“Why?” Skye was surprised that (a) Bunny had told Simon about the ruckus—she usually hid her involvement in incidents like that from her son—and (b) he was interested. One of the major problems they’d had as a couple was his utter lack of nosiness.
“I really don’t want to discuss it in public.” Simon stepped closer and lowered his voice. “It has to do with Xavier.”
Xavier Ryan was Simon’s assistant, both at the funeral home he owned and in Simon’s role as county coroner. Xavier was also Frannie Ryan’s father.
“He’s Orlando’s old army buddy, right?” Skye wrinkled her brow, remembering Orlando’s mention of his army buddy Ryan. She had assumed that was a first name, but now it all clicked into place.
“Correct.” Simon straightened his shoulders. “I know that despite how you feel about me, you’re fond of Xavier and Frannie. So please have coffee with me.” He touched her arm. “I need your help.”
Holy moly! Simon had never, ever asked for her assistance. “In that case . . .” Skye swallowed. There was still a spark of attraction between them, but she was determined to fight it. “Sure. But I can’t be seen with you at the Feed Bag or McDonald’s. You’ve got the gossips so stirred up they’d have us married before lunchtime.”
“It’ll only take a few minutes. Where do you want to meet?” Simon’s lips twitched. “Guess it’s hard to find some privacy when your fiancé is the chief of police. A funeral director, on the other hand, has a lot fewer minions reporting to him.”
Skye nailed him with a frown before saying, “Let’s meet at the Shell station by the highway. Park in back. I need gas anyway, so I’ll grab a couple cups of coffee when I pay and we can sit in your car and talk.”
“Fine,” Simon said as he got into his Lexus. “But if we’re seen, this will look more suspicious than if we just went to a restaurant in town.”
He was right. Skye chewed her lip as she drove toward I-55. Except she’d promised Wally no more Sunday breakfasts with Simon, so doing it this way felt like less of a betrayal. She only hoped Wally felt the same way when she told him about it this afternoon.
When Skye arrived at the station, she found Simon already parked by the Dumpster. After filling up her Bel Air and getting the coffee, she moved her car next to his sleek white luxury sedan and climbed into the passenger seat.
Handing him a Styrofoam cup, she said, “Let’s hear it.”
“As you guessed, Xavier and Orlando were in Vietnam together.” Simon gave Skye his full attention. “They did two tours of duty and kept in touch once they got home.”
“Okay.” Skye took a sip of coffee, wincing as she burned her tongue.
“And the reason Orlando and his wife chose Scumble River for their bookstore is because of Xavier’s description of the town.”
“That surprises me, since Xavier has always struck me as not having much connection to Scumble River. I kind of thought he only stuck around for Frannie’s sake.” Skye tilted her head. “Was he born here?”
“Yes,” Simon answered slowly. “And after he got out of the service, he came back here and married his high school sweetheart. They’d been trying to have a baby for over ten years when Frannie was born. His wife died shortly afterward, and my uncle said Xavier was never the same. Said he just withdrew until his whole life was his daughter, his job, and his Vietnam Vets group.”
“I see.” Skye nodded. Simon had inherited the funeral home from his uncle. “But how is Xavier being responsible for Risé and her husband settling in Scumble River a problem? Surely they don’t hold Xavier responsible for what happened yesterday.”
“That I don’t know. But . . . ,” Simon started, then seemed to change his mind. “You have to promise to keep what I tell you confidential. That means from everyone. Including Wally, Trixie, and your mother.”
“If it’s not something illegal.” Skye couldn’t keep that from Wally no matter how fond she was of Frannie and her father. “Then I promise.”
“No. Nothing criminal.” Simon grimaced. “Just foolish.” He forestalled Skye’s question by saying quickly, “Xavier invested money he shouldn’t have in the bookstore.”
“Yikes!” Skye brows puckered. “By money he shouldn’t have, you don’t mean . . .” Please, God, don’t let Xavier have stolen to get the money he’d invested.
“No.” Simon blew out a tired breath. “Worse.”
“What could be worse?”
“As well as his own savings, he used the treasury from his Vietnam Vets group.”
“Hell!” Skye choked on the coffee she had just drunk. “Embezzling is stealing.”
“He didn’t misappropriate the funds.” Simon took a swallow from his cup. “He just convinced the group it was a great investment.”
“Phew.” Skye exhaled, realizing she’d been holding her breath. “Then there’s no problem.”
Simon didn’t respond.
“Is there?” Skye didn’t like the look on Simon’s face. “What aren’t you saying?”
Simon fiddled with the plastic top on his cup, flipping the little tab up and down. “Xavier promised the group that if anything happened, he’d refund their capital.”
“Crap!” Skye slumped against the window. “If he invested his own nest egg, where will he get the money to reimburse them?”
“Frannie’s college fund is the only thing left.” Simon shook his head. “And he’d rather slit his throat.”
“Isn’t it premature to think the bookstore will fail just because of one little protest?” Skye narrowed her eyes. “Unless you’re holding something back.”
Simon stared out the windshield.
“What aren’t you telling me?” Skye demanded.
“That’s the problem.” Simon groaned. “I don’t know. But Xavier’s been acting strange ever since Orlando and Risé moved to town.”
“I know there are some other issues with people like my cousin Hugo, but . . .”
“I don’t think it’s that.” Simon tapped his chin. “Look, I’ll try and find out more from Xavier, but if you could help make sure the Scumble River rabble-rousers don’t shut down Tales and Treats, and keep your ears open for anything else, I’d appreciate it.”
“I’ll do what I can. Trixie is bound and determined to keep the bookstore open, too, so she’ll help.” Skye glanced at her Timex and grimaced. “Sorry, but I’ve got to run.”
“What’s your hurry?”
“Do you remember me mentioning the boxes of books I found when I moved into my house?”
When Simon nodded, Skye continued, “As it happens, I’ve got an appointment with Orlando at nine forty-five. He’ll take a look at some of the books to see if they’re valuable, and if they are, he’ll sell them for me.”
“I thought I read that the store doesn’t open until one on Sundays.” Simon took Skye’s empty cup and stacked it inside his own, along with her crumpled napkin.
“That’s right. He’s meeting me beforehand so we won’t be interrupted.” Skye fumbled for the door handle.
“Thank you for listening to me.” Simon got out of the Lexus and hurried around the hood. He helped her out, then kissed her cheek. “I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.” Skye waved as she walked toward her car. “Call me if you find out what Xavier is hiding.”
She watched Simon turn out of the gas station, then got into her Bel Air and started back to town. The road into Scumble River had once been lined with acres of corn and soybeans, but several housing developments had sprung up in the last few years. The occasional old farmhouse looked oddly forlorn sprinkled among the cookie-cutter homes huddled on handkerchief-size lawns. Skye felt sorry for the farmhouse owners, who were often harassed by the newcomers to either sell or make improvements they couldn’t afford.
Heading east, she spotted the remains of an old barn that had been allowed to disintegrate until its roof now sat on its foundation. The only thing left standing was the silver silo, which rose out of the ground like a missi
le ready to launch. A deer munched on a row of stray cornstalks.
It was a beautiful fall day, but during her drive Skye saw no one in the front yards, and all the garage doors were closed. How many children were glued to their video games inside? It seemed that often people moved to the country for the fresh air and open spaces but then never took advantage of either one.
As she approached Tales and Treats, she saw that Hugo’s used cars were still parked out front. She was surprised that Risé hadn’t taken further steps to get rid of the vehicles. The store owner hadn’t struck Skye as someone who gave up easily. There must be something she was missing.
Skye braked and scanned the area. After a couple of minutes, she spotted two tiny security cameras aimed at the parking spots directly facing the shop. Aha. It looked as if Risé was following through after all on her vow to prove that Hugo’s inventory was there for an illegal length of time.
Giving up on finding a close space for the Bel Air, Skye double-parked, blocking in a green Chrysler selling for only two thousand dollars and a blue Hyundai that was a steal at nine hundred and ninety-nine dollars. Since the used-car lot was closed on Sundays, she figured her Chevy would be okay while she unloaded her cargo.
As Skye got out of her car, she noticed that a shade was pulled down over the bookstore’s front window and no sign of lights peeked around its edge. Had Orlando forgotten their appointment? She checked her watch, then shook her head. It was only nine thirty, on time for Scumble Riverites but early for everyone else.
Hmm. Should she move her car while she waited? No. First she’d drop off the books near the building; afterward she’d find another spot for the Chevy. Skye unlocked the trunk and reached for the first two cartons. She heaved them into her arms and struggled to the sidewalk, her purse banging heavily against her thigh.
Skye rested for a second, then made her way to the entrance. As she lowered the boxes to the concrete, she noticed that the door was slightly ajar. It took her a second to come to the conclusion that Orlando had probably left it like that so she’d know it was open and would come inside. If he was working in the café, he’d never hear her knock.
Boosting the cartons back up to chest level, Skye used her toe to nudge the door open a little more, then hip-checked it, widening the gap so she had room to enter. As she stepped into the unlit shop, she called out, “Yoo-hoo, Orlando. It’s Skye Denison.”
Between the boxes she could barely see over, and the lack of illumination, Skye felt like she was in a cave. She paused just over the threshold and tried to get her bearings.
Intent on recalling whether there was anything between her and the counter, Skye took one tiny step, shouting, “Mr. Erwin? Orlando? Are you here?”
There was no answer. As far as Skye could tell, there were no lights on in any of the store’s rooms. What in the heck was going on? Why would the door be open if no one was around? Where was Orlando?
Getting no response to her third yoo-hoo, Skye inched ahead. She stopped to listen, but all was as silent as outer space. Yikes! This was starting to remind her of a haunted house, and she hated haunted houses.
“Anyone here?” Skye’s voice quavered. She’d never realized how spooky a dark, empty bookstore could be.
No answer. Taking a deep breath, Skye forced herself to shuffle forward. If she could just get to the front and put these boxes down on the counter, she could go wait in her car until Orlando showed up.
By her estimation, she was only about three feet from the register. As she took another step, her foot slid into what felt like a melon. What was a piece of fruit doing in the middle of the floor? Moving to the right, she encountered a wooden barrier. There had definitely not been anything like that in the shop yesterday.
Sighing, she finally gave up and eased the boxes to the floor. Still unable to see in the darkness, Skye crouched. Tentatively, she reached out and touched the obstruction, then ran her hand down its length. It felt like a cabinet. Had it fallen over during the night?
Making her way back toward the entrance, she trailed her fingers along the adjacent wall until she found a light switch and flipped it on. Brightness flooded the store. Skye blinked rapidly, blinded by the sudden glare.
When her eyes finally adjusted, she gasped, “Risé!” and rushed forward.
The huge, heavy rare-book cabinet that had been set against the wall was now lying across the floor. Sticking out from under it, facedown, were a head and shoulders. The shiny brown ponytail splayed against the yellow polo shirt looked vibrant and alive, but the instant Skye touched the store owner’s neck, she knew the woman had been dead for quite some time.
CHAPTER 7
The Picture of Dorian Gray
Asquad car squealed to a stop in front of Tales and Treats, but its lights weren’t flashing and its siren was silent. Wally Boyd jumped out and sprinted toward Skye, who was slumped in one of the shop’s outdoor wrought-iron chairs. As the chief of the Scumble River Police Department, Wally worked days Monday through Friday, but knowing he’d want to be first on the scene involving a death, Skye had called him directly rather than dialing 911. Evidently, he’d stopped at the police station to pick up a cruiser before coming to the store.
Wally’s warm brown eyes held a hint of concern as he gathered her into his arms, but his tone was light. “You can’t even visit a bookstore without finding a body, can you, darlin’?”
“Guess not.” Skye buried her face in his muscular chest, not wanting him to see her tears. Unfortunately he was right; she’d stumbled across several corpses in the past, and it never got any easier. At least this time it appeared to be a tragic accident rather than a murder.
Wally settled her back into her chair and handed her a starched white handkerchief. “I’ll go take a look and be right back.”
Skye nodded, blotting under her eyes and blowing her nose.
Wally returned a few minutes later. He tucked his cell phone into his shirt pocket and said, “Reid is on his way. He was on I-55 heading to Joliet when I called him, and he had to find a place to turn around.”
“Okay.”
“Are you up to telling me about it while we wait for him?”
“Of course.” Skye took a deep breath. “Yesterday, at the grand opening, I mentioned to Orlando Erwin that I had inherited a bunch of old books.”
“The boxes you have stacked in one of the upstairs bedrooms?”
“Right,” Skye confirmed. “Anyway, Orlando is an expert in rare books and first editions, and he offered to take a look at what I had, to see if there was anything valuable.”
“Is that why you were here when the store was closed? You were meeting him for an appraisal?”
“Uh-huh.” Her teeth caught her lower lip and worked it for a moment. “But there weren’t any lights on and he wasn’t around.”
“How did you get inside the building?” Wally ran his fingers through his short black hair, ruffling the silver strands at his temples.
“The door was off the latch,” Skye said. “I thought Orlando had left it open for me, so I went inside.”
“I take it he wasn’t there.”
“No. And the main room was dark.” Skye crumpled Wally’s white linen hanky. “I figured he was in the café since he does all the baking.”
“So you went in there?”
“Not exactly.” Skye straightened the hem on her black skirt. “The boxes of books I was carrying were really heavy, and I didn’t want to put them on the floor since it’s so hard to lift them from there, so I headed towards the counter.”
“In the dark?”
“Yeah.” Wally’s dubious tone made her recognize how silly her reasoning sounded, and she rushed to explain, “You see, I’d just been in the store yesterday, and I knew there wasn’t anything blocking the path between me and the register.”
“But . . .”
“But then my foot bumped into something.” Skye swallowed hard, realizing that what she’d thought was a melon had actually been a huma
n head.
“Is that when you called me?”
“First, I put the boxes down and felt the barrier, trying to figure out what it was. Then I found the switch and turned on the lights.” Skye blanched. “When I saw that the humongous rare-book cabinet had fallen and crushed someone underneath it, that’s when I called you. Once you were on the way, I came out here to wait.”
“Which was exactly the right thing to do,” Wally reassured her.
“Thank you.” Skye’s smile was halfhearted. “I aim to please.”
Wally got up.
“Are you going back inside?” Skye asked.
“Yes.” Wally leaned down and kissed her cheek. “I need to take a walk through the rest of the store to see if we have a second victim.”
“You don’t think it’s an accident?” Skye asked, chewing on her thumbnail.
“I have no idea, but the question is, where’s Orlando?” Wally walked toward the open door. “And if that’s his wife in there, why hasn’t he come looking for her?”
“Oh, my.” Skye followed Wally and peered inside. “I hadn’t thought of that, but it’s the million-dollar question, all righty.”
Skye paced up and down the sidewalk, thoughts ricocheting through her mind like pennies in a clothes dryer. Where was Orlando? How had the cabinet fallen over? She paused in midstep, another worry popping up. How would this affect Xavier’s investment? Scanning the street in both directions, she was relieved to see that the police car hadn’t attracted any onlookers. For once she was thankful that there were so few businesses left in this part of town. But could Orlando run the store without his wife? Would he even want to?
The minutes ticked by as if each was an eternity, and Skye was getting nervous. Maybe Wally should have radioed for backup before going inside the store. Before she could decide whether to check on him or call the PD for help, Simon pulled his Lexus behind the squad car. He jogged toward her carrying a black doctor’s case. She knew the bag contained a camera, stethoscope, flashlight, rubber gloves, and liver thermometer. The body bag would arrive with Xavier in the hearse.
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