Murder of a Creped Suzette

The tavern’s only other occupants were a group of women wearing elaborate hats. They were seated across the room around two tables that had been pushed together. Half-empty pitchers of margaritas and strawberry daiquiris were within easy reach, and the ladies were sipping from brimming glasses.

The guys’ attention was glued to the screen, but the women began whispering the moment Skye and Simon entered. Skye knew most of the ladies, and almost all of them were friends of her mother and aunts. Yikes! If she didn’t do something fast, they’d be on the phone to May before their next drink was poured.

After telling Simon to go ahead and sit down, Skye stopped at the women’s table and said, “Good afternoon, ladies.” She needed to do damage control right now, before the gossip grapevine was harvested. “Are you having a meeting?”

“Why, yes,” answered Hilda Quinn, wearing what looked like a birdcage on the top of her head. “The Mad Hatters come here once a month.”

“Right.” Skye tilted her head. “I remember Aunt Minnie mentioning your club.”

“I’m trying to get her and your mom to join, but both of them say they’re too busy.” Hilda tsked. “The women in your family seem to be always working. Is that true of you, too, dear?” She darted a glance at Simon, who had taken a seat at the far end of the bar.

“Actually, it is.” Skye met the eyes of each club member sitting around the table, making sure they understood her message. “Simon and I are here on official police business, and I’d really appreciate it if you kept that info under your wonderful chapeaus.”

“Of course, dear.” Hilda pantomimed zipping her lips and the others followed suit. “We won’t tell a soul.”

“Thank you.” Skye didn’t believe any of them for a minute, but she hoped she had at least postponed the rumorfest until she could present Wally with a solid lead on Suzette’s murder. “Have fun, ladies.”

When Skye joined Simon, he slanted an unreadable look at her, and asked, “Everything okay?”

“Peachy.”

He ignored Skye’s sarcasm and asked, “So, do you see anyone who reminds you of Suzette?”

Skye scanned the bar’s occupants, then shook her head. “Nope.”

“Take a look at this.” He took the photo of Suzette from his pocket and placed it on the bar. “Does this help?” He had kept the picture as Skye had left it, with the paper frame blocking all but the facial features.

Skye was studying the image when Jess Larson, the owner of the Brown Bag, walked over and said, “Can I get you two something to drink?”

“Diet Coke, slice of lime,” Skye ordered, barely looking up.

There was a moment of dead silence; then Jess tapped the altered photo and asked in a puzzled tone, “Why do you have my picture? And how did you get that makeup on my face?”

Skye lifted her head and stared at him. Now she understood. The resemblance between Jess and the dead singer was uncanny. After assuring the bar owner that he would get an explanation, Skye dragged Simon outside. She immediately called Wally and sketched out the situation.

Wally’s cruiser pulled into the parking lot less than two minutes later. He dismissed Simon, who had agreed to keep Toby until Skye was free, told Skye to wait in the squad car, and went inside.

A quarter of an hour later, Wally and Skye sat across from Jess Larson in the PD’s interrogation-coffee room.

“Thanks for coming down here.” Wally smiled easily at Jess. “As I said back at the Brown Bag, we have a few questions that we hope you can help us answer.”

“I’m always glad to cooperate with the police, and since Abe was available to take over behind the bar for me, it’s no problem.” Jess leaned back in his chair. “But I can’t imagine what I can help you with.”

Skye glanced at Wally, and when he gave her a slight nod, she said, “Jess, I believe when I first met you, you told me you were from Los Angeles. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“But you said your father was in the military and you moved around a lot.”

“That’s right.” Jess gave Skye a crooked grin. “Why are you and the chief suddenly so interested in my background?”

“I promise we’ll explain,” Skye reassured him. “Just a couple more questions. I also recall that you said you bought the Brown Bag from its previous owner, Fayanne Emerick, and that Fayanne was your cousin.”

“Yep. Cousin Fayanne’s letters made Scumble River seem like a cross between Mayberry R.F.D. and Leave It to Beaver. It sounded like the kind of place I had been trying to find for a long time. And then when I came to check out the business, I almost felt like I had lived here in some other life.”

Wally and Skye exchanged looks, and he said, “Well, see, that’s the thing. We think it’s possible you did live here before, back when you were three years old, but that doesn’t jibe with your story of growing up.”

“Oh?” Jess wrinkled his brow. “Would it help to know that I was adopted shortly before I turned four?”

“That would certainly make things a little clearer,” Skye said, half to herself. “And your adoptive parents were named Larson?”

“Yes.” Jess’s voice was low and sad. “I never knew my real last name.”

“Do you remember a sister?” Suzette had told Skye that she had been raised by an elderly aunt in California. Had the twins been separated?

“I used to pretend I had a sister called Suzie.” Jess scratched his head. “But the couple who adopted me didn’t have any other children.”

“Were you told why you were put up for adoption?” Skye asked gently.

“My parents were killed in an accident. My biological father had been in the same army unit as my adoptive father.” Jess leaned forward, his eyes fierce. “Are you saying that’s not true?”

Skye started to answer, but Wally beat her to it. “We don’t know. We suspect that may not have been entirely factual.”

“Because of that photo of me with the makeup on?” Jess guessed.

“Yes.” Wally spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. “Did you ever meet Suzette Neal, the singer from the Country Roads theater?”

“No.” Jess shook his head. “I didn’t go to the concert because I couldn’t get anyone to tend bar that night. I thought about closing since they were serving free booze, but I knew a few of my regulars would show up, so I didn’t.”

Skye murmured to Wally, “Her picture wasn’t on the flyer and Jess wasn’t at the Sunday morning meeting at the mayor’s office.”

Wally took a head shot out of the folder he had in front of him and passed it to Jess. “This is Suzette.”

“Suzie!” Jess stared at the image, his face ashen. “I kept telling my adoptive parents that I dreamed of having a sister named Suzie, but they told me I was an only child.”

“If Suzette was indeed your sister, you were twins,” Skye explained. “She was raised by an elderly aunt after her mother died in an accident and her father joined the military.” Skye mused, “I’m presuming she was told she was an only child as well.”

“But why would my adoptive parents lie to me and Suzette’s aunt lie to her?” Jess was so upset he was nearly crying.

“They probably thought a clean break would be easier for everyone concerned,” Skye soothed. “My guess is the aunt could handle only one child, and you were too energetic for her, so you were the one put up for adoption.”

“I was nearly kicked out of kindergarten for my behavior.” Jess gave a ragged laugh. “That’s when my mom decided to call me Jess instead of Jesse. The psychologist suggested I might be trying to live up to the Jesse James image.”

Ah, Skye thought to herself. That’s what Pru was trying to remember. Jesse James was an outlaw—or hellion, as Pru had so quaintly put it. Aloud, Skye asked, “When’s your birthday?”