Free Murder Of A Snake In The Grass by Denise Swanson Page B

“If you’re sure her size won’t be an issue this time, maybe I can convince her to give it one more chance.”
    “I promise. She’d be an asset. She dances like a dream.” Trixie glanced at her watch. “Time to line up my team. Have you placed your bets yet?”
    “No. Who else is competing?”
    Trixie steered Skye over to a large white board placed between the betting booths. On it were the names of the teams and their odds printed in big black letters. “Now, not speaking as a team sponsor, here’s my take,” Trixie said. “The chess club isn’t a good bet because they’ll spend too much time trying to find the most logical way to win. The debate team might stop and try to talk the spectators into thinking they’ve already won. The teachers don’t have any more of a chance against the kids today than they do in the classroom.And the Future Farmers of America might stop to check the soil for nutrients or the clouds for rain.”
    “Your analysis sounds strangely biased. I suppose you want me to back the cheerleaders,” Skye teased.
    “Well, they
are
going to win. But there is one other team that has a chance. They call themselves Great Caesar’s Ghost.”
    “Interesting. Point them out to me.”
    Trixie twisted around until she spotted them. “There they are, next to Justin and Frannie’s food booth. I think those two are friends with them.”
    Skye took a step closer to see better. Interesting—one of the four kids racing as Great Caesar’s Ghost had been a part of the group that Grady and his gang had been tormenting yesterday.
    When a shrill whistle blew, Trixie said, “Hey, that’s the warning signal. I’ve got to go get my girls together. See you later.”
    Skye waved as her friend hurried off, then moved over into the betting line. She put two dollars on the cheerleaders and two on Great Caesar’s Ghost. If she won, she’d be paid in play money that she could exchange for various items that the community businesses had donated. Clutching her tickets, she looked for a place from which to watch the race.
    A smallish ten-year-old boy with a red crew cut ran out of the crowd and skidded to a stop in front of her. “Miz Denison, you by your lonesome?”
    Smiling, Skye squatted down to bring her to his eyelevel. “Yes, I am, Junior. How about yourself?”
    Junior Doozier and Skye had quite a history. He and his family always seemed to be around when something went wrong. It was never their fault; they just seemed destined to play the role of the Greek chorus and occasional rescue team.
    The boy wiped his nose on the back of his arm beforeanswering. “Nah, Elvira’s baby-sittin’ me and Cletus and Bambi.”
    Skye quickly ran the Doozier family tree through her mind. Considering some of the unusual twists to the branches, this was no easy trick. Elvira was Junior’s aunt, but only fifteen years old. Cletus was Junior’s cousin, but lived with the family because his father, Hap, was in jail. And Bambi was Junior’s younger sister.
    Once she got everyone straight, Skye asked, “Where’s your mom and dad?”
    Junior shrugged bony shoulders under a grimy T-shirt. “Aw, they got loaded last night at the carnival, so this mornin’ they told Elvira to get us out of the house and went back to bed.”
    Skye kept her face expressionless. Not that what Junior had said surprised her, but she needed a few seconds to think of an appropriate response. “Well, it’s nice your aunt could bring you, then.”
    “They’re payin’ her ten bucks.”
    “Did you eat yet?” Skye asked, trying to gain some control over the conversation.
    “Nah, I ain’t got no money.”
    Skye knew better than to ask about Elvira buying him breakfast. “Are you hungry?”
    “Sure, wanna listen to my belly talk?” He lifted his shirt and exposed his midriff.
    “No, thanks.” Skye handed him five dollars, which left her with three singles. Definitely time to go to the bank. “Here, I think you still have time to get