Skye turned this question over and over as she parked the Bel Air and hiked down the short incline toward the water.
She was careful to stick to the grassy edge, not wanting to add her footprints to the hodgepodge of tire tracks and shoe prints on the path in front of her.
She noticed that some of the foot tracks contained the residue of the plaster casting material used by the county crime techs to take molds. On some level, this evidence of the techs’ work reassured her more than anything Wally had said. Skye knew that unlike the sheriff, the county crime techs were competent and fair, and since she was innocent, any evidence they found would point toward someone else.
At the lake’s edge, Skye peered at the tire tracks as they abruptly ended, half in and half out of the water. Her best guess was that the killer had somehow put the truck into gear, gotten out of the cab, held the brake down while he wedged the accelerator to the floor, and then let up on the brake while jumping back.
Skye walked along the shore in both directions but saw nothing other than rusty beer cans and crumpled snack bags.
The temperature was back up into the fifties, the sun was shining, and it was a pleasant morning for a stroll, but the techs had obviously found anything there was to find, and after an hour or so, she gave up.
Sitting behind the wheel of her car, she listed in her notebook the three questions she wanted to bring up to Wally that evening.
. How did the killer get past the locked gate?
. Why did the killer choose that particular lake?
. Was there any evidence of how the killer left the recreation club — was he picked up, did he walk, have a bike stowed in the back of the truck or what?
After stopping by the police station and signing her statement, Skye drove home, intent on finding another contractor ASAP. She still had her notes from the first search, and this time she would choose whoever seemed the most honest and competent. No hometown points or extra credit for being a hunk.
When she turned into her driveway, Skye was surprised to see a bright purple truck parked off to the side. Which one of her many cousins, uncles, aunts, or relatives twice removed drove a purple pickup?
She couldn’t come up with anyone. The women she knew didn’t drive trucks, and the men would never drive one the color of a pansy.
Skye hesitated, unsure what to do. Her house was too isolated for people to casually drop by —plus there was the bothersome little fact that Beau’s killer was still at large.
Skye decided to err on the side of caution and parked the Bel Air near the front steps rather than in the garage. This way she’d have a quick means of escape if worse came to worst. She also decided to stay inside the car until she saw who had come to call.
As soon as she stopped the Bel Air, Skye saw someone get up from the porch swing and start toward her. She couldn’t tell her visitor’s gender, or much else about the person. Dressed in overalls over a hooded sweatshirt, her guest wore a purple baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses with dark lenses.
Skye rolled down her window as her mysterious caller walked up to the side of the Bel Air. A hand was held out and a low, smooth voice said, “Skye Denison? I’m Dulci Smallwood. Your friend Loretta Steiner sent me.”
“Why?” Skye shook hands with the woman — at least she was pretty sure “Dulci” was a female name. “Why did Loretta send you, I mean?”
“She said you needed a good contractor, and by the looks of this place, she wasn’t exaggerating.”
“But how . . . I mean when . . . why would she . . .” Skye stuttered to a stop, unsure which question to ask.
Dulci didn’t appear rattled by Skye’s less-than-warm welcome. Instead she explained, “Loretta called me yesterday and said you were having trouble with your present contractor and asked if I could come out and give you an appraisal sometime this coming week. Then she called me back this morning and asked if I could come out today. Said your previous contractor was dead, and you needed someone right away.”
“How did Loretta hear about Beau?” Skye was more confused than ever.
“She didn’t say and I didn’t ask.” Dulci took a small notepad from her back pocket. “I don’t like getting involved.” She started walking toward the backyard. “Let’s look at the outside first.”
It took Skye a moment to decide to get out of the car and follow. That, along with the contractor’s long legs and quick strides, kept Dulci a couple of steps ahead of Skye, who felt like a pudgy puppy chasing a racehorse.
When Dulci paused at the side steps and whipped out a tape measure from her front pocket, Skye caught up and asked breathlessly, “So, how do you know Loretta?” Dulci took her time making notes from her measurement, then said, “She’s my attorney.”
Skye started to nod, then realized what the contractor had said. Loretta only handled criminal cases, and of those, only the most severe. If you weren’t charged with murder, rape, or kidnapping, Loretta wasn’t interested. On rare occasions she handled white-collar crime, but only if it was something really big and juicy and guaranteed to make the front page of both the Chicago Tribune and Sun-Times. Somehow the woman kneeling in the mud with a pencil clenched between her teeth didn’t look like a stock trader, so what in heaven’s name had she been charged with?
Dulci didn’t wait for Skye’s reaction to her last statement; she had already turned the corner of the house by the time Skye had figured out what to say.
Skye hurried after her and verified, “Loretta is your attorney right now? Currently?”
“Yes.”
Skye waited for Dulci to elaborate, but she didn’t appear to feel the need to explain. She continued to measure, make notes, and crumble parts of the house between her fingertips. She answered Skye’s questions about the house, but artfully evaded the disclosure of any personal information.
Finally they completed the circuit, ending up where they had started, at the bottom of the front steps. Skye was torn.
She was confident that Loretta wouldn’t send her a dishonest or incompetent contractor; on the other hand, Loretta didn’t represent clients accused of jaywalking. What to do?
Should she thank Dulci and send her on her way? Did she feel comfortable letting the woman inside her house? She
needed to talk to Loretta, but couldn’t figure out what to do with Dulci while she made the call.
Again, Dulci was several steps in front of Skye. As she opened the front door, she turned and spoke over her shoulder. “You really should keep this locked.”
“I do.” Skye dashed up the steps and skidded to a stop behind the contractor, who was standing in the middle of the foyer gazing at the stairway. “In fact, I made double sure it was locked this morning before I left.” Dulci turned, frowning, then walked around Skye and squatted in front of the open door. “No marks or scratches, doesn’t look like it’s been forced.” She straightened. “Does anyone else have a key?”
Skye was aware she was reddening. The question should have been who didn’t have one. “Ah, actually quite a few people have keys. My mom, Uncle Charlie, my brother, my best friend . . .” She trailed off, then said, “But none of them would let themselves in without a good reason, and they certainly wouldn’t forget to lock up on their way out.” Dulci seemed unimpressed with Skye’s justification.
“How about your dead contractor and his crew? Did they have a key?”
“Shit!” Skye felt like a fool. “Only him, not his crew.” But whoever killed Beau could have taken his key ring. “I couldn’t be here all the time and he was bonded.” She knew her explanation sounded lame. Why did this woman make her feel so inept? “We probably should get out of here and call the police.” When Dulci didn’t move, Skye continued, “You know, in case whoever left the door unlocked is still here.”
“Do what you need to do, but there’s no one here.”
“How do you know?”
“I was here a half hour before you showed up, and I sat on your porch swing the whole time without he
aring a thing.” Dulci shrugged. “There’s no vehicle on the premises.
Very few criminals walk to the scene of the crime. But if you’re afraid . . .”
Skye shook her head, knowing she was being silly to let Dulci make this a contest of who was the bravest, but unable to give in. “No. That’s fine. I’ll call them later to report the incident.”
“How many doors did your contractor’s key open?” Dulci asked.
“Only this one. The kitchen door and the French doors up in my bedroom use different keys.”
“Good. I’ll replace this one lock right now, so you won’t have to worry. It’s not a top-of-the-line mechanism, but it will do for the present.”
“Thanks. That would be great. How much will that be?”
“Consider it a sample of my work.”
“Thanks again.”
“You’re welcome, but what you really need are new locks with an extremely restricted key distribution.” She took out her pad and made another note. “You should spring for a security system, too.”
Skye nodded. She should, but could she afford it? That would depend on if she got her deposit back from Beau Hamilton’s estate.
While Dulci put in the new front lock, Skye checked her messages. There was one from Trixie saying she was having a great time in Tahoe, another from Frannie and Justin wanting to know when they could talk to her about the award, one from the local newspaper wanting to discuss Beau’s death, and the last from May wanting to know if Skye was dead.
Skye tried calling Loretta and the teens first; neither answered, so she left messages for both saying she’d try to get hold of them that afternoon or the next day. She didn’t return the reporter’s call, having no intention of being interviewed.
Skye debated whether to call her mother back, then realized she’d better wait until she had more time. May required a half hour minimum.
When Skye returned to the front hall, Dulci had already finished the lock installation and was looking over the stairway. She ran a caressing hand along the banister. “This is beautiful work. Hand-done. One of a kind.” Skye smiled. “It’s my favorite part of the house.” When she walked down those stairs she felt like Scarlett O’Hara about to meet Rhett Butler for the first time.
Dulci hadn’t removed her sunglasses when she entered the house, but now she took them off and folded them into her breast pocket. When she turned, Skye was dazzled by her extraordinary eyes. They were amber, flecked and ringed with a lighter shade of gold.
Skye forced herself to stop staring and get back to the business at hand. “Upstairs or downstairs first?”
“What needs to be done?”
“Besides the windows, roof, siding, outside steps and sidewalks, in here the only things that can’t wait are the kitchen and bathroom plumbing.” Skye described last night’s geyser. “I’m only fixing what’s broken. I can’t afford cosmetic upgrades at this time.”
After a comprehensive inspection of the rest of the house, with Dulci silently assessing and making notes, they ended up at the kitchen table.
Skye asked, “Would you like something to drink? Coffee, tea, or a soft drink?”
“Coffee would be great, if it’s not instant.” Dulci smiled for the first time. “I’m addicted to the stuff, but it’s got to be good.”
“My friend Monika who lives in Hawaii sent me some Kona. How’s that sound?”
“Great.”
Skye went to fill the pot with water from the guest bathroom, the kitchen faucet currently being shut off. When she returned and started the coffee brewing, she put some chocolate chip cookies her mother had baked on a dish, and got out a box of artificial sweetener and a bottle of vanilla-flavored creamer from the fridge.
After arranging everything on the table and pouring two cups of coffee, she sat down opposite Dulci and asked, “So, what do you think?”
Dulci had pushed back the bill of her cap while she was working, and Skye could see a few strands of strawberry blond hair. The color was almost apricot, and Skye marveled that anyone would hide such beautiful hair, but then she realized that a woman working in a mostly male occupation would probably want to draw as little attention to her physical attractiveness as possible.
Skye brought her focus back to the matter at hand as Dulci started to speak. “This is tough since someone else already screwed around.” She paused to take a sip of coffee.
“Plus, I don’t want to steer you wrong. I promised Loretta I’d come within a hundred dollars of my estimate.”
“Which is?”
Dulci slid a notebook page across to Skye and pointed at the first column. “This is what the materials will cost, unless your dead guy already has some of these stored somewhere.
Do you know if he has?”
“I saw receipts for materials, so my best guess is maybe.” Skye shrugged. “I’ll try to find out this afternoon.”
“Good.” As Skye put two packets of Sweet’n Low and a healthy dollop of creamer in her coffee, Dulci’s nose wrinkled, her expression unmistakably stating, How can you ruin good coffee that way?
“What’s this column?” Skye asked, ignoring the contractor’s disapproval of her drinking habits.
“That’s labor.” Dulci indicated the last three numbers and said, “And this is time bonuses.”
“What are they?” There hadn’t been anything like that in the estimate Beau gave her.
“I’ve broken it into three separate tasks.” Dulci under-lined the first amount with her pencil. “This is what you pay us if we get your windows in within a week of hiring us. The next figure is what you owe us if we get your roof done
within three days after that. And the last fee is if we are totally finished with the job within six weeks of beginning.” Skye approved of the incentive system. It reminded her of the positive reinforcement she used with the students she worked with. Also, even with the bonuses, the amount was less than Beau’s estimate. She opened her mouth to say,
“You’re hired,” but at the last moment bit back the words.
This time she would be more cautious.
Even though Skye liked the quiet confidence that the other woman displayed, and felt an instant trust, she told herself she shouldn’t hire Dulci until she had thoroughly checked out her references.
Dulci sipped her coffee, seemingly comfortable to let Skye think without continuing her sales pitch. She doodled on her notebook as she waited, and when Skye finally spoke, she had nearly finished a sketch of how the Griggs house could look if it were fixed up properly.
“Your estimate seems fine,” Skye said, folding the paper in half and putting it aside. “But I do need to check a few things out. Can I call you on Monday with either an answer or more questions?”
“Sure.” Dulci finished her coffee and stood up. She dug out a business card from one of her numerous pockets and handed it to Skye. “Here are my numbers.” Skye walked her to the door. As Dulci started down the outside steps, she turned and said, “I’ll do a good job for you. You have my word.”
“Thanks. That means a lot. And thanks again for the new lock.”
When Dulci reached the sidewalk, she turned again and said, “Remember, innocent until proven guilty.” Skye nodded automatically, but she wasn’t quick enough to keep the alarmed look off her face. What in blue blazes had Loretta gotten her into?
Whole Nine Yards
After Dulci left, Skye paced up and down the parlor, trying to think of all she had to do. Call the police about my door being open. Call Mom to reassure her I’m okay.
Continue to search for Bingo. Make a condolence call on Beau’s sister.
She stopped after coming up with the last item and mentally erased it. The visit to Beau’s sister was the first thing on Sunday’s list. She had promised Wally she’d wait until then so the sheriff couldn’t accuse her of anything sneaky and put another black mark in her column.
But what about the other items on her list? Which should be first? She thought for a moment,
then decided that informing the police about her door was a top priority.
She should tell the sheriff’s department, since the house was in that jurisdiction, but the Scumble River police wouldn’t be mean to her. And she had no doubt that whoever had been inside her house was involved in the murder. And since the PD was investigating Beau’s death, they were the ones she should tell.
After punching in the police department’s nonemergency number on her cordless phone, Skye went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. It was after one and she was starving. Before she could figure out what to eat for lunch, the dispatcher answered and said that Wally wasn’t at the station. Skye left a message explaining about the open door and Beau having a key, then hung up.
Next Skye tapped in her parents’ number. She wedged the receiver between her ear and shoulder and reached for a package of boiled ham.
Her mother answered before the first ring had finished trilling. “It’s about time. I’ve been worried all morning. I thought maybe that fool Buck Peterson put you in jail.” May didn’t need anything as newfangled as caller ID; she had mother ID. It was rarely wrong.
“Believe me, I’d have called you if he had.” Skye attempted to inject a little humor into the situation. “Do you think Dad would have sold a few acres to raise the money to bail me out?”
“This isn’t funny, missy. I’ve had a bad morning. First I don’t hear from you, then your brother goes missing.”
“What? Vince is missing?” Skye told herself to calm down. She knew her mother tended to make things sound worse than they actually were.
“Not now,” May grudgingly admitted, “but this morning he was nearly an hour late opening up his shop. Aunt Kitty had a seven o’clock appointment and when he didn’t show up, she came over and got me. We looked all over.
Murder of a Real Bad Boy Page 7