Murder of a Real Bad Boy

by Denise Swanson

  When Skye didn’t answer May persisted. “I told you he’s not the right one for you. You need to make up with Simon.

  He’s single, rich, and Catholic —perfect.”

  “Mom, Simon is history. He cheated on me. I can forgive a lot of things, but not that.”

  “Are you sure he cheated?” May questioned. “Has he admitted it?”

  “I’m not discussing it, Mom.”

  “Remember what they say: Men are like wine. They start out as grapes. It’s our job to stomp on them and keep them in the dark until they mature. Once that happens, they turn into something we would like to have dinner with.” May paused, then continued, “Go ahead and stomp on Simon, but then forgive him. Once he gets this nonsense out of his system, he’ll be a good husband.”

  Skye had felt better after disposing of the moose head, but her temper was still frayed, and May had just cut the last thread. “Unless you want me to sell this house, quit my job, and move somewhere far, far away, you’ll let this go.” There was a long silence; then May said in a stiff, hurt voice, “I’m only trying to make sure you’re happy. It’s for your own good.”

  “I know, Mom.” Skye took a long calming breath, then softened her tone, but not her message. “Give it a rest, okay?

  No more lobbying for Simon.”

  “Fine. I certainly don’t want to be a bother. I hope you’ll at least invite me to the wedding. That is, if I’m still around.

  I haven’t been feeling well. In fact, I’m feeling dizzy right now. I’d better go lay down. Goodbye.” Skye sighed as she hung up. She refused to feel guilty.

  Her mother had been playing the “not feeling well” card for the past twenty years. If Skye was going to live in Scumble River, she had to establish boundaries with her parents. Unexpectedly she chuckled. Yeah. Like that would really happen.

  Fifteen Minutes of Fame

  Skye reached for the phone, wiggling to find a comfortable position on the hard sofa. Her muscles ached from hiking up and down the river’s shore — she had only been back a few minutes from another unsuccessful search for Bingo. There was still no sign of the cat, and tears itched behind her eyes. She blinked them back and straightened her spine. She’d look again tomorrow. She wasn’t giving up on her pet.

  Clearing her throat, she punched in Loretta’s home number. She had called the attorney so often in the past couple of days, she had memorized all of her phone numbers —

  house, office, and cell.

  It rang three times and Skye was preparing her message for the machine when she heard, “Hello. Loretta Steiner speaking.”

  For a moment surprise robbed Skye of her ability to speak, and before she could gather her wits, Loretta said sharply, “Who’s there? I can hear you breathing. Don’t make me trace this call.”

  “No. Wait,” Skye blurted out, “It’s me, Skye.”

  “Oh, hi. Sorry I haven’t gotten back to you. I was going to call you today.”

  “It’s about time. First you send me a mysterious contractor, then you disappear.”

  “Don’t get snippy with me, girl,” Loretta snapped. “I was doing you a favor, sending you Dulci. If you don’t want her, don’t hire her.”

  “Sorry, you’re right. I had a fight with my mom, my cat is still missing, and someone keeps breaking into my house.

  I’m a little on edge.”

  “Me, too.” Loretta exhaled loudly. “Look, let’s start over.”

  “Okay. So where have you been? I must have called you ten times since yesterday afternoon. I was getting worried one of those criminals you defend had killed you.”

  “Sorry. Didn’t I mention when I saw you on Friday that I was going away for the weekend?”

  “No.” Skye faltered. Had Loretta told her? “I don’t think so, but Friday was such a bad day, maybe I forgot. Sorry.” Skye paused, then said, “That reminds me, how did you hear about my contractor’s murder? As far as I know it didn’t make the Chicago papers or TV news.” There was a long pause, and Loretta finally said, “I think channel nine or maybe one of the cable stations mentioned it briefly. They said something about a contractor in Scumble River being found dead at the home of his employer Skye Denison. I only caught the end.”

  “Great. My fifteen minutes of fame, and I missed it,” Skye mocked.

  “You’ve had more fame than you need, girl. Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten being on TV when that antique dealer died during your yard sale.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Skye agreed distractedly. If Scumble River had made the TV evening news, why hadn’t anyone mentioned it? Surely someone at church would have said something. Skye had the feeling Loretta was lying to her, but why?

  “So, you want to know about Dulci, right?” Loretta broke into Skye’s thoughts.

  “Yes. After my last experience, I don’t want to get caught being stupid again.”

  “Okay, let’s see. She’s a great contractor. Fast, efficient, and not expensive. She employs women and minorities. I like her and she needs the work.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s honest and doesn’t mince words.” Loretta snickered. “Actually, she’s a lot like you.”

  “Not why do you like her, why does she need the work?

  I mean, if she’s so good, shouldn’t she be booked up a year in advance?”

  “It has nothing to do with the quality of the job she does.”

  “Then why?” Skye squirmed, still trying to get comfortable. “What aren’t you telling me?” Loretta was silent, then said carefully, “Due to lawyer-client privilege, there are things I can’t share about Dulci, but none of that has anything to do with her ability as a contractor.”

  “Are the things you can’t tell me going to bring the Mafia or the cops to my doorstep?”

  “No.”

  “What is she charged with?”

  “The best thing would be for you to ask her.” Then Loretta said slowly, “No, I take that back. The best thing for you to do would be to hire her to fix up your house, and for you to stay out of her personal problems. Sometimes ignorance is bliss.”

  “If ignorance is bliss, why aren’t more people happy?” Skye snapped back.

  Loretta snickered and hung up.

  As soon as Skye replaced the receiver in its cradle, the phone rang. She answered cautiously — there were several people she didn’t want to talk to.

  “Ms. D? This is Frannie. I need you to come to the alley right now.” Frannie worked weekends as a waitress at the bowling alley’s grill.

  “What’s wrong?” Skye felt her heart skip a beat at the teen’s urgent tone. Frannie was usually calm and upbeat.

  “Your mother came in here looking for Miss Bunny and she was mad. They’re in the basement and I can hear things breaking.”

  “Wh —?”

  Frannie cut off Skye’s questions. “Just come.” Skye frowned. Frannie didn’t often ask for help. She must be seriously afraid.

  By speeding, running a few stop signs, and not bothering to change out of her sweat suit or comb her hair, Skye made it to the bowling alley in record time. She parked the Bel Air in the crowded lot, jumped out, and ran into the building’s entrance. As she neared the door to the basement, she heard shouts and the sound of breaking glass.

  Skye skidded to a stop. What in the world were Bunny and May doing?

  Frannie rushed up to her. “You’ve got to stop them before they hurt each other.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.” Skye’s words were meant to comfort the teenager, but they did nothing to reassure herself.

  The image of May and Bunny rolling around on the basement floor pulling each other’s hair popped into Skye’s mind as she tried the knob. The door wasn’t locked. Starting down the steps, she wondered if there was a fire hose handy.

  How else would she separate the two enraged women?

  She reached the bottom. There was no one in sight and it had become eerily silent. Skye crinkled her brow. Had they killed ea
ch other?

  She hurried toward the back of the basement where walls had been erected to create two rooms. The door on the right was open and Skye could see that the room was empty, but the door on the left was closed.

  Skye twisted the knob, and when it wouldn’t budge she pounded on the cheap wood veneer, yelling, “Mom! Bunny!

  Let me in right now!”

  Finally, the door was jerked open, a hand wrapped around Skye’s arm, and she was yanked inside. Even after the hand freed her, the momentum kept her going until she skidded into the room’s back wall. She whirled around just in time to see the door slam shut and Bunny and May position themselves against it. Skye stared at the pair standing shoulder to shoulder. Neither woman had a hair out of place, nor did anything in the room appear to be broken.

  “What in blue blazes is going on?” Skye demanded.

  “You’ve terrified Frannie.”

  May and Bunny exchanged conspiratorial looks, but neither woman spoke.

  “Answer me. Why are you two fighting?” Skye’s glance was drawn to a large metal wastebasket that contained the remains of numerous broken beer bottles. She was beginning to get a bad feeling about this.

  Suddenly there was a pounding on the door and a mascu-line voice demanded to be let in. Bunny flung the door open and Simon strode in. Before either he or Skye could move, Bunny and May scampered out of the room.

  Simon and Skye froze, gazes locked, the mutual words,

  “What are you doing here?” dying on their lips.

  The sound of a distant door slamming brought them out of their daze. Skye pushed Simon aside and ran for the exit.

  He was on her heels and they both reached the door at the top of the stairs at the same time.

  Skye tried the knob. It was locked. She yelled, “Let me out of here!”

  May’s voice answered, “You wouldn’t talk to Simon, now you have no choice.”

  Simon stepped next to Skye on the top step and yelled,

  “Bunny, this isn’t funny. Let us out, now.”

  “No,” Bunny responded immediately. “You won’t explain to Skye what happened. Now you’ll either explain or stay in there forever.”

  “Mom,” Skye threatened, “remember what I said earlier.

  If you don’t let me out this instant, I’m moving away.” She was bluffing, but hoped her mother wouldn’t figure that out.

  “This is your one chance for happiness. I’m willing to take the risk.” May sounded resolute.

  After several more minutes of screaming at their mothers and getting no response, Simon turned to Skye, “I sure wish I hadn’t put that dead bolt on the outside of this door. I wanted to keep the customers from wandering down here. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “So many things do,” Skye murmured.

  “I take it you got a frantic call from Frannie, too?” Skye nodded.

  “We’ve been had by a teenage dupe and two middle-aged con women.”

  “Yep.”

  Simon raised an eyebrow, then turned and sat on the step.

  “Not that I wanted it to happen this way, but I have been trying to talk to you.”

  “Really? You could have fooled me. It’s not as if I’m hard to find.”

  “No. Merely hard to get alone.”

  “Ah, that was you I kept seeing pull out of my driveway.” Skye frowned. “I thought so, but I only ever saw the taillights of your car, so I wasn’t sure.”

  “Well, it was me, but every time I tried to come see you, Boyd was already there.”

  A voice from outside the door screeched, “I told you not to date Wally.”

  Skye blew out a puff of exasperation, edged past Simon, and walked down the stairs. Even locked in a basement, privacy was hard to come by in Scumble River.

  Simon followed. “And you never answer your phone.”

  “Why didn’t you leave a message?” Skye kept walking.

  There was no furniture in the main room, so she headed back to the smaller room where their mothers had been. At least it had a few chairs and tables.

  Simon tagged along. “There didn’t seem to be anything I could say that was short enough to fit on an answering machine tape.”

  “Well, we’re here now.” Skye sat down in the metal folding chair next to the wastebasket. “Explain.” A stubborn expression settled on his face. “I went on a trip; I invited you to come along; you said no. I stayed with an old friend from college, which I told you I was doing. I have a clear conscience.”

  “A clear conscience is the sign of a bad memory.” Skye folded her arms. “Such as forgetting to mention your

  ‘friend’ was a woman.”

  “Spike being female is irrelevant.” Simon sat down across from her.

  “Ignoring the facts doesn’t change the facts,” Skye scoffed. “If you have a logical reason why I shouldn’t be angry that my boyfriend spent several nights with another woman, now is the time to tell me.” Simon’s face had turned brick red. He took a deep breath, started to speak, stopped, then said, “Look, if you knew all the facts, you wouldn’t be angry. But before I tell you, I need to believe you trust me.”

  “Why? Why can’t you help me trust you by explaining?”

  “It’s a guy thing.”

  “Now I know you’re hiding something. You never, ever say ‘It’s a guy thing.’ ” Skye shot out of her chair. “And you never say it, because ‘It’s a guy thing’ really means that there is no rational thought pattern connected with it, and you have no chance at all of making it sound logical.”

  “That’s not true.” Simon ran his fingers through his hair.

  “I don’t want to be one of those whiners who blame all their problems on their childhood, but every time Bunny left, I felt like it was my fault, so I need to know that no matter what I do, you won’t leave me. I’d never do anything to hurt you, but you have to believe in me.” Skye could see the wounded little boy in his eyes, and the love she’d had for him in the past started to seep out of the box she had built around those feelings. She opened her mouth to say he didn’t have to explain, but then she remembered Luc and Kent and the other men who had betrayed her, and said, “I understand what you’re asking from me; I just don’t think I can give you that unconditional trust you’re looking for. I’ve been hurt too many times myself.

  Please, please, tell me why I shouldn’t be upset when you spent the night with a woman.”

  For a moment, Skye saw something in Simon’s expression. Would he finally tell her what had happened? At that moment she decided that if he told her the truth, no matter what that truth was, she would take him back and give their relationship another chance.

  “The truth is —” Simon broke off what he had been about to say, his eyes narrowed; then he continued, saying the words tentatively as if testing the idea. “The truth is, you’re doing this because I tried to take our relationship to the next level. You panicked when I suggested exchanging keys and leaving some of our clothes at each other’s houses. Subconsciously, you’ve been looking for a reason to break up since I first asked you to do that.”

  Her mood veered sharply from forgiveness to anger.

  “How dare you try to blame me for what you did!” She gritted her teeth, reined in her temper, and tried once again to give him a chance to tell his side. “Instead of psychoanalyz-ing me, how about just coming clean?” He chuckled nastily. “Come clean? How about before I come clean, you come clean and tell me why you’ve been spending so much time with Boyd.” His words exploded in the air between them. “We’ve been together for more than a year. Then in less than a month, before you give us a chance to straighten things out, you’re already seeing someone else.”

  Skye was silent, guilty feelings hampering her ability to defend herself. Finally she said halfheartedly, “That’s different. I didn’t sleep with Wally while I was still going with you.”

  “So, you admit it. You have slept with him.” His curt voice lashed at her.

  “N
o.” His caustic tone made her flush in shame. Maybe she shouldn’t have started to see Wally so soon. “I haven’t slept with him. Can you say the same about you and Spike?” Skye held her breath. This was it. If he told her the truth, she’d forgive him and they could try to mend their relationship.

  Instead, he replied in reckless anger, “Now I see why you’ve been so ‘upset’ over the whole Spike issue. It’s not because you really think I’ve betrayed you. It’s because it gave you the perfect excuse to have an affair with Boyd.” A sudden chill clung to his words. “You’ve been wanting to screw him as long as I’ve known you.” Simon’s crude words shocked her. He never talked like that, especially to her. At first the pain caused by his words immobilized her; then the hurt turned into white-hot fury.

  She reached down into the wastebasket, grabbed an empty beer bottle, shot to her feet, and flung it at him, screaming,

  “You’re the one who was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Stop trying to make this about me.” The bottle shattered against the wall next to him, and the sound seemed to snap something in both of them.

  Skye’s glare turned into a beseeching look and she whispered, “All I ever asked you to do was explain.” Simon slumped against the back of his chair. “If after all this time we haven’t built up enough trust not to let suspicion destroy our relationship, then maybe we shouldn’t be together.”

  Skye took a quick, sharp breath. Was that what she really wanted? She sank back down. “Maybe you’re right.” The words fell from her lips like the broken glass littering the floor between them. They left her mouth tasting of regret’s bitter doubts.

  Simon’s head drooped, suggesting that had not been what he had hoped to hear. He said almost to himself, “I can’t believe this is all it takes to break us up. We have so much in common and we never argue.”

  “Just because two people argue, it doesn’t mean that they don’t love each other; and just because they don’t argue, it doesn’t mean that they do,” she replied in a low, tormented voice.