Murder of a Small-Town Honey

She thought quickly. 'It's really important that I find them. I could offer a reward.'

He stopped playing and moved closer to her car. 'What kinda reward?'

Her eyes swept the front seat. A foil-wrapped packet glittered in the sunlight. She had found it in her cereal that morning and stuck it in the car to bring to school to use as a prize. Skye held it up for his inspection. 'How about a set of Bulls basketball cards?'

'Depends who's on them,' he hedged.

Skye shrugged. 'It's an unopened package, so it's kind of like the lottery. You take your chances. How about it?'

The boy hesitated, then grabbed the cards from her hand, and pointed to the house in back of him. 'Dooziers live there. Don't tell Daddy I told ya.'

It suddenly came to Skye. Junior Doozier. The boy who was throwing rocks at Vince's sign, the same child she had negotiated with for a chair in the elementary school's special ed room.

Scumble River is way too small. What if his mother rec­ognizes me from the beauty shop? She'll never sign any­thing for me after the confrontation we had. Here I go again, getting myself into trouble by opening my big mouth.

Skye pulled her car into the dirt driveway and scanned the lot. Weeds lined the cracked sidewalk and choked what little grass showed between the junked cars and old appli­ances littering the yard. The house had been white at one time, but now was an ashen shade from long years of ne­glect. It looked about as stable as a house of cards. A dog's barking echoed in the motionless air, and flies buzzed over the evidence of his recent visit to the front lawn.

She stuffed a clipboard with the consent form attached and a pen in her canvas tote bag before opening the car door. She had taken only a few steps when a heavily tat­tooed man sauntered out of the house's side door. He was very thin, except for a small pot belly that hung over his boxer shorts, which were the only garment he wore.

At least it's not Mrs. Doozier, Skye comforted herself. 'Hi, I'm from the junior high. My name's Skye Denison.'

'Funny name, Skye.'

'It was my grandmother's maiden name,' Skye ex­plained, and then felt foolish for doing so.

'What ya want?'

Skye worded the next question carefully, well aware of the reputation of the people in this area—often fathers, brothers, and uncles were all the same people. 'Are you Earl Doozier's father?'

'Maybe. What's he done?'

'He hasn't done anything that I'm aware of, but it is time for his revaluation.'

'His what?'

'Every three years we need to take a look at kids that re­ceive special help and see if they still need it,' Skye ex­plained.

'Oh, you wanna see if he's still dumb. Don't waste your time. He is.'

'I don't think he's dumb at all. In order to be classified as Learning Disabled you have to have at least average in­telligence.' Skye felt she had to try to explain, even know-

ing it was futile. 'The school just wants to see how he's doing and if he still needs help. We just want to make sure he's getting all the services he's entitled to have.'

'Okay. So, whadda ya want from me?' The man was busy investigating a substance he had extracted from his ear.

'We need your written consent.'

'I don't like signin' things. Last time I signed somethin' I ended up owin' money for magazines I couldn't make head nor tails of.' He finally gave up his analysis of the earwax and wiped it on his already filthy shorts.

Skye took the form from her purse and handed it to Mr. Doozier. 'I promise this won't cost you a thing. Just sign here and check these two boxes.'

He took the form and the pen she offered and scrawled his name. 'Is 'at all? I got chores to do.'

'One more thing. Is there a telephone number you can be reached at?'

'Don't got no phone.'

'What's your mailing address, then?' Skye asked, des­perately envisioning future trips to obtain consents.

He shrugged. 'Jus' put Cattail Path. It'll get 'ere.'

It was almost noon when Skye pulled up to the police station. Before setting out for the Dooziers', she had phoned her mother to ask what shift she was working that day. When Skye found out May was working seven-to- three, she decided to stop by as close to lunch as possible. By arriving then, she hoped the policeman on duty would be safely tucked away at McDonald's or the local restau­rant, and the P.D. would be clear of walk-in patrons.

Pushing the door open, she was greeted with a refresh­ing blast of cool air. The temperature had been lingering in the high eighties with humidity to match.

Wearing black walking shorts and a black-and-white-striped shirt, Skye had felt underdressed for a home visit.

She had considered wearing something more businesslike, but the heat and the knowledge of the area's standards had quickly changed her mind.

When she'd glanced into the open garage on the way in, she'd seen that both cruisers were gone. The chief always drove one, and the officer of the day had the other. The waiting area was also empty.

Skye pushed the buzzer, and after a few minutes May came hurrying out of the back room. 'I was in the bath­room.'

When the latch was released, Skye came around the counter. 'What happens if the phone rings or you have radio traffic while you're away?'

'They call back. Or if it's more than a few minutes, County picks up.'

Sitting in the visitor's chair, Skye took a yellow legal pad from her tote and looked around furtively. 'Are we alone?'

May nodded and settled behind the dispatcher's desk. 'Yes. Roy just went to lunch and Wally had some personal business.'

'Good. Did you get the information I wanted?'

May withdrew a copy of Better Homes and Gardens from her purse and put it on the counter. 'Yes, the reports are between the pages of this magazine. There's not much to them. The Adairs' accident was nothing more than that, and you already know Mike was convicted of selling drugs.'

'Yeah, I figured as much, but I like to be thorough. I'll take a look myself when I get some time.' Skye reached for the publication.

'Not so fast.' May whisked the periodical out of Skye's grasp. 'Tell me what you've found out so far.'

'You don't have to treat me like a child. You could just ask.' Skye's tone was petulant.

May folded her arms across her chest and stared at Skye.

Skye gave in. 'Fine. I wanted to get it all down on paper anyway.'

'That's a good idea, dear, I'll take notes while you talk.'

'No, I'd rather write it out myself.' Clinging to the legal pad, Skye grabbed a pen.

'Whatever you say.' May got up and went into the next room. 'I'm getting a Diet Pepsi. Do you want one?'

She followed her mother and looked at the machine. 'Yeah, I guess so. I prefer Diet Coke.'

'Yes, dear, but we only have Pepsi products.' May smiled with false patience.

They settled back into their chairs, and Skye picked up the pen again. 'Okay, first there's Abby. She has no alibi and is very jealous of Vince's attentions.

'Next, we have Darleen and Chief Boyd. I haven't been able to find out where she was at the time of the murder, but he certainly had opportunity. I'm also not sure what the motive is for her, but she overreacted when I brought up Honey's name, and it certainly seems funny that he's not investigating anyone but Vince.'

Leaning forward, May seemed as if she were going to say something, but Skye held up her hand. 'Let me finish.'

May sat back.