Murder of a Smart Cookie: A Scumble River Mystery by Denise Swanson

should we do?”
    Skye chewed her lip. She had no idea what to suggest. First of all, her sense of direction was awful, and second, she had not considered this scenario. “Have you checked with the chief?”
    “Yep. He said to see what you wanted to do.”
    Great. Depending how you looked at it, either she had Wally’s full confidence or he was throwing the whole mess in her lap. She made a snap decision. “Okay, instead of diverting them all to the north, have every other car go south on Kinsman, west on Stebler, and take the old bridge over to Rolling Water Road. Then if they want to go on to Dwight they can go south, and if they want to come back toward Scumble River they can go north.”
    The officer looked doubtful. “That old bridge can only take one vehicle at a time.”
    “Yes, I know, but one is better than none.”
    He pulled on his cap. “Yes, ma’am.”
    Before she could reconsider her decision, Dante pulled up in his own golf cart. Beside him, his wife, Olive, sat as if someone had stuck a pole down me back of her dress. Her short ash blond hair was sprayed into a helmet that the NFL would have envied. Her pink shoes and handbag precisely matched the flowers in her dress and the pearls on her ears, throat, and finger.
    Olive looked around anxiously before getting out of the cart. She had moved to Scumble River from Chicago more than forty years ago when she married Dante, but she still seemed ill at ease among the natives.
    Dante waddled up to Skye, Olive trailing him, and demanded, “Is everything ready?”
    “Good morning to you, too, Uncle Dante.” Skye smiled sweetly. “Yes, it is a lovely day, even if it is a little on the hot side, but we are so lucky it isn’t raining.”
    “So, is everything ready?” Dante repeated, raising his voice.
    Obviously her uncle was not learning from her attempt to model courteous behavior, so Skye tried another behavior-management technique—ignoring him. “And how are you today, Aunt Olive? You look lovely, as always.” Skye leaned forward and kissed her aunt’s soft cheek. Olive smelled of old-fashioned face powder and attar of roses.
    Olive patted Skye’s hand, then cut her eyes at her husband before stammering, “Thank you, dear. I’m fine.”
    Dante gritted his teeth and snarled, “Good morning. Now will you tell me if everything is ready?”
    Skye nodded. “We’re all set.” She guided her aunt and uncle to the small portable platform and helped them onto it, then handed Dante a microphone. She turned and nodded to a high school boy she had recruited from the audiovisual club to run the PA system. He flipped the switch and held up his thumb.
    Skye looked at her watch. The second hand was just sweeping the twelve. It was precisely eight o’clock. She turned to Dante and cued him. “Now.”
    While Dante started with the usual thanking of everyone and their dog for helping, Skye scanned the audience. Faith and her TV crew were in the front row taping the mayor’s welcoming speech. Skye wondered idly how much of his talk would end up on the cutting-room floor. She spotted her parents and brother near the middle, and not too far from them was Trixie. Mrs. Griggs sat off to one side on a lawn chair with several other Scumble River senior citizens.
    Directly behind the seniors was a group of the town’s merchants, including Cookie Caldwell. Skye grimaced and looked around. Several police officers were scattered through the throng, but no sign of the chief. As soon as Dante finished, she really had to find Wally and talk to him about the Cookie/Mrs. Griggs situation.
    Although by a quirk of rezoning Mrs. Griggs now lived outside the city limits, Skye knew she would have better luck persuading Wally, rather than the sheriff, to do something to protect the old woman. Besides her personal relationship with Wally, he regarded the town’s citizens as his people, while Scumble River was only one small part of the sheriff’s kingdom.
    Dante paused and the