When she entered the bedroom, Skye was tempted to arrange herself across Wally’s king-size mattress and surprise him when he got out of the shower. Reluctantly, she discarded the idea, realizing that with so little time before he had to leave for his meeting, it would be best to greet him upright and fully clothed.
Curling up in a leather club chair in the corner, she waited for him to emerge from the adjoining bathroom. Wally strolled out a few minutes later, still dripping and drying his back with a cocoa brown towel. It took him a second or so to spot Skye, but when he did, a slow grin spread across his handsome face.
Skye smiled back, her gaze traveling from his long, sinewy legs, to his slim hips, up to the molded bronze muscles of his chest and shoulders, and coming to rest on his depthless, dark brown eyes.
“Darlin’, I didn’t expect to see you tonight.” Wally ambled over to her, took her hands, and drew her to her feet. “I wish all surprises were this good.”
Skye wound her arms around his neck and gave him a light kiss. “You sweet-talker.”
He pressed her body tightly to his. “Just the facts, ma’am.”
She felt a lurch of excitement and had to fight the desire to run her fingers down his naked body. “I wanted to catch you before you left for your dinner to talk to you about what I heard today.”
His lips teased her earlobe, and he whispered, “Can it wait?”
A delicious shudder ran through her body, but she gathered her self-control. “Probably not.”
His breath warmed her throat. “Are you sure?”
Her resolve started to melt, and she forced herself to step away from him. “Yes.”
A shadow of annoyance crossed his face; then he turned toward his dresser, slid open the top drawer, and said over his shoulder, “What’s up?”
As he put on underwear and socks, she told him what Neva had said to her, and Skye’s own thoughts as she watched Risé walk away, finishing with, “And I really think that not only was the murder the primary intention, as we discussed last night, but that Risé was the intended victim.”
Wally zipped up a pair of black jeans and threaded a belt through the loops. “Just because Kayla’s godmother says everyone loved her doesn’t make it true.”
“I know that, but during my lunch break today I checked her school records. She was a good student, participated in activities, and never got so much as a detention for chewing gum.”
“Still, you said there was a problem with her parents.” He looked unconvinced as he pulled a silver-gray turtleneck over his head. “What was your impression of their reaction Sunday when we notified them of Kayla’s death?”
“Well. They both appeared genuinely shocked, and the mom was certainly devastated.” Skye nibbled her thumbnail. “But the stepdad seemed like he couldn’t wait to get rid of us.” She tilted her head. “What did you think?”
“The same.”
“So unless Neva’s description is absolutely the opposite of the situation, Kayla’s parents were totally uninvolved with her life, which would mean no reason to kill her. Besides, she and her boyfriend were getting married in a month. She’d be completely out of their hair after that, so why murder her?”
“You have a point.” Wally grabbed a black tweed blazer from his closet. “I’m still not clear on the logistics.” He stuffed his wallet into his pants pocket and grabbed his keys. “Wouldn’t whoever murdered Kayla have noticed it was her and not Risé?”
“This is what I think happened.” Skye clipped Wally’s cell to his belt for him as she explained, “I think when the murderer arrived, Kayla had her back to the entrance. Maybe she was reaching to put away a book on a high shelf.”
“Wouldn’t she have heard the bells over the door jingle when it was opened?”
“Yes, but she probably said something like, ‘Be right there.’ Or ‘Sorry. We’re closed,’ and didn’t turn around.” Skye paused to gather her thoughts, then continued, “So the killer walks up to her and whacks her on the back of the head, thinking she’s Risé.”
“Then why was she found facedown?” Wally looked at Skye in the dresser’s mirror as he combed his damp hair. “In your scenario, she should have fallen backward.”
“Unless the blow didn’t knock her out immediately. In that case she would have swung around to see who hit her, and then fallen forward,” Skye explained. “It’s my understanding that people don’t always die right away from a head injury.”
“Okay.” Wally put his hand on the small of Skye’s back and walked with her out of the bedroom and toward the door. “Say we go with your theory that the store owner, not the clerk, was the intended victim. Who wanted to kill Risé?”
“Unfortunately, there’s quite a list.” Skye frowned. “And about half of the names on it are my relatives’.”
Wally wasn’t entirely persuaded by Skye’s reasoning. However, since the stolen books hadn’t yielded any usable fingerprints and they didn’t have any other leads, he did agree that in addition to investigating the murder as if Kayla was the intended victim, he’d have an officer look into the bookseller’s background, as well.
He also approved Skye talking to her cousins Kevin and Hugo, her cousin-in-law Flip, Charlie, and Tomi. Thankfully there was no need to talk to Pru Cormorant again. The English teacher had made her peace with Risé before the murder took place.
As Skye sat in her car watching Wally drive off, she realized that once again she’d forgotten to tell him about Vince’s engagement to Loretta and the couple’s plans to run away and get married in Las Vegas. Was she just absentminded, or was she subconsciously afraid that Wally might suggest they make it a double elopement?
Nah. Wally knew she wanted a church wedding, and he would never ask her to give up that dream. Tucking away that positive thought, Skye started the Bel Air but didn’t put it into gear. Shoot! Now that she was convinced Risé was the intended victim, she probably should have mentioned Xavier’s investment in the bookstore.
On the other hand, what possible reason could Xavier have to kill Risé? Without her, Tales and Treats would never succeed. Even having met Orlando only twice, Skye was sure there was no way he could run the business by himself.
Next, Skye considered her list of suspects. Which person should she question first? Better yet, what excuses could she use to drop by and see them? Hugo lived in Clay Center; she’d save him for when she could catch him at his used-car dealership.
It was a little past five thirty—suppertime for most Scumble Riverites. That meant Tomi would be busy at her restaurant, and both Kevin and Flip would be eating dinner with their families. That left Uncle Charlie. Tuesday was his bowling night, and he always ate at the alley’s grill before the league started.
Skye parked in the bowling alley’s sparsely populated lot. The senior men’s league didn’t start until six thirty, so the few cars present belonged to either bar patrons or men like Charlie—older bachelors or widowers who preferred not to cook for themselves.
The wind had picked up, and as Skye walked around to the front of the building, she held down her skirt, not wanting to flash anyone driving down Basin Street. When she pushed through the glass door, the glaring overhead lights made her blink.
While her eyes adjusted, Skye listened to Frank Sinatra crooning from the speakers. He was bragging about doing things his way—a sentiment she understood and approved of but didn’t practice as often as she should.
Charlie wasn’t among the half dozen men at the bar, so Skye continued into the grill. He was seated in a booth reading the Laurel paper and drinking a chocolate milk shake. She slid in across from him and flicked the newspaper with her thumb and index finger.
Scowling, Charlie lowered the paper and growled, “Dammit, I told you—” He cut himself off. “Skye, what are you doing here, honey?”
Unlike her cousins, whom she wouldn’t put past committing murder, she was sure her godfather had not killed Risé. Unfortunately, he’d made his dislike of the bookstore owner cle
ar, so she hoped he had an alibi and could be crossed off the list.
“Have you eaten yet?”
“No. I just ordered a minute ago.”
“Great.” Skye put her purse down beside her. “How about some company?”
“Sure.” Charlie folded the newspaper and set it aside. “To what do I owe the privilege?”
“Nothing special.” Skye took a menu from the metal holder that contained the salt and pepper shakers, catsup, mustard, and a bottle of hot sauce. “Wally’s got a meeting, and when I drove past and saw your car, it reminded me that you eat here on Tuesdays.”
“Is everything okay with you?” Charlie’s voice was apprehensive.
“Yep.” Skye kept her gaze on the laminated pages showing pictures of burgers and fries. “How about you?”
“Fair to middling.” Charlie eyed her thoughtfully. “Talk to your mother today?”
“Yes.” Ay-yi-yi! She’d forgotten that May had probably filled Charlie in on Vince buying an engagement ring. “She called me at work this morning.”
Skye had never quite figured out how her mother and Charlie had become so close. In the past she’d even wondered if they’d once had an affair, but she’d finally realized that Charlie’s love for May was paternal, and May reciprocated with daughterlike affection. Both fulfilled a need in the other. Charlie had never married or had children, and May’s father had died while she was still a teenager.
Before Charlie could question Skye further, Frannie appeared to take her order.
As soon as they exchanged pleasantries and the girl walked away, Skye, hoping to divert the conversation away from Vince, asked, “Are Orlando and Risé still staying at the motor court?”
“Thank God, no.” Charlie’s voice boomed. “The building inspector approved their new apartment yesterday, and they moved that afternoon.”
“You said you were mad that they were going to be taking guests from you with their B and B rooms.” Skye took a quick scan of the grill. Two men shared a booth, and a teenager sat at the counter. No one appeared to be paying them any attention. “Why aren’t you sorry to lose their business?”
“It dawned on me that the kind of people who would stay with them aren’t the kind that rent rooms at motor courts.” Charlie took a slurp of his milk shake. “Erwin told me that they’re going to have murder mystery and romance weekends and that kind of crap. What the hell, they might even bring in some trade.”
“Wonderful.” Skye blew out an inward sigh of relief. That removed Charlie’s motive; now, if he had an alibi, everything would be perfect.
From Xenia’s information, Skye figured the victim had been attacked sometime between when Risé left at eight fifteen and Xenia came looking for Kayla at eleven. Whoever killed the girl probably turned off the light when he or she left the store.
“Yep.” Charlie looked at Skye a little strangely. “Everything’s peachy.”
They sat in silence as Frannie served their meals; then as Charlie fussed with his cheeseburger, Skye said as casually as she could, “Are you still seeing that woman over in Brooklyn?”
“No.” Charlie swirled a French fry in a pool of catsup and popped it in his mouth. “She was getting too serious.”
Skye poked at her chef’s salad. “That’s too bad.” The lettuce, boiled ham strips, and cubes of American cheese were hidden by a thick layer of Thousand Island dressing. So much for eating a healthy meal. She should have had the corn dog and onion rings she really wanted. “Then you were alone Saturday evening?”
“Nope. I spent the night with my new lady friend, the animal doc from Laurel.” Charlie’s bland expression didn’t alter, but there was a suspicious flicker in his bright blue eyes. “Why are you so concerned about my social life all of a sudden?”
“Uh.” Skye really didn’t want to admit she was asking for an alibi. “No reason.” She hurried to change the subject. “Oh, look. There’s Bunny.”
The bowling alley manager was strolling from table to table, chatting with the customers. Skye waved, and the older woman headed toward them.
Tonight Bunny’s outfit was subdued, and Skye wondered whether anything was wrong. The redhead wore a tight black sweater, knit pants, and medium-heeled ankle boots. Had her subscription to the Frederick’s of Hollywood catalog lapsed?
After Bunny had enveloped Skye in a hug, Skye asked, “Everything going well?”
“Better now.” Bunny grinned. “For a while there I wasn’t sure if life was passing me by or trying to run me down.”
“What changed?” Skye asked.
“I came up with a new way to make some extra cash and improve my social life.”
“Really?” Skye teased. “Does it have anything to do with that nice-looking gentleman who saved you a parking spot at the bookstore’s grand opening the other day?”
“Maybe.” Bunny lowered her voice. “But I haven’t told Sonny Boy, so I can’t talk about it yet.”
Oh-oh! Skye cringed. Were Bunny’s improved love life and her new moneymaking scheme connected? That couldn’t be good.
Before Bunny could say more, she caught sight of two teenagers trying to sneak into the bar and teetered off, saying over her shoulder, “I gotta take care of that. See ya later.”
“I wonder what she’s thought up this time,” Skye muttered.
“You probably don’t want to know.” Charlie shot Skye a hard look. “I’d say you have your hands full trying to get everyone’s alibis for the time that poor little gal was murdered.”
CHAPTER 16
Les Misérables
Skye left the bowling alley at six thirty. She was thrilled that Uncle Charlie was in the clear but worried about how she would question the others. Although none of her cousins was as smart as Charlie was, they were a lot meaner. If they suspected she was interrogating them, they might kill her. Or worse, rat her out to May, who wouldn’t take kindly to her daughter trying to incriminate a family member.
With that in mind, she decided to talk to the only non-relative on her list, Tomi Jackson. Skye was fairly sure the diminutive woman wouldn’t attack her or tattle to May, but she was a little afraid that Tomi would ban her from the Feed Bag—which might be the most horrible outcome of all. Other than McDonald’s and the bowling alley, Tomi’s was the only place in town to get a meal without cooking it yourself. Unless you counted the fried chicken from the grocery store’s deli department.
Just as Skye had hoped, the Feed Bag’s parking lot was nearly empty. On weeknights the restaurant closed at seven, so only a few stragglers would be lingering over their coffee. Tomi wouldn’t be busy, and Skye wouldn’t have to find some excuse to visit her at her home.
The last time the Feed Bag had been redecorated was 1984, and the mauve paint and brass railings showed every bit of their age. More than twenty years of hard wear had taken a toll. Most of the vinyl seats had rips that had been repaired with duct tape, and the walls were pocked with dabs of color that didn’t quite match the original. The original ferns had died more than a decade ago, and the plastic plants that replaced them were faded and dusty.
Tomi greeted Skye at the door. “What are you doing here so late, honey, and all by your lonesome?” Without waiting for an answer, she seated Skye at the booth nearest the cash register, then put a hand on her hip. “You and the chief didn’t have a spat, did you?”
Ah. The joys of small-town living. “Nope. Wally’s at a meeting in Laurel, and since I’ve had a busy day”—Skye barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes at the understatement—“I thought I’d treat myself to a piece of your famous lemon meringue pie before I head on home.”
“Coming right up.”
When Tomi came back with the dessert, Skye said, “I’d love some company if you aren’t too busy.”
“Sure. Let me grab a beer.” Tomi turned and said over her shoulder, “I’ll be right back.”
Skye watched the tiny restaurateur speak to an employee, then dart into the kitchen.
When Tomi
returned, she slid into the seat opposite Skye, twisted the cap from a bottle of Corona, took a long slug, wiped her mouth, and said, “I just gotta keep an eye on the register.”
“No problem.” Skye searched her mind for a topic of conversation that would lead into the questions she needed to ask. “Lots of excitement in town over that new bookstore.”
“Sure is.” Tomi patted a strand of hair back into her blond beehive. “Especially after what happened to that poor girl working there.”
“Wasn’t that a shame?” Skye cut off the tip of her pie with her fork. “Who would do such a thing?”
“Wasn’t it some burglar?”
“Maybe.” Skye chewed and swallowed. “But I wonder if it didn’t have something to do with the store.” She met Tomi’s gaze. “I hear a lot of folks in town have a beef with the owners.”
“Yeah.” Tomi straightened the name tag that pinned the handkerchief to her pink uniform. “Scumble River doesn’t like change.”
“Or competition.” Skye ate another bite of pie, letting the fluffy meringue melt on her tongue after savoring the tart lemon filling and finally the flaky crust. “Uncle Charlie said that Risé and Orlando had ticked off a lot of business owners.”
“So I hear.” Tomi narrowed her eyes. “Especially your cousin Hugo.”
“Yeah. Hard to believe someone can get so mad over something like a parking space.” Skye was careful not to show what side she was on in that dispute. “It seemed to work out all right for the grand opening. Maybe they can come to some middle ground.”
“Hugo, compromise?” Tomi snorted. “What universe are you living in?”
“Yeah, well . . .” Skye was almost done with her pie. She needed to bring the subject around to Tomi’s own gripe about the store. “So, do you think Tales and Treats’ café will lure away any of your customers?”
Murder of a Bookstore Babe Page 15