. Several of them gave the impression they were about to make a run for freedom.

At the center of the T, two women stood toe-to-toe yelling at each another. The tiny blonde was Skye’s cousin Ginger Leofanti, president of the PTO. The brunette facing off with Ginger was Theresa Dugan, one of the teachers. What in the world had set Theresa off? She was generally calm and good-natured.

Skye had been trying to figure out why the principal had summoned her. Caroline preferred to handle most matters by herself, usually calling on Skye only if she needed specific special education information. Now she knew. Caroline couldn’t afford to offend the PTO president, but she also didn’t want to take sides against her own employee. She was undoubtedly hoping Skye could either resolve the situation peacefully or shoulder the blame.

“What’s going on?” Skye whispered to Caroline. It was hard to tell what the disagreement was about since the women were currently stuck in a round of Did toos and Uh-huhs.

“Branson of Illinois,” Caroline answered, then edged toward the exit. As she hurried from the room, she said, “I’m sure you can smooth things over. Let me know when you’ve got this under control.”

Suddenly the shouting behind Skye increased in volume, and she whirled around. The remaining women had left their seats and chosen sides.

“Have you ever noticed,” Ginger said, playing to the crowd, “that the person who tells you to calm down is the one who riled you up to start with?”

Several of the women nodded and someone shouted, “Yeah, it’s always the ones who think they’re better than everyone else.”

“Ladies, that isn’t the case at all,” Theresa appealed to her faction. “You all know I’m not like that.”

“Well, if you didn’t have such a cushy job with a guaranteed salary and benefits, you’d see how wonderful Mr. Taylor’s plans are.” Ginger poked the teacher in the middle of her chest with a stubby fuchsia fingernail. “As long as people keep popping out kids, you don’t have to worry about unemployment.”

Cushy job? Teaching? Skye always suspected her cousin wasn’t the sharpest eyebrow pencil in the makeup case, but now she had proof. Ginger wouldn’t last a day in front of a classroom.

“And if you weren’t such a selfish, greedy fool, you’d admit what his scheme would do to our town.” Theresa fluffed her short curls. “That awful man is going to turn Scumble River into a cheap tourist trap with traffic jams, tattoo parlors, and pawnshops.”

“None of your beeswax.” Ginger stamped her purple-flip-flop-shod foot on the hardwood floor. “This isn’t about just me.”

“Of course it is.” Theresa smoothed her pale yellow shirtdress. “Let me guess . . .” She tapped a finger on her lower lip. “A construction job for that lowlife husband of yours. I heard he’d been fired—again.”

“That’s a lie!” Ginger’s voice rose to a high, squeaky pitch that made Skye want to cover her ears. “Flip was not fired. The company went under. He was one of the last to go.” She appealed to her supporters. “You all know that things are so bad around here, the bank is sending out loan applications with REJECTED already stamped across them.”

A few women tittered sympathetically, and Theresa hurriedly said, “Tough times never last, but tough people do.”

“That’s just BS you read on a T-shirt.” Ginger’s voice rose in anger. “If you weren’t dumb as a post, you’d realize how stupid you sound.”

“Really?” Theresa’s eyes glittered with malice. “You know, I wasn’t going to mention this, but your son Bert did a good job in the spelling bee we had last week.”

“Yes.” Theresa’s tone was saccharine. “The winning word was straight, and after he spelled it correctly, I asked him what it meant.” She paused, letting the drama build. “And he said, ‘Jim Beam without water.’”

It took a few seconds, but once they got the joke everyone laughed, and Ginger sputtered, “You just made that up.”

“Maybe.” Theresa smirked. “And maybe the reason Flip has so much trouble keeping a job has more to do with his whiskey consumption and less to do with the economy.”

“Beer, whiskey, whatever,” Theresa said with condescending indifference. “A drunk by any other name is still a—”

Before the teacher could finish, Ginger lunged forward and slapped her. Theresa looked stunned as a bright red handprint appeared on her cheek. A nanosecond later, she grabbed a handful of Ginger’s blouse and hauled the tiny woman toward her.

The sound of tearing fabric galvanized Skye into action, and she stepped toward the two brawlers, raising her voice. “Ladies!”

Skye thought fast. “Theresa. What if one of the children saw you fighting like this? What kind of example are you setting?”

“And, Ginger”—Skye turned to her cousin—“if your mother heard about your behavior, she’d be mortified. Aunt Minnie raised you better than this.”

“You’re not going to tell, are you?” Ginger’s voice wavered. She was nearly as afraid of her mother as Skye was of May. “You wouldn’t.”

“I don’t know what got into me.” Theresa’s expression was sheepish. “Except I love this town and our way of life here, and if people like her have their way”—she cocked a thumb in Ginger’s direction—“it’ll be lost forever.”

Ginger shot Theresa a look of pure loathing and said, “And if people like her have their way, Scumble River will die a slow, boring death because there aren’t any jobs.”

“It’s a complex issue and we won’t solve it at a PTO meeting,” Skye stated, knowing there was no easy answer.

Although her sympathies lay with Theresa, she could see Ginger’s point of view. Not as many families were able to make a living from farming as in the past, and the only factory in the area that was still in business was Fine Foods.

Employment opportunities were scarce, and in order to live in the town they grew up in, most young people had to be willing to commute an hour or longer to Joliet or Kankakee.

“Only if she apologizes to me,” Ginger said, crossing her arms. “She slandered my husband and ripped my best shirt.”

“I apologize for my ill-advised words.” Theresa’s face was red. “But you struck me, so we’re even regarding the torn blouse.”

As Skye walked away, she realized it hadn’t even been forty-eight hours since Rex Taylor’s announcement, and this was the second argument over the project that she had witnessed. Which did not bode at all well for the future of Scumble River.