Murder of a Creped Suzette

every corner.”

“Don’t we all,” Noreen agreed. “So, were you coming to see me about something?”

“Yes.” Skye tipped her head toward a small table. “Do you have a minute?”

“Sure.” Noreen led the way and took a seat. “But I need to grade papers for my next class while we talk.”

“I won’t keep you long.” Skye sat down. “We’re getting a new student who wants music on his schedule as his elective course.”

“Oh?” Noreen raised a brow. “So where does the school psychologist fit into that picture?”

Skye explained about Woodrow’s special circumstances, ending with, “Which means we don’t know yet exactly what he’ll require, but at a minimum he’ll have a teacher assistant with him at all times.”

“Then everything should be fine.” Noreen reached for a stack of papers. “I’m sure his aide will know what to do, and I’ll be happy to make any accommodations or modifications suggested.”

“That’s great.” Skye relaxed. “Thanks.” Some teachers were more comfortable than others with students who had special needs.

“I learned to be flexible during my student teaching.” Noreen smiled fondly. “One of the first lessons Quentin Neal taught me was that music teachers eventually have every kid in the school in their class, and we’d better be able to handle all types.”

“It sounds as if he was a terrific trainer.” Skye couldn’t believe her luck; Quentin was exactly who she really wanted to talk about.

Noreen nodded, then asked, “Have you heard anything more about his daughter’s death?”

“Not much so far, but the police and I are working on it,” Skye said, taking out her notepad. “Maybe you can help us out a little. Would you mind answering some questions about the Neals?”

“Sure.” Noreen picked up a red pen. “But I don’t remember much.”

“Anything you can tell me would be helpful,” Skye assured her. “Do you remember where the Neals lived?”

“Hmm.” Noreen closed her eyes. “They rented a house on that street behind where the McDonald’s is now. Singer Lane. I remember thinking how appropriate the name was.”

Skye made a note. “Did Mrs. Neal work outside the home?”

“I don’t think so.”

“How, uh, was . . .” Skye wasn’t sure how to ask the next question. “Did you ever hear anything about Mr. and Mrs. Neal’s marriage?”

“Well . . .” Noreen hesitated, clearly deciding whether to tell Skye what she knew. “Quentin put in a lot of hours directing the Catholic Church choir, and Paulette was a little unhappy with that, but no, nothing else.”

“Can you think of any friends or relatives of the Neals who might have more information?”

“No. He didn’t talk much about his personal life.” Noreen uncapped her pen. “And they hadn’t been here very long. You know it takes a while for native Scumble Riverites to warm up to newcomers.”

“True.” Skye searched for something more to ask. “Was anyone who’s currently on staff here around the year Quentin was teaching?”

“Hmm.” Noreen chewed the top of her pen. “Homer and Pru are the only ones I can think of who have been here that long.”

“Great.” The two people Skye most didn’t want to have to question.

“I wish I knew more.”

“The biggest obstacle so far is that we can’t locate a next of kin.”

“That’s terrible.” Noreen made a sad clucking sound with her tongue. “I remember Quentin mentioning that both he and his wife didn’t have any siblings.”

“Darn! That means Suzette didn’t have any aunts or uncles or even first cousins.”

“Yeah.” Noreen pulled a quiz from the stack, read a line, then put a red check by number one. “That was why Quentin and Paulette were so happy they’d had twins. They didn’t want to risk raising an only child.”

“Suzette had a sister?” Skye’s voice rose and she nearly smacked the music teacher. Why hadn’t Noreen mentioned that fact in the first place?

“A brother,” Noreen corrected. “They were fraternal twins.”

“What was his name?” Skye demanded.

“I don’t remember.” Noreen squeezed her eyes shut, then shook her head. “Nope. Sorry. Quentin always just called him the boy.”

“I wonder why there’s no record of him in her life,” Skye mused out loud, then thought to herself, And why didn’t Suzette mention him when she asked me for help?

“I have no idea.” Noreen frowned. “After Paulette died and Quentin moved away, I never heard from him again. I don’t think he wanted any reminders of Scumble River.”

CHAPTER 16

“When You Say Nothing at All”

Skye hurried out of the junior high school as soon as the final bell rang. She had several items on her to-do list, but two tasks were competing for the number one spot—picking up Toby before Puppy charged her overtime and tracking down Wally. She’d been calling and leaving messages for him every chance she had, which wasn’t all that often since she’d been stuck in a PPS meeting most of the afternoon.

Using cell phones wasn’t allowed in the school building, but as Skye’s foot hit the parking lot pavement, she dug hers out and powered it up. Before she could hit speed dial, she saw she had a missed call. Punching in her super-secret code—456—she put the tiny silver rectangle to her ear and tapped her fingers against the metal case as she waited for the chance to press the correct number, after which she might actually get to hear what her caller had to say.

Skye couldn’t understand why people thought voice mail was superior to an old-fashioned answering machine. Instead of facing forty-two options—most of which she would never use—a push of a button, and your messages played.

Finally, Wally’s voice said, “Sorry we keep missing each other today, darlin’. My cell bit the dust early this morning and I wasn’t able to get a new one until three o’clock.”

Ah. Skye yanked open the car door. That explained why he’d never called her back.

“One of the reasons it took me so long to replace my phone is that someone leaked the news that semen was found in the body and reporters are camped out at the PD again.”

Terrific! She slid into the driver’s seat. Just what they needed: more media attention.

“So instead of coming to the station, meet me in back at the church parking lot at four thirty. We have a road trip to make. Love you. Bye.”

Heck! Wally hadn’t mentioned anything about his interview with Owen. Having checked with Trixie, Skye knew Owen had returned before bedtime last night, saying he’d gone for a ride to look at the neighbors’ fields. But Skye didn’t buy that explanation any more than Trixie had.

Skye glanced at her watch. Ten after four. Oh, well; at least she’d see Wally in twenty minutes or so. She could probably contain her curiosity for that long—but just barely. She turned the key, threw the Bel Air in gear, and stomped on the gas.

Doggy Daycare was mobbed with parents retrieving their canine children. The wait was so long, Skye was considering calling Wally to say she’d be late when she finally reached the front of the line.

Puppy smiled widely at Skye and said, “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“Oh?” Skye answered cautiously. Considering Puppy and Doggy Daycare, Skye was afraid they had bronzed Toby’s poop as a memento.

“I’ll be right back.” Puppy disappeared behind a half wall and returned seconds later with Toby in her arms.

At least, Skye thought it was Toby. She examined the little white dog carefully. His fur had been clipped so