Murder of a Creped Suzette

maybe she had stood me up.”

“But?”

“But when I approached the Winnebago, Toby”—she pointed to the backseat, where the dog was keeping a wary eye on Wally—“was sitting on the little metal step.”

“And?”

“He ran away when I tried to pick him up.” Skye turned a little toward Wally, then continued with her story, ending with, “So, Toby led me to the body.” Skye winced. “I really hate calling someone that, but we still don’t know for sure who she is.”

“Sorry. I know this is tough.” Wally patted her arm. “The construction foreman got here the same time I did. He should be moving the steamroller right now.”

“Do you need me to look?” Skye didn’t want to do it, but she understood that the sooner they identified the victim, the better their chances of solving the case. “I can do it if you think it’ll help.”

“I doubt anyone will be able to make a visual ID.” Wally put an arm around her. “And I’ve got Anthony searching for Rex Taylor.”

“Of course,” Skye agreed quickly. “He should know anyone who worked here. He’s definitely a better option for an identification than I am and—” She snapped her mouth shut, aware she was babbling.

“It’s okay, sugar. I wish you hadn’t been the one to find her. Try not to think about it anymore.” Wally squeezed her shoulder.

“But . . .” Skye struggled to express her thoughts, not wanting to seem weak.

“I’ve got it now.” He held her for a few more minutes, kissing her temple.

“You’re right. There’s nothing I can do here.” Skye drew strength from Wally’s touch. “I’d just be a distraction for you.”

“Only in a good way,” Wally reassured her. “You know I value your insights, and once we start interviewing suspects, I’ll want you there.”

“And I’ll be ready.”

“It’ll probably be several hours before we’re finished here, so I’ll call you in the morning before you leave for school.” Wally hesitated, his expression hard to read. “I need to talk to you about something personal, but I guess it can wait until tomorrow.”

“Can’t you tell me now?” Skye’s stomach clenched. Something personal did not sound like good news. “I can hang around a few minutes longer.” She willed him to say what he had to say, to get it over with before her imagination ran wild.

“This isn’t a good time.” Wally got out of the car. “Tomorrow is soon enough.”

“Okay.” Skye recognized that Wally wouldn’t budge on this issue, so why the heck had he even brought it up? “When you talk to Mr. Taylor, please tell him I have Toby, and find out who he belongs to, okay?”

“Definitely. The last thing you need is a dog.” Before closing the Bel Air’s door, Wally said, “Take it easy. Call my cell if you want me for anything.”

As Skye drove away, she noted that Simon had arrived. The hearse was parked where the ambulance had been a little while ago. There was something very “circle of life” about that, she thought, but at that moment Skye was too exhausted to figure out what.

Skye made a quick stop at the police station to prove to her mother that she was alive and well. Although she was tired, five minutes of reassurance beat an entire evening of the whole family descending on her to confirm her well-being.

Another necessary stop was the grocery store for doggy supplies. She bought the minimum—bowls, food, a leash, and a box of treats, but the bill was still well over fifty dollars.

Skye finally arrived home a little before seven. Bingo greeted her at the door, hissing in surprise when he spotted Toby in her arms. The black cat skidded backward a couple of feet, then held his ground, looking like a Halloween decoration with his fur standing on end and his spine arched.

Toby woofed and tried to leap from Skye’s arms. She put him on the floor, having taken the precaution of affixing his new leash before entering the house. She kept a tight hold on the leather loop as his feet hit the hardwood and he tried to lunge at Bingo.

Bingo’s yowl sounded like a kindergarten orchestra tuning up, and Toby barked excitedly. Cat and dog stared at each other, loathing in both their eyes.

Skye had hoped that the animals would get along, but clearly that wasn’t about to happen, at least not tonight. Sighing, she scooped Toby back up, carried him to the second floor, filled his bowls with food and water, and locked him in the master bathroom. Once she had dealt with Bingo’s needs, Toby would be getting up close and personal with a tub of soapy water.

The sound of the top of a can of Fancy Feast being popped drew the angry feline from wherever he had been hiding. Skye petted him and started to explain Toby’s situation. Bingo moved to the other side of his dish, so that his back was toward her, and pretended she didn’t exist.

Skye sighed. She kept forgetting that, thousands of years ago, cats were worshipped as gods, and they still expected such treatment.

Just as Skye finished telling Bingo the dog’s sad story, her phone rang. Hoping it was Wally with the name of Toby’s owner, she grabbed the phone without looking at the caller ID.

A genderless voice said, “Tell your boyfriend to call me at 555-324-4321. And tell him that what he wants doesn’t come cheap.”

Before Skye could respond, the line disconnected.

CHAPTER 9

“He’ll Have to Go”

Skye was startled awake. Something wasn’t right, but she couldn’t settle on what.

Woof! Woof! Woof!

Oh. Yeah. Her canine houseguest. Whatever would she do about him? She hoped his owner would come forward and claim him, but she had a bad feeling that wish wouldn’t be granted unless a genie popped out of her milk carton later that morning during breakfast. Considering how likely that scenario was, she’d better come up with an alternative. Hmm. Nope. No brilliant ideas.

She’d think about that later. According to the clock, she had more than an hour before the alarm would ring. Closing her eyes, she tried to go back to sleep, but too much occupied her mind.

Last night, having decided not to bother Wally about the weird message she’d received, she’d given Toby a bath, using that time to consider her interspecies problem. The only solution she could come up with was to lock Bingo in the bedroom with her for the night and keep the little dog in the sunroom. The drawback was that none of the downstairs rooms had doors, and constructing a barricade to keep Toby contained had been a challenge. In the end she had settled for a folded card table, which she had duct taped flat across the sunroom’s entrance.

As if he knew that his human was thinking about a D-O-G, Bingo meowed from the pillow next to Skye. She turned her head and discovered the cat watching her, but when she extended her hand to pet him, he moved a few inches out of her reach and meowed again.

“Good morning to you, too.”

Bingo glared.

“Hey. You usually sleep with me anyway, and I lugged your litter box, not to mention your food and water bowls, up here, so what’s your problem?”

Bingo rose, hopped off the bed, and sat facing the closed bedroom door, his tail twitching.

“Fine.” She swung her legs over the side of the mattress. “But you’re staying in here until I work out what to do with Toby.”

Which reminded her—she’d better check on the dog. Thank goodness he appeared to be house-trained, but it had been seven hours since his last walk.

Skye padded barefoot down the staircase and groaned when she stepped into the foyer. Sometime during the night, Toby must have escaped the barrier she had constructed. Up and down the hall, shredded magazines and