Murder of a Creped Suzette Read Free Page B

in gear, Suzette, while we still have some audience left.”
    Skye turned her attention to the pickup. It was still idling by the side of the trailer, but from her angle she couldn’t make out the driver. Who was Suzette’s cousin? Black pickups were as common as cornfields in Scumble River, so that was no clue.
    As if sensing Skye’s interest, the driver backed up and screeched away in a cloud of dust; a soccer ball tow-hitch cover and a metallic oval bumper sticker sparkled in the taillights. She glanced toward the Airstream, but the window was now closed. The shades had been pulled down and there was nothing left to see.
    This was her chance to escape unnoticed. Skye slipped out of the bathroom, sprinted across the grass, and zipped around the sawhorses.
    Once she was past the barrier, she could hear instruments tuning up, and she took off running toward the grandstand. It looked like the concert would finally start, and after all she’d been through, no way would she miss a minute of it.
    Skye spotted Trixie at the very rear of the audience, sitting on a blanket spread under an enormous tree. There was a good view of the grandstand and the oak’s trunk provided a backrest. Trust Trixie to get a good spot, even when she was among the last to arrive.
    Waving, Skye headed in her friend’s direction. Trixie wore cutoffs, a tight hot-pink tank top, and fuchsia sandals that laced up her calves. Not exactly the look most small towns expected from their high school librarians. But with her short cap of smooth brown hair and big brown eyes, Trixie looked cute in the outfit rather than trashy.
    As Skye sat down, Trixie handed her a blue plastic cup and demanded, “Where have you been?”
    “Where have I been?” Skye took a sip and coughed. Trixie had added rum to the Diet Coke. Quite a bit of rum. Uh-oh. Trixie generally drank only when she was upset. “I was here on time. Where were you? And where’s Owen? Is one of the animals sick?”
    Owen was a farmer, and the livestock’s well-being was his number one priority. A while back he had sold off all the cattle and pigs, but a few days ago he’d bought a herd of exotic animals, having decided to try his luck with emus and llamas.
    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