Denise Swanson - Murder of a Small-Town Honey

A camouflage-green T-shirt with the message IF YOU AB­SOLUTELY NEED IT DESTROYED WITHOUT QUESTION BY TOMOR­ROW, YOU NEED THE UNITED STATES MARINE CORPS was

stretched taut across Kenny's muscular chest.

"Who's messing with you? Why's Charlie got blood on his sleeve? Why's he getting Chief Boyd? You don't need the police. I'll take care of whoever's bothering you." Kenny stood and balled his hands into fists.

Skye reached out to Kenny with her left hand, pulling him back down onto the step, careful to keep her right hand concealed behind her back. "Thanks, Kenny. I know you'd help me, but I'm okay. Someone else is in trouble."

"Who? What's going on?"

"Mrs. Gumtree, the TV star who was going to be in the parade, seems to be dead."

"That tiny little old lady on the kids' program? What happened? Did she have a heart attack?"

Skye considered saying yes, but could think of no reason to answer dishonestly. "No. It looks like she was mur­dered."

"What?" Kenny bellowed.

"Charlie asked me to get her. She wasn't answering her door. When I tried, the door was unlocked, the place was ransacked, and she was on the floor. Charlie is afraid the murderer might still be in the trailer, so he didn't want me to wait here alone. Please, let's just wait for the chief. I'm going to start crying if I talk any more."

Kenny leaped to his feet once again and faced the door. He asked over his shoulder, "Is there another way out? What makes you think the perp is still in there?"

She shuddered. "I don't know that he is. When I was in­side I didn't see or hear anyone. Of course, I wasn't paying much attention at the time. He could have been hiding in the bathroom, I suppose. There probably isn't another door, but there are plenty of windows."

"We'd better get some people over here to secure the perimeter." Kenny trotted off, calling over his shoulder, "I'll go find your brother and the cousins."

Skye sat still for a moment, catching her breath. It was quiet. The trailer was fairly isolated, and the crowds had moved to the parking lot in anticipation of the parade's start. Closing her eyes, she said a prayer for Mrs. Gumtree's soul. Suddenly a loud bang reverberated through the air. Skye jumped off the step and turned to look at the door. It was open and swinging back and forth on its hinges.

I'm sure I closed that door. Didn't 1 feel it catch? Skye tried to make sense of what she was seeing. Oh, my God, the murderer must have still been in there.

Before she could react, a heavy hand descended on her shoulder, and she screamed.

CHAPTER 3

Send in the Clowns

Skye sat alone in the squad car watching police officers go in and out of the trailer. She was still a little embar­rassed about having screamed at the chief when he first ar­rived at the scene and put his hand on her shoulder. Especially since he convinced her that the door had been blown open by the wind.

Charlie and Kenny, along with everyone else in the area, were banished behind the yellow crime scene tape draped around the parking lot's border. Two harried officers tried to get people's names and addresses before the crowd dis­persed. Three more were busy keeping folks behind the tape.

The townspeople had been drinking steadily from their coolers since they began to gather for the parade at eleven o'clock. They were angry when its cancellation was an­nounced, and seeing the police made them curious. Fights were already breaking out among the more well lubricated of the group.

When Chief Boyd first arrived and saw the body, he questioned Skye about her movements inside the trailer. Upon learning that she hadn't touched anything except the outer doorknob, the vanity stool, and the corpse, he ordered her to sit in his squad car and talk to no one.

Since that time it seemed to Skye as if every Scumble River police officer and Stanley County deputy there was had arrived. She was up to thirty when she lost count. Peo-

pie, mostly men, in blue or khaki uniforms swarmed over the crime scene like ants over a piece of candy. One was taking photographs, another was videotaping, and yet an­other appeared to be drawing a picture of the site.

Around one o'clock a hearse arrived. The man driving it walked straight into the trailer without looking at either the throngs of onlookers or the police. Skye couldn't see who it was from where she was seated, but he carried a doctor's bag.

She was staring out the window without seeing anything when the opposite door was abruptly yanked open. Startled, she let out a yelp. She didn't recognize the man sliding in next to her, and he wasn't wearing a uniform. Acting on in­stinct, Skye flung open her door and stumbled out of the car.

As she ran toward the trailer, Skye hoped to find Chief Boyd, but instead a Stanley County deputy she didn't know grabbed her by the upper arms and spun her around. "Whoa there, Missy, where you goin' in such a hurry?"

Looking over her shoulder, Skye struggled to free her­self from his grip. The stranger had emerged from the squad car and was now leaning against the trunk. When he saw her looking at him, he waved.

The officer holding her had a name tag on his tan shirt that read "Deputy McCabe." He was not the type of per­son Skye would have picked for protection. Not only did Deputy McCabe strike her as missing a few buttons on his remote control, but physically he reminded her of Barney Fife on The Andy Griffith Show. She would have preferred Marshal Dillon from Gunsmoke. All those years of watch­ing reruns as a child had left an indelible impression on her.

Skye pointed to the man by the squad car. "See that guy over there?"

Barney Fife didn't answer.

"Is he a suspect? He got into the police car with me."

Still no response from the deputy.

"Did you guys forget you told me to wait there in the squad car?"

Deputy McCabe took his time before speaking, examin­ing the man by the car who was now engrossed in writing something in a pocket-size notebook. "Why, that there is the coroner, Mr. Simon Reid."

She frowned. "Doesn't the coroner have to be a doctor?"

"Well, Miss, I don't know about places like Chicago or New York, but around here the coroner has always been the owner of the funeral parlor."

Shaking her head in disbelief, Skye thought, Being back in Scumble River is worse than I imagined. Things here truly are fifty years behind the times. Before she could pur­sue that line of thought, Chief Boyd emerged from the trailer and joined them.

"Why, Skye, honey, what are you doing standing here in the hot sun? We don't want you passing out on us. You were white as your mama's sheets when I first got here. I told you to wait in the squad. That's why I left the air-condition running."

Skye blushed. When Chief Boyd had first come to town as a twenty-three-year-old patrolman, she'd been convinced she was in love with him. Back then Walter Boyd was a handsome young man who filled out his crisply starched police uniform superbly. He had warm brown eyes, curly black hair, and a gorgeous year-round tan. But his most at­tractive feature was his kind and generous nature.

The summer she was fifteen, Skye discovered his work schedule and managed to turn up wherever he took a break or stopped for a meal. He was always a perfect gentleman, never mocking her or taking advantage of the situation. Nevertheless, she was embarrassed to remember how lovesick she had acted, and she now found it difficult to look him in the eye. She also had a hard time calling him anything but Chief Boyd.

Time had been kind to him. His uniform still fit excep­tionally well, revealing only a hint of thickening at his waist. The silver in his hair made him look, if anything, more distinguished.