Trixie had her in-laws to entertain, and May was going with Jed to a farm auction. Charlie was still in Bloomington. When she’d called to check on him, he had said he was feeling fine, Priscilla VanHorn had been released by the police to her husband, and a girl from Clay Center had won the pageant title.
Skye finally telephoned Vince and was shocked to learn he was free. Skye looked over at her brother as they sped north on Interstate 55, and sighed. He was way too good-looking and charming to be wasting his life in Scumble River. His butterscotch-blond ponytail flew in the breeze, and his year-round tan enhanced the muscles on his forearms and thighs.
“Vince?” Skye asked.
“Mmm?” He adjusted his sunglasses and turned toward her.
“Why do you stay in Scumble River?”
He shrugged. “Why not?”
“Don’t you ever want to see what it might be like in a bigger pond?”
“Nah.” Vince leaned against the headrest. “See, Sis, you’re never satisfied. You always want more. I figure right now I’ve pretty much got everything I want.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. I own my own business. I date the most beautiful girls around, and I’ve got my family close by.”
Skye struggled to keep the big car between the lines. “And that’s enough for you?”
“What more could I want?”
“Maybe if you opened a salon in Chicago, you could do hair for the rich and famous.”
“And maybe I could spend a lot of money on rent to cut the hair of people that I wouldn’t like or be comfortable with.”
Skye let his words sink in as she took the Weber Road exit and followed it until it curved left onto Naper Boulevard. “You don’t want fame and fortune? You don’t want to be someone?”
As she maneuvered the huge aqua vehicle into a parking spot, Vince patted her knee. “I am someone. I have a feeling fame and fortune aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.” He bounded out of the car. “Besides, now that I’m drumming again, maybe I’ll hook up with a band and we’ll become the next teen craze.”
Skye joined her brother, and together they walked into Meijer Superstore. She had never been there before, although she had heard a lot about the megamart. It was gigantic. People were stationed every few feet, holding red flags to direct customers to the correct section of the building. They looked like the flight crew on the deck of an aircraft carrier.
Vince went to price supplies for his shop. Skye followed the greeter’s directions to the beverage aisle. Twin walls full of every kind of soda, juice drink, and specialty water made her gape. She had never seen so many different ways to say “fruit juice.” She was midway down the second side when she spotted the bottle she had seen next to Lorelei’s dead body. She picked it up off the shelf. It was clear with a rounded bottom, a slight indentation about a quarter of the way up, and a neck that appeared to have been twisted several times. The cap was gold.
Eagerly, Skye turned the label toward her. It was blue, and printed in yellow letters were the words SEA MIST. Right beneath were smaller black letters that said: “ginseng, astragalus & agave.” To the right of those words was a sailboat and farther down was the single word VAPOR.
Besides Vapor, it also came in three other flavors—Shore, Star, and Blaze. She took one of each and went in search of the store manager. He confirmed her suspicions. Meijer’s was the only chain in the Chicago area that sold the Sea Mist brand.
It was nearly five by the time Skye got home from the megamart. After putting away the Sea Mist and changing into slacks and a twin set, she immediately began preparing supper. The doorbell was ringing as she slid a tuna casserole into the oven. It had to bake for half an hour. She hoped Kent was starving.
“That color suits you. It must be sky blue,” Kent said as he strolled into the foyer and pecked her on the cheek. Always well dressed, tonight he wore gray wool slacks and a matching silk shirt. Skye figured they cost more than her weekly salary.
“Thank you.” She guided him into the back half of the cottage, which consisted of an open area lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, intermixed with bookcases and a set of French doors. “How were rehearsals?” She wanted to keep the discussion away from their relationship until she had a chance to question him about Lorna.
“Fine. Zoë has more talent than I gave her credit for. She makes a fine little Sleeping Beauty.” He settled into Skye’s newest piece of furniture, a cream-colored recliner.
“Would you like a drink? I have soda, Sea Mist, wine . . .” She wanted to see if he’d react to the name of the drink found beside Lorelei’s body.
Kent didn’t appear to notice. “No whiskey?”
She shook her head.
“Damn, I could do with a whiskey. Wine it will have to be.”
Skye’s mouth tightened. She’d been taught it was impolite to ask for something the host didn’t offer. “Coming up.”
In the kitchen, she poured the cheap wine into a crystal goblet, put it on a silver tray, and carried it out to him. She watched closely as he took a healthy swallow.
“This is awful.” Kent plunked down the glass with such force Skye was sure it would break.
“Really? I’m so sorry.” Skye played innocent. “And it’s the only liquor I have in the house. Would you rather have a soda?”
He took another sip and grimaced. “No. I need a drink.”
Skye saw her opening. “Has that VanHorn woman been bothering you again?”
“She’s relentless. She wants her daughter to win. It doesn’t matter if it’s a quiz worth ten points or a national beauty pageant; Zoë must have it all.” Kent drank steadily and Skye kept topping off his glass.
“Isn’t that typical of most moms?”
“It’s the length she and some of these women go to that’s astonishing.”
“I suppose some have even offered to sleep with you,” Skye said casually.
He smirked. “It goes with the territory. Of course, I’ve always turned them down.”
Skye moved into the kitchen to check on dinner.
Kent followed. She handed him the platter of Jell-O. He held it as if it were alive. “What is this?”
“Surely you’ve seen blue Jell-O before.”
“But what’s suspended inside?” Kent swallowed hard. “They look like . . .”
“Gummy worms. See how the Jell-O mold is sitting on shredded cabbage? It’s supposed to look like a pond in the middle of the field.” Skye bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “Go ahead and put the platter on the table by the French doors. I’ll be right there.”
She took the casserole and bowl of mashed potatoes in herself.
After they had helped themselves to the food, Skye continued, “What’s your opinion of Zoë?”
“A mouthwatering little morsel with the morals of an alley cat.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I hear the kids talk. She’s slept with the entire football team, except Troy, and she’s working on him.” Kent took a bite of the entrée. “What the devil is this?”
“Captain’s casserole.”
“Huh?”
“Tuna with cheese, noodles, peas, and potato chips crumbled on top.”
“You’re kidding.”
“It’s an old family recipe.” Skye fought to keep a straight face.
“What’s this orange stuff?” Kent thrust his fork toward her.
“A cheese that is in the recipe.”
“It looks like Velveeta.”
“Yes, doesn’t it?” Skye hurried with another question, hoping to get in a few more answers before Kent realized he was deliberately getting a miserable meal. “So, did Lorelei have a reputation for sleeping around like Zoë?”
“No, very different. She didn’t seem to be that attracted to teenage boys. They called her the ice queen.” Kent forked up some mashed potatoes. “Where’s the gravy?”
“Sorry, no gravy. Here, try some butter. How about some pickled beets?
They’re Midwest soul food.”
Kent shook his head and muttered. “I see why we’ve always gone out to eat.”
“What?” she asked sharply.
“Just wondering what’s for dessert.”
“I’ll get it. I’m sure you’ll like it.”
She returned carrying a full glass bowl.
Kent leaned forward eagerly. “Is that my favorite?” He took a big spoonful, put it in his mouth, and frowned. “That’s not Tiramasu.”
Skye pasted on a sad expression and allowed her shoulders to slump. “Not exactly. I had to use banana pudding for the custard and vanilla wafers for the lady fingers.”
“Ah, Scumble River’s grocery store doesn’t carry the real ingredients, I suppose.”
Why had she ever dated this guy? Skye wondered. Her taste in men was truly atrocious. So far this week one had trapped her in a coffin, another had arrested her, and now this jerk had insulted her cooking and her hometown. It was dawning on her that whereas she felt free to denigrate Scumble River, she didn’t like it when anyone else did.
She said coolly, all traces of her fake remorse gone, “That’s not it at all. I just didn’t think you deserved a good meal.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Skye ignored his question. “I’ll bet Lorna Ingels would serve you a meal more to your tastes. She seems pretty sophisticated.”
To Skye’s surprise, Kent allowed her previous comment to drop, and answered, “So she fooled you, too. She has a veneer of culture, but it doesn’t go very deep, and she’s always afraid of what might show through if she lets go.”
“Really? What is her background?”
“Lorelei told me her mother grew up in the trailer courts. In fact, Lorna’s mother still lives there.” His mouth puckered in disapproval. “I think that’s why she buys so many things.”
Skye held her temper. This man badly needed to be taken down a notch, but she still had questions. “Is that so bad? The Ingels certainly can afford it.”
“That’s not what I hear. Lorelei said her parents always fought about money and that Allen claimed Lorna would put them all in the poorhouse.”
“Lorelei sure told you a lot. You must have been close.” Could Kent have been the teacher Lorelei was sleeping with?
He became interested in his glass of wine and shrugged. “No more than any other student.”
Skye decided to let that obvious prevarication slide for the moment. “Do you know the younger daughter, Linette?”
Kent moved back to the lounge chair, leaving Skye sitting at the table by the French doors. “I’ve met her. She’s like Lorelei, but without a conscience.”
“Interesting observations. Perhaps you should have been a psychologist.”
“No offense, but why would anyone want to spend her life listening to other people talk about themselves?” Kent held out his wineglass for a refill.
Skye grabbed the bottle from the table and headed toward the lounge chair in which Kent had flung himself, not noticing that Bingo had chosen to stretch out in the middle of her path. Her foot thudded into something solid, and she pitched forward. She and a shower of wine landed squarely in Kent’s lap.
He sprang up, swearing, and dumped her to the floor. “My trousers! My new trousers.”
That did it. The oaf hadn’t even asked if she were alright. She struggled to her feet. Still no assistance offered by Kent, who was scrubbing the wine stain on the front of his pants with a hand-crocheted lace scarf he had grabbed from the end table. She snatched the doily from his hand and screamed, “This was my grandmother’s, my dead grandmother’s! Don’t you dare use it for a rag.”
Kent look dumbfounded for a moment, then retorted, “Look at my trousers. You’d better hope the dry cleaner can get the stain out or you’ll have to pay for them.”
Skye was about to tell him where he could stick his pants when a thought occurred to her. If she offered to clean them herself, she could go through his pockets and wallet. Maybe there’d be something interesting in them. Men seemed to like to collect trophies of their conquests.
Biting back the words she wanted to speak, Skye said, “Take off your pants, and I’ll see if I can clean them. I have some really good dry-cleaner-strength stain remover.”
Kent, still swearing, disappeared into the bathroom.
Skye checked to see that Bingo was okay, then found a terry robe she’d never worn and pushed it through the bathroom door to Kent. She certainly didn’t want to see him in his Jockeys. He handed her his pants.
She took the offending article of clothing into her tiny utility room. It had space for a washer/dryer and ironing board, but little else. She threw the pants on a small counter and felt around in the pockets. She retrieved a wallet, fifty-six cents in change, a comb, and a handkerchief.
Skye put his personal items aside, and grabbed a bottle from the shelf. After following the directions, which included waiting several minutes for the solution to work, she turned her attention to the wallet. It contained a twenty and two singles, the usual credit cards, insurance identifications, and other paraphernalia.
The most interesting items were tucked away in the “secret” compartment that everyone knows about. There Skye found a very interesting picture of Lorna Ingels dressed in nothing but a teddy and high heels. Aha, here was her proof. Kent was having an affair with a married woman. A woman whose daughter had died under mysterious circumstances.
Where had the photo been taken? Skye squinted. It wasn’t Kent’s apartment. The setting didn’t look like any of Charlie’s cabins, either, but it did have a motel-like look. Must be the Holiday Inn near the highway in Laurel.
What a sleaze. Imagine having sex with your student’s married mom. She tried to stuff the picture back where she had found it, but it wouldn’t go all the way in. Something was in the way.
She dug her fingers into the leather fold and pulled out a much creased piece of pink paper. Skye read:
Dear Kenny,
Our night of wild sex was totally awesome. I still haven’t showered so that I can smell you on my body. I love the way you kiss every inch of my skin. Next time let’s try some of those other things from that book you showed me. It was fun sneaking into your apartment dressed as a pizza delivery boy. What shall I wear next time?
Love,
Lorelei
P.S. Remember you promised to change my grade to an
A.
Yech! Kent was slimier than she’d thought. He had taken advantage of not only the mother, but the daughter, too. The thought of him having sex with one of his students made Skye want to shoot him, or herself, for ever having dated him.
Skye took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself and decide what to do. Should she confront him? No. That could be dangerous. It was clear Kent could be the father of Lorelei’s baby.
Finally, she decided she would keep everything, and tomorrow morning she would make photocopies, then turn it all over to Wally. Kent was going to pay for his sins.
Right now she had to give the man back his pants, pretend she didn’t know he was lower than a worm’s belly, and break up with him. An awkward situation at best.
“So, Kent, as I was saying, considering everything, it would be best if we didn’t see each other anymore.” Skye tried to get her soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend’s attention long enough to dump him.
He nodded, seemingly mesmerized by the TV screen.
“That means no more dating.” Her eyes strayed to the program that held him enthralled. Three men and a woman sat in a semicircle talking about e-trades, on-line this, and instant that. It sounded like Swahili to Skye.
Skye had emerged from the utility room with Kent’s pants to find him sitting in front of her TV, engrossed in some Channel 11 special about stocks, bonds, and the Internet.
Kent nodded again, and said, “Fine. Good. Just let me catch the end of this.”
She stepped in front of the set and snapped it off.
His head jerked a
s if she had slapped him and he leaped up from the chair. “What did you do that for?”
“Because I just broke up with you and I want you out of my house. Now.”
“What do you mean? You can’t break up with me. I do the breaking up.”
“Sorry, too late.” Skye grabbed his arm and pulled him to the foyer. She flung open the front door, pushed him outside, and threw his pants after him.
She dusted her hands together. “Good riddance, to bad rubbish.”
CHAPTER 20
Rages of Sin
It was a typical Monday morning. Skye had been late getting to the pool, late finishing her swim, and now she was going to be late for her first appointment. Damned panty hose. Skye had already tried to put on two pairs of nylons and managed to run both of them. She knew it was because she was in a hurry. Inanimate objects could sense her need for speed, and once that happened, they refused to cooperate. She had one more pair of hose, which she kept in her desk drawer for emergencies, but she’d have to get dressed before she could retrieve them.
She had rushed to school determined to use the copier before anyone else arrived. She’d made copies of the picture and letter from Kent’s wallet, secured them in the Bel Air’s trunk, and dropped the originals off at the police station—all before her morning swim. Now, if her panty hose would just cooperate.
She finished buttoning her lime silk blouse and was still zipping the navy skirt as she hurried into the hall. The teacher’s bell had rung, and staff scurried up and down the corridor as she unlocked the guidance office. A quick check to make sure that Coach was not anywhere in sight, and Skye slipped inside, closing the door behind her.
The panty hose was still in its original package, and she carefully opened the cellophane. Inching her hand down the leg to the toe, she bunched up the nylon as she went. Skye placed her foot inside and eased the material on up. One leg on, one to go.
Murder of a Sleeping Beauty Page 21