“I warned her not to mess with me.” He stomped over to the glass wall and peered out, apparently not seeing or not caring that there was a police car parked in front of his building.
“You shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” Skye soothed. “Maybe she doesn’t intend to do anything with the tape.”
“Of course she does.” Hugo grunted. “Women like her never know when to quit. Now she’s in for it. She’ll learn that most people have skeletons in their closets, but I bury mine so deep they never see the light of day.”
Oh, my God! Was Hugo admitting murder? “What are you going to do?”
“Tell everyone her dirty little secret.”
Phew! That didn’t sound too violent. “Which is?”
“Hmm.” Hugo stroked his chin. “Why not? Everyone will know in a day or two.”
“Maybe you should talk to her first.” No matter how much she needed this information, Skye didn’t want him to expose Risé to the censure of Scumble River’s gossips.
“I’m through trying to reason with that bitch.” Hugo extracted a monogrammed silver flask from his inside jacket pocket and took a swig. “Everyone’s going to know that the investment firm she worked for swindled its clients out of millions of dollars, and her boss is in prison for securities fraud.”
“That doesn’t mean she was guilty of anything,” Skye pointed out.
“How could she not know what was going on?” Hugo snorted. “And if she’s so innocent, why didn’t she lose all her money like the people who trusted her?”
“How do you know she didn’t?” Skye asked. “Come to think of it, how do you know all this to begin with?” If Wally’s officer hadn’t been able to find out where Risé had last worked, how had Hugo? Of course, Zelda was fresh out of police training, and Hugo had years of practice being a bastard.
“It was easy. I asked around. They paid cash for the building and have no loans or investors. That’s all a matter of public record on file at city hall.” Hugo righted his chair, sat back down, and picked up his video game. “As to the other, who in his right mind gives up a six-figure income to open up a bookstore in Podunk, Illinois?” His voice was an insinuating purr. “I knew there was a scandal somewhere, and once I found out where she used to work, I just looked online until I found it.”
Skye ran the scenario in her head. Since Risé hadn’t been sent to jail, her name wouldn’t have been associated with the case. Furthermore, since men like Risé’s boss usually accepted a plea bargain rather than go to trial, she wouldn’t have had to testify against him.
Hugo was immersed back in his game by the time Skye said, “I have one more question.”
“Yeah?” He lifted his brow in a “What now?” expression.
“Did you find out who her clients were?”
“Nah.” He shrugged. “I didn’t care. Just the fact she was involved in such shady dealings should be enough for the old biddies to chase her out of town. Or at least give her something other than my cars to worry about.”
Skye looked at him in distaste. “That’s pretty cold, Hugo, even for you.”
“Hush.” He put his finger to his lips. “Do you hear that?”
“What?” Skye listened, but the showroom was silent.
“That’s the voices of all the people who care what you think.”
“You are so not funny.” Skye paused, trying to figure out how to ask whether Hugo had an alibi for the night of the murder. He certainly had a motive. “It’s a good thing Risé wasn’t the one murdered last week. Since you hate her so much, you’d be a prime suspect.”
“Hey, Victoria and I were at our church’s Las Vegas night last Saturday between seven and midnight.” Hugo threw back his head and laughed. “I won the grand prize, a flat-screen TV, and the drawing was at eleven o’clock, so I have hundreds of witnesses to prove I was in Clay Center during the time of the murder. Including two priests, a deacon, and the entire choir of St. Mary’s.”
After calling Wally and filling him in on Hugo’s alibi and Risé’s past, Skye headed over to Kayla’s wake. It was scheduled from four to eight p.m., and Skye had a feeling she’d better be there for most of that time. Even though Kayla had been out of high school for a year, if she was as well liked as Neva had claimed, there would probably be a lot of kids attending, and emotions were bound to run high.
Skye was surprised to see that the funeral home’s lot was already packed. It was exactly four thirty, and although the visitation had officially begun thirty minutes ago, small-town etiquette dictated that the family be allowed the first half hour to themselves. Then again, Kayla’s friends were probably too young to know that.
After Skye had made several trips up and down the rows, someone finally pulled out and she could park. She hesitated for a moment before opening the car door. She had meant to go home to change but had run out of time. The green dress Wally had bought her was beautiful, but she preferred to wear a more somber color for a wake.
Once Skye was out of the Bel Air, she quickly crossed the asphalt and pushed through the funeral home’s double glass doors. At the top of the foyer steps, she paused and looked at herself in the mirrored wall. She tugged on the fabric, a gorgeous cashmere knit that clung to her curves. Was it a bit too sexy for this situation? The V neckline and shorter-than-usual hem made her a little self-conscious, but she had vowed not to cover herself in yards of polyester just because she weighed more than Vogue considered attractive.
Taking a deep breath, she hiked her tote bag higher on her shoulder, straightened her spine, and walked through the archway. It was too late to do anything about her outfit now, and she had more important things to worry about than her appearance.
The overpowering scent of flowers and the hum of numerous conversations assaulted her as she stepped inside the viewing room. Stopping, she scanned the chairs. Most were occupied by teenagers and the elderly. Perhaps Kayla’s parents’ friends would come later, after they got off work.
After signing the guest book, Skye joined the long line of people waiting to pay their respects. From her place in the back, Skye studied Kayla’s mother, Kara. She hadn’t had much time to observe the woman when she and Wally had made the death notification. Kara had collapsed on the sofa sobbing, and Kayla’s stepfather had immediately hustled them out the door before Skye had been able to form an impression of the couple.
Now, seeing Kara formally dressed and made-up, Skye thought she didn’t seem old enough to have a nineteen-year-old daughter. Her pale oval face was flawless, and her long blond hair fell in a straight curtain to the middle of her back. Kayla’s stepfather, Mick O’Brien, stood next to his wife, looking uncomfortable in a shiny navy suit.
Mick’s bored expression, and the way he gripped Kara’s elbow whenever she hugged someone for too long, convinced Skye that Neva had been correct about the family dynamics. It was clear that this man had not cared about his stepdaughter and totally dominated his wife.
Skye moved slightly so she could see the first row of the seating area, the one reserved for close relatives. She was curious to get a look at Kayla’s extended family. Only three chairs were occupied. Neva sat in one, with twins who appeared to be five or six on either side of her.
They were cute little boys, and Skye assumed they were Kayla’s half brothers. They appeared to have inherited their mother’s fair hair and complexion. Seeing them made Skye wonder whether Kayla had looked like her biological father. She’d heard that he had been killed in a hunting accident before his daughter was born.
The woman in front of Skye had just walked away after speaking to Kara and Mick, and Skye hadn’t moved forward yet when she heard Mick hiss to his wife, “How much longer do we gotta stand here?”
Either Mick didn’t feel it was necessary to hide his impatience, or he was the type of guy who had never had to pretend and thus never learned how.
Kara’s cornflower blue eyes were shiny with tears, and she jerked her arm from his fingers. “You can leave anytime.”
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Skye saw Mick’s freckled face flush an unbecoming red, and as he reached for Kara, Skye stepped between them. Keeping her back to the obnoxious man, she said, “Mrs. O’Brien, I’m Skye Denison. I was with Chief Boyd when he told you about Kayla, but I also knew her from the gifted class at high school. You have my deepest sympathy.”
Kayla’s mother clutched Skye’s hand. “She was amazing, wasn’t she? Did you know her final project at film school last year won an award?”
“No, I didn’t. But I understand she was very talented. I’d like to see some of her work sometime.”
Before his wife could respond, Mick put his palm on Skye’s shoulder and propelled her down the line, saying, “Thank you for coming.”
Skye found herself facing Neva as the older woman stood and moved into her path.
The principal’s eyes were red rimmed, and it took her several tries before she was able to speak. “What have you found out?”
“Nothing I can talk about.” Skye tried to steer Neva to a more private location, but she refused to budge.
Neva swallowed hard and frowned. “That’s what I was afraid of. The police are giving up, aren’t they?”
“Definitely not. It’s only been five days since the murder was discovered.” Skye spotted a pair of overstuffed chairs screened by a huge flower arrangement. “Come sit with me and I’ll tell you what I can.”
Once they were seated, Skye scooted as close as she could without her knees bumping against Neva’s and lowered her voice. “The police are pursuing this case as if the primary objective of the crime was murder, not burglary.”
“Really?” Neva studied Skye, her expression hopeful. “Who do they suspect?”
“Unfortunately, everyone on their first list has an alibi.” Skye was careful to tell as much of the truth as she could without giving away the fact that they thought the intended victim was Risé. “They’ll start looking elsewhere now that those people have been cleared.”
“That’s good, then.” Neva nodded, seemingly satisfied, at least for now.
“I’m going to mingle to make sure Kayla’s friends are handling their grief okay and no one gets carried away.” Skye pushed the chair into its original position and got up. “I’ll see you later.”
As Skye moved around the floral display, a commotion at the entrance drew her attention. Standing just inside the room, arguing in loud whispers, were Xenia and Chase. Skye had thought it odd that neither Kayla’s boyfriend nor her BFF were there when she arrived, but now she wondered whether it hadn’t been for the best.
Skye moved toward them in time to hear Chase say to Xenia, “I told you not to show up here if you were going to dress like a freak.”
Chase was wearing a charcoal wool suit, gray shirt, and striped silk tie. He looked as if he had just stepped out of GQ. Xenia had on ripped tights, an oversize leather coat that dragged behind her like a train, and army boots. Then again, they were all black.
“Hi, Ms. D.” Xenia saw Skye before Chase did. “This moron thinks that the dead care about how you dress. Tell him he’s wrong.”
Not giving Skye a chance to answer, Chase said, “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” His voice cracked, and he blinked furiously. “Of course the dead don’t care, but you need to have some respect for Mr. and Mrs. O’Brien.” He appealed to Skye, “Right?”
Xenia didn’t wait for Skye to respond either. “Those hypocrites?” She tossed her hair, the scarlet stripe looking eerily like a vein of blood as it curled through the black tresses. “The only time they paid any attention to Kayla was when they needed her to babysit or wanted her to cook and clean.”
“That’s not true.” Chase’s handsome face was mottled with red. “They only wanted her to be sensible and act like a proper young lady.”
“Just leave me alone.” Xenia sniffed, then marched off, saying over her shoulder, “I refuse to star in your psychodrama.”
Chase turned to Skye. “Kayla was going to, you know.”
“Going to what?” Skye asked
“Be a proper young lady. She was going to quit film school and marry me. I told her my wife would never have to earn a living. I make plenty of money working at my dad’s real estate agency.”
“Oh?” Skye encouraged him to continue. Kayla hadn’t impressed Skye as the stay-at-home-wife type.
Chase stared blankly at the casket. “I should never have let her take that job. My salary would have supported us both.”
“I see.” Wow! Skye had really read Kayla wrong. She’d thought the girl was way more independent than that.
“Everyone said we were the perfect couple.” Chase nodded, as if Skye had agreed with him, then lumbered toward where Xenia had stopped to talk to a group of teenagers.
Instead of following him, Skye pondered what she had just heard. Who was right? Neva and Xenia, who were certain Kayla’s folks were neglectful and used her like an indentured servant? Or Chase, who thought Mr. and Mrs. O’Brien were employing good old-fashioned values—which was just fine with him?
The remaining hours crawled by, and Skye moved through the room chatting with as many attendees as she could. Everyone concurred with Neva’s assessment of Kayla. The girl had been well liked by all, extremely hardworking, and truly helpful to her friends. Those who had seen her films also agreed that she was enormously talented and would have been a famous director one day.
Feelings were more mixed about Kara. Most didn’t approve of the way she had treated her daughter, but they were somewhat understanding of the woman’s dilemma. When she had married Mick fifteen years ago, Kara had been a single mother of a four-year-old with no education or skills to support herself or her child. Mick had been a savior, and she was willing to do what he said.
In contrast, Mick was nearly unanimously thought to be a controlling jerk who ruled Kara with an iron fist, had no interest in Kayla, and had been happy she would be moving out completely in a month. Still, no one could think of any reason for him to kill his stepdaughter.
It was nearly seven thirty when Skye felt a wave of exhaustion hit her. She’d been on the go for more than twelve hours and had not eaten since noon. She needed a break and a candy bar. Making her way to a sofa situated off to the side of the row of folding chairs, she sat down, prepared to intervene if any of the remaining teenagers needed comforting. So far, although Kayla’s friends had been sad, none had become hysterical, but it took only one to set off all the rest.
Skye settled back, relieved to be off her feet, and fished a Kit Kat from her tote bag. She had spoken briefly with Simon, but he’d had no new information about Xavier, who had the night off.
Nevertheless, as Skye bit into the chocolate-covered wafer, something was bugging her. Something Hugo had said had pertained to Xavier. But what was it? Finally she stopped trying to think of it, hoping it would come to her after she had a good night’s sleep.
CHAPTER 21
All the King’s Men
Saturday afternoon, Skye arrived at Tales and Treats early for the store’s first author event. She was eager to meet a real live novelist, as well as intent on talking to Risé about her previous job. Wally had agreed that since Skye had established a rapport with the shop owner, she would be the best one to approach Risé regarding her past and to ask her if any locals had lost money when her employer went to jail.
A chat with Xenia was also on Skye’s to-do list. She didn’t believe for a minute that the girl was really working at the store to earn a salary. Xenia’s true motivation had to be something more Machiavellian.
As per Skye’s usual luck, both Risé and Xenia were busy with customers when she stepped through the door. Frustrated, she walked over to a rack of greeting cards near the register. From this location she could watch and seize whatever opportunity arose to speak to either woman.
Skye was giggling over a humorous birthday card featuring a black cat wearing a tiara when a commotion near the entrance drew her attention. Curious, she looked over her shoulder,
blinked several times, then froze, unable to believe her eyes.
Oh, my gosh! What were the Dooziers doing at a book signing? They weren’t a family that generally valued the written word, nor did they attend many of Scumble River’s social occasions. So, what in the heck were they doing here? Spelling not being their long suit, had they supposed that a store with “tales” in its name sold hunting dogs? Or maybe, because beer was the ultimate delicacy, they figured that the “treats” part had to mean a bar?
Earl Doozier, the patriarch, led his brood straight through the middle of the store. Tattoos covered most of his body, and he usually wore shorts and a tank top so everyone could enjoy them. But today he had on overalls, a corduroy blazer with leather elbow patches, and a limp fedora with a chunk missing from the brim. Skye wondered whether one of his hounds, or possibly one of his offspring, had taken a bite out of it.
Following him like reluctant ducklings were his son Junior, his nephew Cletus, and his twelve-year-old daughter Bambi. All three of the kids’ sullen expressions matched that of the woman who brought up the rear.
Earl’s wife, Glenda, was clad in a denim miniskirt that showed her butt cheeks with every step she took and a red T-shirt that had been ripped open and tied back together just under her breasts. Skye thought the high-heeled purple cowboy boots were a nice touch.
Glenda’s chalk white skin and heavily made-up face caused her to look more corpselike than any cadaver Skye had ever seen in a casket. Topping off this fashion disaster was a head of poorly dyed-blond hair that had been styled into an elaborately teased tower that soared a good two feet in the air. By comparison, the six-inch feather earrings and daggerlike fuchsia fingernails seemed almost ladylike.
Skye had dealt with most of the Dooziers in the years she had been the Scumble River school psychologist. They had a family tree full of stunted twigs and thorny branches, but in a funny way, she counted them among her friends. Maybe not pals she’d go to the movies and dinner with, but allies she could count on.
With that in mind, and not wanting them to stumble into any trouble or get their feelings hurt, Skye replaced the greeting card she’d been reading in the rack, pasted a smile on her face, and sprinted over to the Dooziers. Better she find out right now why they were there, and be prepared, than wait for something to happen. Where Dooziers went, trouble usually followed.
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