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

“Let’s get back to that later. What happened tonight?”
    “Like I do every Friday, I left my house at five on the dot to meet my friends for the KC fish fry, then after that we went to the GUMB Assembly Hall to play bingo. It starts at seven, and we’re usually home around ten, but we were a little earlier tonight because we didn’t stop for ice cream. Peg’s stomach was upset.”
    “Okay.” Skye wasn’t sure where Mrs. Griggs was going with the story, but she decided to let her tell it in her own way. “So, you got home early, and …”
    “And someone was in my house! I could hear them clomping around upstairs.”
    “Oh, my.” Skye hadn’t been expecting that. “What did you do?”
    “I know I shouldn’t have, but I went in.” A faint look of embarrassment settled on Mrs. Griggs’s features, but she said defiantly, “I’ve lived in that house for seventy years, and I have to protect it.”
    Skye knew that this wasn’t the time to argue that wood and bricks were not worth a life, so instead she asked, “What happened then?”
    “I grabbed my rifle from the front closet and yelled that I had a gun and wasn’t afraid to use it—I’ve been hunting since I was ten years old, bagged my first deer at twelve.” Mrs. Griggs paused to take a sip of water. “Well, whoever was in the house must have gone out the second-story balcony and climbed down the trellis—it’s wrought iron and was installed to be used as a way out in case of fire. Anyway I heard more footsteps, then the balcony door squeak—I keep meaning to oil it—then some rustling, and a thud.”
    “Then you called the police?”
    “Well, first I went around back to see who it was.”
    Skye made a sound of dismay in her throat at the older woman’s foolhardiness, realizing at some level that she might have done the same thing herself given the circumstances. Mrs. Griggs reminded Skye a lot of herself. “And who was it?”
    “I didn’t see her, but it was Cookie Caldwell. I’m sure of it.” Mrs. Griggs leaned forward. “That woman has been pestering me to let her look at my things since June when I showed her my vase.”
    Skye didn’t want to get distracted from the chronological events. “Let’s hold on to that thought for a minute.” She was having trouble following the older woman’s story. “After the intruder disappeared, you called the police, right?”
    “Right, but it turns out my house is no longer in the city limits, so I had to call the county sheriff’s office.”
    “Did they send a deputy?”
    “Yes, someone named McCabe. Seemed about as sharp as a bowling ball. I told him what happened and we looked around, but since nothing was vandalized and the only thing missing was a piece of cheap costume jewelry—but my husband had given it to me for our first anniversary—McCabe said there wasn’t much he could do. He filled out a report, but I could tell that it would end up filed under ‘Senile Old Woman.”’
    “Mmm. So the intruder hadn’t messed anything up?”
    “Not really. I could tell things weren’t where I had them, but my house is pretty full of stuff, so to the police it probably looked just fine.”
    Skye wasn’t sure how to ask the next question. “Um, how were you thinking I could help you?”
    “Well, you’ve solved some crimes in the past, and since you already know Cookie Caldwell, and what she’s capable of, I was hoping you’d look into this matter for me. It’s obvious the police won’t do a thing.” Mrs. Griggs suddenly looked every year of her age. “The pin may not have any monetary value, but it was from my husband and it means a lot to me.” Before Skye could answer, the older woman continued, “And she’s starting to scare me.”
    Mrs. Griggs’s last statement caught Skye by surprise. She would have bet big money that the old lady wasn’t afraid of anything. “How?”
    “She’s relentless.” Mrs. Griggs’s shoulders slumped. “It started right after the