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

incident with the vase. At first it seemed harmless enough. She came around to the house and apologized. I accepted, but refused her request to take a look at my other things.”
    “That was probably best.”
    “Right. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.” Mrs. Griggs drained the glass of water. “After that, she started calling me, leaving me notes, following me around downtown.”
    Skye frowned. “That’s terrible.”
    “And this last week it’s gotten worse. Monday, somebody cut my clothesline and all my clean laundry fell into the dirt. Tuesday, when I went out to get my mail, all that was in the box was a pile of ashes. Wednesday, someone put sugar in my gas tank.” Mrs. Griggs suddenly grabbed Skye’s hand, her nails digging into the palm. “And Thursday, the Virgin Mary disappeared.”
    “Oh, my.” Skye blinked. She was fairly sure Mrs. Griggs was referring to a statue of the Madonna. In Scumble River and the surrounding towns, the figurines were placed in up-right bathtubs whose interiors had been painted blue. These homemade shrines were then inserted into the ground as a yard decoration.
    “This morning I got a call telling me I was next.” Mrs. Griggs released Skye’s hand and collapsed back in her seat.
    “Then tonight someone broke into your house.” Skye brought the chain of events to its alarming conclusion.
    “Yes.”
    “Did you tell the deputy all this?”
    Mrs. Griggs nodded. “McCabe said they’d keep an eye out, but he didn’t seem too impressed.”
    “Is there anyone you could go visit for a while? A friend or relative who lives out of town? How about your daughter?” Skye was trying to figure out what she could do. Maybe after the yard sale she’d have time to watch Cookie and catch her in the act.
    “No! I’m not running away.” Mrs. Griggs shook her head. “Besides, I don’t have anyone. Neither Mr. Griggs nor I had any siblings, so no nieces or nephews. He had a few distant cousins, but I stopped hearing from them years ago. I’m sure they must all be dead by now. And my daughter, Sterling, was killed in a car crash in 1969. I don’t have anyone.”
    “I was born in 1969,” Skye murmured without thinking.
    “I knew it.” Mrs. Griggs straightened. “What month?”
    “December.”
    “That’s the month she died.” Mrs. Griggs took Skye’s hands and stared intently into her eyes. “You’re going to think I’m a silly old woman, but you have the same hair, eyes, body type; even your voice sounds the same. I’m sure you’re Sterling reincarnated.”
    “Now, Mrs. Griggs, really, I’m not your daughter come back to life.” Skye gently removed her hands from the woman’s grip. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”
    “Yes, I do.” A stubborn expression had settled on Mrs. Griggs’s face. “And that’s why you’re going to help me.”
    Skye knew she’d be sorry, but she said, “I’m going to help you because I like you, not because I’m your dead daughter.” Before Mrs. Griggs could protest, Skye continued, “I’ll talk to Wally tomorrow and try to convince him to speak to Cookie, even though it isn’t his jurisdiction. If that doesn’t work, I’ll have a little chat with her myself. But I really can’t do much more until the yard sale is over.”
    “I understand, dear.” Mrs. Griggs got up. “You do what you can, and give me a call when you have a chance.”
    “Would you like to stay here tonight?” Skye asked. “My bed has fresh sheets and I could sleep on the couch.”
    “No, I’ll be fine.”
    Skye walked the old woman to the door. “I’ll call you sometime tomorrow, but you can phone here anytime. My mom will track me down.”
    “Thank you, dear.”
    As Mrs. Griggs went down the front steps, Skye abruptly wondered how the woman had known she was staying at her parents and called out, “How did you find me?”
    “That TV star moving into your cottage was the talk of the KC fish fry, and your grandma