Murder of a Bookstore Babe

by Denise Swanson

  Skye tuned the radio to 94.7 FM, her favorite oldies station. She would always be a country music fan, but lately she had been in the mood for something different, and WLS played the best variety.

  Although when “Right Back Where We Started From” poured out of the speakers, the irony wasn’t lost on her. Judy’s news had put them back to square one in the investigation. Skye opened her mouth to comment but stopped herself. She knew she couldn’t resist talking about the case for long, but she’d hold out as long as possible. Wally deserved a reward for all she was putting him through in order to marry her.

  When they arrived, she handed Wally her key and he unchained the barricade barring their entrance into the private club, then chained it back up once she drove through. From ten in the morning until six in the evening, a guard was on duty. He or she checked membership identification, punched guest cards, and unlocked the gate, but after hours, members had to fend for themselves.

  Once Wally was back inside the car, Skye drove a short way up a narrow gravel road bordered by grassy areas dotted with trees and picnic tables—all empty at this time of day. Just before the main beach area, which had locker rooms and a pavilion, Skye turned down a dirt path that led to a small lake at the back of the club. She parked on the grass and hopped out of the Bel Air.

  Popping the trunk, she handed Wally a cooler and grabbed a basket and an old bedspread, then led him toward the lake. It was a short, steep hike down to the water, but that slope provided them with privacy from the gaze of anyone casually driving by. As she had hoped, the beach was deserted. They were alone at last.

  Wally helped Skye spread the quilt on the sand, then sat down and took off his shoes and socks. “Too bad you didn’t tell me we were coming out here. I’d have brought my swimsuit.”

  “Don’t worry.” Skye’s expression was poker-faced as she kicked off her sandals. “We have everything we need.” She handed him a Beck’s and a bottle opener before unpacking their picnic supper.

  “When did you arrange all this?” Wally took a swig of the ice-cold beer.

  “I swung by the supermarket before meeting you at the church.”

  “So that’s why you didn’t want me to pick you up,” Wally deduced.

  “Yep.” Skye put a paper plate heaped with fried chicken, potato salad, and biscuits in front of him, along with a napkin wrapped around a plastic fork and knife. “You’re always doing such nice things for me. I thought it was about time I reciprocated.”

  “Sugar”—Wally’s voice deepened—“you have no idea all the nice things I’d like to do for you.”

  “We should probably talk about that, now that we’re engaged.”

  “What do you mean?” Wally bit into the chicken leg he’d picked up.

  “There’s a lot of stuff I haven’t asked you about and probably should have.” Skye stared at the smooth blue water. “For instance, I had no idea you hadn’t been in touch with Darleen since she left here two years ago, or that you two had had a prenup.”

  “Oh.” Wally wiped his fingers on a napkin. “What else?”

  “Money.” Skye took a deep breath. “I know your father is wealthy, but I’m completely in the dark about what your financial situation is like.” Her stomach felt queasy. She hated discussing issues like this, but she summoned up a smile. “You know I pretty much live paycheck to paycheck and plow anything extra into my house.”

  “Money never seemed that important to you.” His tone was cautious.

  “It’s not the cash per se,” Skye hurried to explain. This was what she’d been afraid of. Growing up rich, Wally had probably been pursued by a lot of women. “It’s how money affects people.”

  “Ah, now I understand your concern.” He scooted nearer. “Okay. I don’t have a trust fund. I do have a small inheritance from my mother, which would be about enough for us to pay cash for a really nice house. As for my father’s empire, I don’t know who’s in his will or what he’s done about the company, but I doubt my name is mentioned.” He took her hand. “Does that make you feel better?”

  “Yes.” Skye kissed his cheek. “I’m not crazy, and I like being comfortably well-off as much as the next girl, but the thought of being insanely wealthy scares the heck out of me.”

  “Me, too.” Wally hugged her. “Anything else you want to know?”

  “Not at the moment.” She had considered asking him whether he wanted children but could handle only one big life-changing question a day. And considering the annulment might take a year or more, she had time to work herself up to that topic.

  “Good. I don’t want us to have any secrets.” Wally kissed her. “I want us both to go into this marriage with our eyes wide open, so ask away anytime.”

  “You, too,” Skye said. Wally had worked with her mother for more than fifteen years, and even though May did not want him as a son-in-law, there was no way she had kept her mouth shut on her favorite topic—her kids. Which meant Wally already knew everything about Skye, so she felt pretty safe offering complete disclosure.

  After they finished eating, Skye brought out a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries. “Are you ready for dessert, or would you rather wait a bit?”

  “Definitely wait a while.” Wally patted his flat stomach. “I’m stuffed.”

  “Me, too.” Skye crawled over and sat between Wally’s legs, resting her back against his chest. “So, what do you think about this latest development with the bookstore case?”

  “Probably the same as you.” Wally pulled her closer and rested his chin on top of her head. “Burglary was not the motive for the murder.”

  “I agree, but what makes you so sure?”

  “The victim was hit over the head. Then the bookshelves were pushed over on top of her.”

  Skye contemplated that piece of information for a moment, then said, “You’re inferring that if the thief had already knocked her out, thus enabling his or her escape, why also crush Kayla? The crook would only do that if he or she wanted her dead.”

  “Exactly.” Wally nodded. “And even if the criminal killed Kayla so she couldn’t identify him or her, then why attempt a robbery in the first place when it was clear someone was still in the store? The lights were probably still on. And since we didn’t find any evidence of forced entry, the door was still probably unlocked, too. Which means anyone could have walked in and caught the bad guy in the act. Most thieves wait for the place to be empty.”

  “Hmm.” Skye bit her lip. “Good point.”

  “Those pieces of information, along with the books turning up in the library return box, make me think we’re after a murderer, not a thief who killed someone in the course of a burglary.” Wally’s voice was confident.

  “Great.” Skye’s tone was resigned. Should she mention Xavier’s involvement with the bookstore? No. If Kayla was the intended victim, the fact that he had invested in the business wasn’t relevant.

  They were silent for a moment before Wally mused, “The county crime scene techs have finished with the store, so I gave Risé and Orlando the go-ahead to open up tomorrow. Maybe I should stop them.” He paused, then said, “No.” He trailed his fingers lightly up and down Skye’s arms. “The techs already gathered all the evidence, and if the criminal was after Kayla, not the books, Tales and Treats probably doesn’t have anything to do with the case. And if it does, better to let it open up and allow whoever murdered that girl to think he got away with it.”

  “Yep, keep an eye on the store and see what happens,” Skye agreed. “But what I can’t figure out is, who would want to kill a young girl like Kayla?”

  “The usual motives are money, vengeance, and obsession.” Wally covered her hands with his. “What do you know about her?”

  “She doesn’t seem to have any money. Her family is lower-middle-class and she needed that job.”

  “How about revenge or passion?” Wally asked. “Anyone mad at her, or does she have a jealous ex?”

  “Not that I’ve heard. She seems well liked a
nd dated Chase Wren all through high school. They were engaged to be married. You saw how broken up he is about her death.” Skye twisted to look at Wally. “Do you want me to see what Xenia has to say?”

  “That’s a good idea. And I’ll work on the forensic side.” Wally got to his feet. “Now, let’s stop worrying about criminals and concentrate on us.”

  “Good idea.” Skye took his hand and pulled herself up. “Want to take a dip?”

  “Sure.” Wally looked around. “Did you say you brought our suits?”

  “Nope.” Skye unbuttoned her ecru blouse, revealing a cream lace bra. “Is that a problem?” She twitched her shoulders and the top dropped onto the sand.

  “Guess not.” Wally grabbed the tails of his shirt and skimmed that garment along with his white T-shirt off over his head.

  Skye shimmied out of her nut brown skirt. “I didn’t think so.” She fingered the top of her ivory satin panties.

  He unzipped his uniform trousers and kicked off them and his Jockeys. “I’m ready.”

  “Yes. I would say you definitely are.” Skye unhooked her bra and wiggled out of her underwear. “Race you to the raft.”

  CHAPTER 14

  The Turn of the Screw

  Skye was still smiling when she arrived at work Tuesday morning. Her night with Wally had been fabulous. They’d gotten a lot of issues between them cleared up, and the rest of the time they’d spent together was better than she’d thought possible. Even the ominous note she found in her mailbox from Neva Llewellyn, the junior high principal, couldn’t wipe the grin off her face.

  “Why are you so happy?” Ursula Nelson, the school secretary, watched her with suspicious beetle brown eyes. “Didn’t you see that message from Neva?”

  “I saw it.” Skye refused to give the older woman the satisfaction of appearing concerned. “Please tell her I’m available anytime she’s ready to see me.”

  “Go right in.” Ursula rose from her chair like a bird of prey and flapped her wing toward the principal’s closed door. “She’s been waiting for you.”

  Skye glanced at her watch. It was barely eight o’clock and the staff wasn’t required to be at the school for another half hour. What in the heck had gotten Neva in such a state? She searched her mind for any recent offenses, but the first few weeks of classes had gone smoothly. Surely Neva didn’t share Homer’s aversion to Skye’s work with the police.

  When Skye entered the principal’s office, Neva, seated at a gleaming cherrywood writing table roughly the size of a cruise ship, looked up and said, “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “Uh.” Skye was immediately wary. Neva had never offered her any refreshment before. “Sure.”

  “How do you take it?”

  “Cream and two packages of Sweet’N Low, if you have it, or three sugars.”

  Neva made a moue of distaste but rose and walked over to a sideboard that contained an elaborate apparatus. As she pressed various buttons, Skye took a seat on one of the pair of Queen Anne chairs facing the desk. She fished in her tote for her calendar, a notepad, and a pencil, then put the bag by her feet.

  “Enjoy.” Neva handed Skye a delicate cup and saucer decorated with tiny pink roses.

  “Thank you.” Skye breathed in the wonderful aroma, then took a taste. Wow! “This is fantastic.”

  “Yes, it is.” Neva sat back down and straightened the immaculate leather-bound blotter on her desktop. “I’m very particular about my coffee. One needs the right machine, filtered water, and of course, the best beans to make a good cup.”

  “I see.” Skye wondered where Neva was leading. She wasn’t usually inclined to waste time chatting. “Any particular brand you prefer?”

  “I usually order my beans directly from Kona, Hawaii, but these are from Tales and Treats.” Neva took a sip. “Mr. Erwin suggested it, and I must say, he was correct in his assessment.”

  “He seems very knowledgeable about that sort of thing,” Skye agreed.

  “Which, in a way, brings me to why I wanted to see you this morning.” Neva ran a fingertip along the rim of her cup. “I understand both you and Tales and Treats had a difficult weekend.”

  “Yes, that’s true.” Shoot! Was Neva also going to yell at her about being the pied piper for the dead? “The protesters on Saturday were bad enough, but finding that poor girl on Sunday was awful.” There. Maybe if Skye made it clear she didn’t enjoy discovering bodies, Neva wouldn’t berate her for doing so.

  “I imagine it was,” Neva whispered. A single tear slid down her cheek, and she wiped it away, then cleared her throat. “You’re probably unaware that Kayla Hines was my goddaughter.”

  “Oh, my.” Skye swallowed hard. “You’re right, I didn’t know. I’m so sorry for your loss. Would you like to talk about her?”

  “Thank you for your condolences.” Neva leaned forward. “But I didn’t bring you in here for sympathy or grief counseling.”

  “Oh?” Skye’s heart jumped in alarm, but she forced an unperturbed look on her face.

  “From what I’ve been told, the authorities are claiming that Kayla’s death was a result of a break-in gone wrong.” Neva’s intense gaze bore into Skye. “Which means the police will use that as an excuse to limit the investigation.”

  “No, but—”

  “You’ve got to find out who killed her,” Neva interrupted Skye. “The murderer must be punished.”

  “Do you suspect someone?” Skye asked. “Was there anyone who hated Kayla or had it in for her?”

  “No.” Neva shook her head. “Everyone loved her. There was something about Kayla that drew people to her.” She frowned. “And that’s the problem. There’s no obvious villain, so the police will give up after only a cursory investigation and blame it on the burglary.”

  “I’m sure the officials will use every means available to find Kayla’s murderer.” Skye hadn’t asked Wally whether she should mention that he no longer considered burglary the motive. “And since I do work as the police consultant, I will offer any help I can.”

  “That’s not enough.” Neva tapped a manicured nail on the desktop. “As I understand it, the police only seek your advice if the crime was psychologically motivated.”

  “That’s often true.” Skye searched for a way to set Neva’s mind at rest without revealing anything Wally might want kept quiet. “But since I found her, I’m already involved, and I will be working the case.”

  “Kayla’s parents won’t push.” Neva shook her head, clearly not accepting Skye’s reassurances. “My cousin is under her husband’s thumb and too busy with her second family to spend any energy on Kayla. And Kayla’s stepfather doesn’t care what happened to her.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. It sounds as if Kayla had to grow up fast and rely on herself and her friends to get by.”

  “Kayla had such talent and ambition,” Neva explained. “But she was torn because she yearned for a real home but wanted a career that would make it difficult to settle down.”

  “That’s a tough choice.” Skye’s tone was soothing.

  “I’m counting on you.” Neva gazed at Skye unblinkingly. “You seem to have a special talent for solving mysteries.”

  “Not really.” Skye stood up. “The Star has exaggerated my part in previous investigations.” She backed away from the desk, bumping into a delicate butterfly table and leaving a scuff on the ivory wall.

  Neva rose, too. A line appeared between her brows as she contemplated the scrape on her formerly pristine paint, and Skye winced. That mark was undoubtedly going straight onto Skye’s permanent record. The one Neva kept in her head.

  “The police department does a great job,” Skye babbled, knowing she should shut up. “I’m happy to help, but they don’t need me.”

  “Be that as it may.” Neva jerked the cuffs of her taupe wool suit jacket for emphasis. “My goddaughter deserves an advocate.”

  Skye reached the door. Tasting freedom, she put her hand on the knob, but Neva grabbed her wrist, thwa
rting her escape. “And I’m going to see she has two—you and me.”

  “I’ll do what I can.” She freed herself from the older woman’s grasp, unsure how else to respond. The junior high principal had never shared anything personal with her before—which, come to think of it, wasn’t an altogether bad thing.

  Neva murmured, “It isn’t right, how her parents ignored her.” As Skye stepped over the threshold and started down the hall, she heard the principal mutter, “They treated her like a servant. Worse, like a ghost. Why didn’t I ever do something about that?”

  Skye blew out a breath of relief as she rounded the corner and was out of the woman’s sight. She felt sorry for Neva, but there was no way she was going to question the principal’s past inaction regarding her goddaughter. At the moment, the best Skye could do was pass the information about Kayla’s neglectful family to Wally and see whether he wanted to pursue it. She couldn’t think of any reason her parents would want Kayla dead. Heck, it sounded as if they barely knew she was alive.

  A few minutes later, Skye sat in her office staring at the brown stains on the white ceiling tiles. She often thought those blots could be used to administer a Rorschach test. Too bad that was an assessment tool rarely used by school psychologists anymore.

  The windowless room was painted yield-sign yellow and was no bigger than a walk-in closet. Skye had attempted to dispel the claustrophobic effect by arranging crisp white curtains around a travel-poster scene of the mountains. The custodian had originally used this space to store cleaning supplies, and there was nothing she could do about the faint lingering smell of ammonia. The pine-scented air freshener she’d plugged into the only outlet had made her sneeze, so she’d discarded it, preferring the stench to the sniffles.

  Still, she was grateful for the private office. Not having to share or beg for a room every time she came to the building was a blessing. Many school psychologists would give up both their sick days and their retirement funds to have that luxury.