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

spectators applauded. He then began his closing. “Route 66 is no longer an official highway, and perhaps because of this, it has gained an aura that attracts hundreds if not thousands of people every year to try and follow it from beginning to end. Much like Marilyn Monroe and James Dean, it is more revered now than when it was ‘alive.’ The legend is more than the reality. The invented past has more meaning to people because it can be anything you want it to be. Because of this, we who live along a small stretch of this magic thoroughfare want to honor it, and we do so today by welcoming you to the First Annual Route 66 Yard Sale. A hundred miles of fun, entertainment, and treasures.”
    The crowd went wild, clapping and whistling. Skye was stunned. The one thing her uncle had not ordered her to write and, in fact, wouldn’t let her see, had been his welcoming speech. She had been sure it would be boring and self-congratulatory, and the first half had lived up to her expectations, but the closing was amazing. Who knew her uncle had that kind of romantic oratory in him? It was a reminder that she should try to be less judgmental about people.
    Feeling chastised, she went to help her aunt and uncle step down from the platform. Once they were safely on the ground and she had given orders for the dais to be moved away, she hugged Dante and said, “That was a wonderful speech. You brought tears to my eyes.”
    He stiffened in surprise, then hugged her back and said, “Never forget, there’s a fine line between bull’s-eye and bullshit, and I am a master archer.”
    With that, Dante and Olive walked over to the ribbon. Skye handed him a huge pair of gold scissors and stepped aside. He cut the ribbon and welcomed everyone again. Then, before the police moved the sawhorses, he and Olive got into their golf cart, waved, and drove away.
    Skye stood on the sidelines as the crowd was allowed through the barricade and onto the rest of Maryland Street. After the majority of the horde had spread out among the sale tables, Skye got into her own golf cart and started to make the rounds. The Lemonade ShakeUp stand was already doing a brisk business and she waved to Justin, who was manning the window.
    People were three-deep at most of the tables, and the vendors were working frantically to both sell to and keep an eye on the buyers. Skye noticed that Cookie’s table was mobbed and she was working it alone.
    Everything seemed to be running smoothly downtown, so Skye headed over to the bridge to check out the west side of the sale. Her godfather, Charlie Patukas, had allowed the Boy Scouts to use the front part of his motor court parking lot for their booth. Across the road and down a little,Skye’s brother, Vince, had set up a table in front of Great Expectations, his styling salon, and was selling hair care products.
    So far, so good. Skye turned the cart around to go back through town and examine the other side of the sale—the many booths and stands outside the cordoned-off area that were spread from Scumble River Road to Kinsman Street. Included in that group were both the Dooziers’ Petting Zoo and Skye’s own family’s Denison/Leofanti Farm Stand.
    The Dooziers were like a pair of children’s scissors—eye-catching and colorful but not too sharp. When one added Skye’s own family to the mix, many of whom were a beer short of a six-pack, it was clear why she had dubbed this the Wild West, even though geographically it lay east of town. As she crossed the barrier, she felt as if she should strap on a six-shooter and grab her rifle before venturing into such untamed territory. In her head she could hear an ancient warning: Beware! Past this point there be monsters.

CHAPTER 8

Survivor: Scumble River
    S kye felt herself relax. Everything seemed fine as she rode through the sale. The fields on either side of the road were full of sellers, and people wandered from table to table, browsing through the merchandise. Many