The Murder in Skoghall (Illustrated) (The Skoghall Mystery Series Book 1)

by Alida Winternheimer

  “Cowbit,” Johnny said.

  “Cow-boy,” John enunciated carefully.

  “Cowbit,” Johnny said again.

  John took from the cigar box a handful of small painted cowboys and Indians. The lead figurines were all that remained of John’s own childhood pastime of casting and painting a once large collection of toy soldiers, Romans, and Wild West figures. Bonnie thought Johnny was too young, but John was so eager to pass them down. He would have put them in the crib with baby Johnny if she’d let him. Bonnie left her men to play together and returned to the kitchen.

  She slid the roasting pan into the oven and looked again out the window. A pair of cedar waxwings picked through her kitchen scraps. They were beautiful with their yellow-tipped tails and black eye masks, like winged bandits. The pile of scraps would also bring jays, robins, and the other insect-eaters who picked off the ants and flies that came to feed. Bonnie could stand at the sink for hours watching her birds, and given the amount of time cooking and cleaning required she spend right there, she was awfully grateful for the entertainment the birds provided.

  Bonnie came out of the market with a bag of groceries in one arm, Johnny toddling beside her, his small hand grasping her index finger. She took the steps to the sidewalk extra slowly, making sure Johnny didn’t stumble. Mike Timmons, a pimply boy on the wrestling team, working extra hours at his uncle’s market so he could save up for something—a car or college, with teenagers it was always something to get out of town—followed Bonnie out with two more bags. Bonnie set her bag on the sidewalk so she could open the back door of her wagon.

  “Oh, no, Mrs. Sykes,” he said when she stooped to pick up the groceries, “let me.”

  “Thank you, Mike. I hope your uncle is paying you well,” she said with a wink and glance over her shoulder. Fred Timmons stood at the cash register, his face partially hidden behind the peak of a large M. Timmons’ Market had been painted on the window glass in cheery red letters.

  “Everything’s fine.” The tone of his voice indicated he wished things were a little more fine.

  Bonnie tipped him a quarter and suggested he get a Coke at the fountain across the street after work.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Mike ran up the steps to the porch and back inside the market.

  Just as Bonnie was turning to put her son in the car, her friend, Marlene Wilkins, came out of the beauty parlor at the other end of the building and called out.

  “Why hello, Marlene. How are you today?”

  “Wonderful!” She took hold of Bonnie’s elbow with an affectionate pinch and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “And how is the little man?”

  Johnny stuck his thumb in his mouth and wrapped his free arm around Bonnie’s leg. “He’s fine. It’s just about nap time.”

  “Is it? Oh, drat. I was hoping we could run across the street and have a pop or something.”

  “I’d love to Marlene, but I just put groceries in the car. I have to get home.”

  “All right. But look, I have this fabulous idea. You see what’s behind me?”

  Bonnie looked past Marlene at the old flat-fronted building, a remnant of the nineteenth century if ever there was one. Of course, the whole of Main Street was an antique. She squinted in the sun and shrugged. “The market and the parlor.”

  “And?”

  “Marlene, I really don’t have time for riddles.”

  “The vacant storefront. What this town needs is a boutique. A classy little shop with ladies clothes and real nice accessories—gold earrings, silk stockings, straw hats…”

  “I don’t know…” Bonnie looked at Marlene, one of the few women she knew who still wore a skirt every day and changed her nail polish as soon as it got chipped. Today she wore a yellow and red striped tent dress with tight sleeves, red stockings, red loafers with large buckles across the top, and a red kerchief over her head.

  Marlene waved her hand in front of herself. Some of the nails were polished and some weren’t. She must have run outside in the middle of a manicure. “We can carry some pantsuits and vests and hippie beads, too, if that’s what you’d like.”

  “What I’d like?” Bonnie exclaimed. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “We would be the perfect business partners. I’ll provide the class and you’ll provide the youth.”

  Bonnie laughed at the suggestion. Was she not classy? Marlene talked like it had all been decided and there was nothing to discuss other than what kind of cheese plate to serve at their grand opening.

  Mary Jo stepped out onto the porch in front of the salon. “Mar-lene! I got other ladies coming in today. You get back in this chair right now.” She put a hand on her hip, jutting her elbow out to the side and making her figure look even more round than usual.

  “Honey, I have to go. Think about it.” Marlene moved away, turning just before backing into the steps. She bounced up them, her dress swinging gaily around her trim legs. At the parlor door, she squeezed past Mary Jo, ducking her shoulders to feign guilt.

  Bonnie picked up Johnny and stood shaking her head in amusement. Marlene’s motto was, “If you’ve got it, show it off,” and show it off she did, starting with her legs! The screen door slapped shut as Mary Jo turned inside, no doubt scolding Marlene for running out to the street with her nails half-done. Bonnie turned back to her car and opened the passenger door. She was about to stoop and set Johnny on the seat when something caught her eye.

  Across the street, on one of the garden benches, sat a man she had never seen before. He seemed to be staring at her. She set Johnny on the tan bench seat and patted his chest until he scooted against the backrest. He kicked his sandaled heels on the seat. “Car, car, car,” he babbled. Bonnie straightened up and shut the door gently, looking, as she always did, to make sure little fingers weren’t in the way.

  The man was definitely watching her. Bonnie lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. He was unfamiliar to her, but of this much Bonnie was certain, he was older than her—the gray in his beard gave that away. He wore a grubby, old, billed cap, looked like a John Deere, that hid his eyes. His jeans seemed to drape over the park bench, leaving too much room around his skinny legs. Over a dark t-shirt, he wore an army green shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A telltale bulge in the left chest pocket gave away that he was a smoker. The labels above the pockets, like a ticker tape announcement, were too distant to read. Bonnie walked around the back of the car, keeping an eye on this man. When she reached her door, she paused to look at him again. He lifted a hand to wave his fingers at her, a small gesture that she could not help returning. Though the gesture seemed friendly, she felt confused by it—confused and somewhat disconcerted.

  “He is finally asleep,” Bonnie announced as she flopped onto the sofa beside John. He bent forward to grasp her ankles and swing her legs up onto his lap. Bonnie swiveled, resting her head against the sofa’s arm and sighed as John began kneading her foot. “Mr. Sykes, I do believe you have missed your calling.”

  “Have I now?”

  “Mm-hm. You could make a fortune massaging the ladies’ feet. Why, I know many a woman who would tip most handsomely to be touched this way.”

  “Many?”

  “Many many.” Bonnie purred at her husband’s touch. She had slipped into her pajamas at the same time as Johnny, something she did after a particularly long day, grateful her husband did not believe her beauty came from a tube of lipstick or curling iron. “I think I’ll set up a little couch in the boutique. The women can lie back and you will sit on a tuffet…”

  “A what?”

  “A tuffet. A footstool like. And you will do this, after which the ladies will give you all their money.”

  “All of it?”

  “Oh yes, particularly the older ladies in furs who carry their little dogs in their purses. They have the most money, you know.”

  John raised her foot and kissed her big toe.

  “Don’t you go kissing those dirty old things!”

  “Ho
w can you call that lovely toe a dirty old thing?”

  “Well, because…because I know where it has been since it was last washed.” She scrunched her face and stuck out her tongue.

  John laughed. “Good thing I’m not afraid of a little dirt.” He switched feet and began working on her arch. “Now where is this boutique of yours? New York? Paris? Milan?”

  “Right here in Skoghall!”

  John lowered his brows and pulled his mouth to one side. “You’re serious?”

  “Yes. No. Well, about the boutique, maybe. About you and the ladies’ feet, definitely not. I’m keeping you for my own personal foot rubber.”

  John lowered Bonnie’s foot and sat up fully, his face all too serious. “What do you mean, Bonnie?”

  “It’s just one of Marlene’s harebrained ideas. You know how she gets. But she thought we could open a boutique in that space between the market and the parlor. I bet we’d get a lot of business when the River Road is hopping.”

  “Slow down, honey. You didn’t promise Marlene anything, did you?”

  “John.” Bonnie scooted herself up on the sofa and tipped her head over her shoulder, looking at her husband through her lashes.

  “Okay, okay. You’re too smart for that, I know.”

  “I’d be good at it, though, John. I would. I could have a job.”

  “Slow down, Bonnie. You have a job, honey. He’s sleeping over our heads right now.” John got off the sofa and went to an old icebox that had been in his family since the turn of the century. He opened one door and took a bottle of Corbel and a bottle of bitters from the tin-lined compartment. From the lower compartment he pulled out two tumblers and a long-handled silver spoon. “Got an orange, I hope?”

  Bonnie hopped off the sofa and went through to the kitchen. She paused at the sink and looked out the window, hoping to catch sight of a marauding raccoon in her pile of scraps, but no luck. Just as she turned away from the sink, she saw a shadow move. Bonnie peered deeper into the trees. An eerie feeling of being watched made the hairs on her neck prickle. Not a single shadow looked out of place, so she drew the sunflower curtains and went about the business of cocktail assistant.

  She carried a tray to the living room with a bowl of nuts, thick slices of orange, cherries, and a bowl of ice. “Ta-da!” she said, smiling over the tray before setting it on the coffee table. John set their tumblers on it and kissed Bonnie, a happy, wet-lipped kiss.

  “Look, darling, if you want a job, I don’t mind.” He took her hands in his. “Really. But I don’t see how you could manage a job before Johnny starts school. Can we revisit this in a few years?”

  Bonnie nodded and turned her attention to the orange slices. It was her duty to crush the fruit into each glass without working the rind. If she over-handled the rind, it would release a bitter flavor they didn’t want. She dropped the cherries in the glass, then offered John her hands.

  She watched him put each of her fingers into his mouth, felt the warmth of his tongue on each pad and the slight tug as he sucked the juice off of them. He loved her and he was right. She was disappointed that she could not even continue to entertain the idea, the lovely idea, of deciding which articles to buy, how to display them, and of becoming a business woman as well as a woman of fashion. As exciting as the seed Marlene had planted was, she would have to let it go dormant. Just for a winter or two, she assured herself.

  John took her arm and kissed from her wrist to her elbow, then up and over her shoulder, before landing his kisses on her neck. Bonnie sighed as he worked his way up to her ear lobe.

  “Mmmm, John. Oh, John.”

  Chapter Four

  Jess cradled the phone between her ear and shoulder while she sliced zucchini near the sink. A blue jay swooped out of a tree at the edge of the yard and pecked at the seed she had put out—actually, at the seed the squirrels had knocked to the ground, since it was too big to perch on the feeder itself. Jess was about to hang up when Tyler answered, cutting the last ring short. “Tyler? It’s Jess.”

  “Jess, how are you?”

  “Good. You?” Oh God, it was already awkward. She had only called because she hoped for some company this week, another meal together or something…anything…to get her out of the house. She should have called with a plan in mind.

  “The lunch rush is about to hit,” he was saying. “Did you want something specific?”

  “No.” She changed her mind as an idea occurred. “Yes,” she said, sounding suddenly urgent. “Antiques. Do you like antiquing? I could use a few more pieces of furniture and thought I might find something interesting…?” She hoped that was enough of an invitation. She wasn’t ready to ask him out on a date, not officially, anyway.

  “Sure, I like antiques.” He sounded pleased. “Wednesday is my only day off, though.”

  “Wednesday is great.”

  Jess hung up and put a slice of zucchini on her tongue. They were going antiquing. She bounced a little and turned to tell Shakti the news. The puppy was under the kitchen table, gnawing on an elk antler. “I’m going antiquing with Tyler,” she said. “I’m going antiquing with Tyler,” she repeated, slowly, the weight of the statement finally sinking in. This was not a meal close to home. This was country driving, possibly an all-day affair with lots of time to talk or to realize they had nothing to talk about. Before she let herself get worked up, Jess decided it would be a good way to put him to a test. If they enjoyed this, there was probably lots more they could enjoy together.

  Tyler’s shiny black truck had been freshly run through a carwash from the looks of it. Jess came out onto the porch to greet him. “I thought I’d better drive,” he called to her across the yard. “f you find something, you’ll need to get it home.” He looked like something right out of a commercial, standing next to his truck with his arm draped over the top of his door. Tyler finally closed the door and looked back over his shoulder toward the barn. He took his time, scanning the barn, then following the tree line to the garage. He looked over the roof of his truck at the other side of the yard and back toward the smokehouse before finally facing Jess again. She was about to joke about passing inspection, when he stepped around his truck. Tyler joined Jess on the porch. “Nice property. Great trees.”

  “Would you like a cup of coffee before we go? Or I have travel mugs. Are you on a schedule?” Her neck felt warm and prickly as she became self-consciously aware that Tyler would be the first person to enter her house—other than the phone guy.

  “I have the whole day.” He smiled. “A cup of coffee would be great.”

  Jess held the screen door open for him. Shakti had to back out of the vestibule to grant them entrance, her tail wagging until she bumped into the wall. When Tyler stooped to pat her head, she ducked away from his hand. Jess gave Tyler a tour of the main floor, ending in the kitchen. She set out two mugs and ground fresh beans.

  “A connoisseur, I see.”

  “I doubt that, but I like it fresh.” Jess smiled, dipping her eyes in deference to his expertise. “I’m sure you know more than I do, being a chef.”

  Tyler leaned comfortably against the farm table, his thighs filling his jeans. “I used to drink a lot of gut-rot. You wouldn’t believe some of the stuff people put up with.”

  “Really? Where did you have to put up with gut rot?”

  He shifted his weight and pushed his hand over his brow, smoothing his dark hair away from his face. The pink scar near his hairline showed briefly before a wave of hair covered it again. “Oh, you know, in my youth.” His smile seemed pinched at the corners. Jess turned away to put water in the kettle. “My dad drank Folgers. I thought the big red can was coffee, you know?” he said to her back.

  Jess nodded, encouraging him.

  “I like to learn about the things I’m serving people, whether it’s a cup of coffee or a raspberry crepe with chocolate sauce.”

  “Oh, I think my stomach just growled at the mention of that.”

  “That’s right,” he grinned, “y
ou have a sweet tooth.” Jess noted that he seemed more comfortable when they were talking about her, an unusual enough trait that she wondered if it would last.

  They carried a couple of Jess’s chairs onto the front porch and had their coffee outside while Shakti ran and tumbled in the yard.

  “About her,” Jess nodded to the puppy. “I can only crate her for three, maybe four, hours. Last time I crated her it wasn’t that long, but she peed in the crate. I think she was scared.” Tyler looked doubtful, but didn’t say anything. Jess wondered if she sounded like a new mother fretting over nothing. “New house, all alone,” she offered. “Anyway, even if she’s not scared, she’ll have to be let out within four hours.”

  “Why don’t you put something comforting in the crate this time? A blanket or one of your sweatshirts,” he suggested.

  “I will. Thanks.”

  They finished their coffee in quiet. They had several hours to figure out what to say to each other, and Jess was grateful Tyler wasn’t the type of person who needed a constant dialogue.

  She had picked up copies of a few River Road brochures last time she was in Bay City and scanned them for antique dealers, marking a few promising locations on the maps. They headed south and Tyler started one of The Decemberists’ albums as they got on their way. Jess smiled inwardly. It was a safe bet since she had commented on his t-shirt when they first met. Their first stop was a small storefront in Pepin that was really just a junk shop. Jess roved through the aisles quickly, finding nothing that inspired her. They left in a hurry.

  “Boy, you don’t browse, do you?” Tyler said when they reached his truck.

  “Not today. I’m on a mission and have a schedule.” She slid into the cab next to Tyler. “Do you mind? Did you want to spend more time in there?”

  “I’m along for the company, not the shopping.”

  Jess felt her cheeks warm. “Well,” she said, “just let me know if I’m going too fast.” Tyler’s lips curled up, but he didn’t answer. She studied his profile as he watched the curves and bends of the River Road. Tyler’s nose had a blunt tip and shallow profile. He had shaved, even though it was his day off, and he wore a short-sleeved woven shirt with a collar. It was deep orange, and in the bright light of summer, it set off his skin with a warm glow. Jess had worn jeans and a t-shirt and pulled her hair back into a short braid, keeping it strictly casual. She had, however, put on a touch of make-up.