Murder of a Sweet Old Lady srm-2
Page 4
Mona scanned the crowded kitchen with her pale blue eyes, stopping on May, who was talking on the phone. May covered the receiver and mouthed, “Minnie.”
Mona nodded, then looked pointedly at Vince.
Vince leapt up and offered her his chair. She sat carefully, smoothing her trousers and making sure the creases were not undone.
Neal raised an eyebrow at Mona. “Where am I suppose to sit?”
A look of uneasiness crossed her face. She popped up from her seat and hurried to the dining room, returning with another chair that she wedged next to hers. Neal sat, his bright red hair a contrast to all the blonds and brunettes gathered at the table.
Vince remained standing. He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms.
They were all silent, listening to May say into the phone, “Okay, okay, don’t cry. I still don’t understand why you went down there alone.” She started to sob. “Yes, I would too have taken off work to go with you or one of the twins could have found a baby-sitter.” She paused. “Well, Mona doesn’t even have a job or kids.”
All eyes turned to Mona, whose frozen expression did not change.
May continued to weep. “I’ve got to go, Mona just got here. What time will you be back tomorrow? Okay, see you then. Bye.”
Looking around the table, May explained, “Minnie felt guilty that she didn’t stop over to see Mom today before leaving for Urbana.” May blew her nose on the tissue Skye handed her, and continued almost to herself, “Minnie checked in every morning. She must have really been upset not to stop today.”
Mona dabbed at her eyes and stole a peek at Neal. “I missed coming over today, too.”
Shaking her head, May made her way back to her chair. “I’m sure Mom understood.” After she was seated, she asked, “Where were you this afternoon? I thought for a minute you had gone back to Maui.”
“I had a dentist appointment in Joliet, so I decided to go early and do some shopping. When Neal finished in the field, a friend dropped him at the Knights of Columbus hall.” Mona inspected a perfectly manicured nail. “You know, not to criticize, but a note on your front door saying your mother died is not the best way to hear the news.”
“They stopped poor Daddy in the field and told him by the side of the road,” Gillian said.
“I guess it’s a good thing it wasn’t his mother then,” Mona replied.
Skye felt a guilty pleasure in her aunt’s response to her cousin, although she experienced a twinge of unease, reminding her that she had been on the wrong side of Mona’s tongue many times herself.
Ginger whispered into Gillian’s ear but neither twin spoke to the group.
Folding her hands on the table, Mona looked toward May. “So, tell me all about it.”
May started, “Well, Skye has been stopping by every day after school. Mom’s been telling her the family history, but today . . .”
As May finished retelling the events of the day, Mona wiped away a teardrop, sat back, and stared at Skye. “We really can’t trust you to do anything right, can we?”
“What?” Skye frowned.
“Most people find their eighty-year-old grandmother dead, say a prayer of thanks that she’s out of her misery, and call the family doctor. But not Miss Big Shot. Like Neal says, it’s not healthy the way you always have your nose in a book. You want to live like they do inside the pages of your latest novel. So you involve the police and the coroner and God knows who else. Now instead of a quiet funeral, we’ve got a situation. You’re just never happy unless it’s your way. And look what you’ve gotten us into.” Mona finished without raising her voice. “I’ll bet you didn’t even call Father Burns. It’s a good thing I had him out here Sunday to give Mom and the housekeeper confession and communion.”
The silence around the table was broken only by the scraping back of Skye’s chair as she stood. She walked to the sink and ran cold water as she took a glass from the cabinet. Bingo wandered in and sat at her feet.
After her drink, she turned to the room full of staring faces. “Well, it sure is enlightening to hear what you truly think of me, Mona. I’d share my insights about you, but it would upset my mother and she’s already been through enough today. But, be warned, if you ever speak to me like that again I won’t restrain myself. Understand?”
Vince came over and stood beside Skye.
Mona’s features stiffened and she opened her mouth.
Before she could speak Neal said, “Drop it, Mona.”
“But, Neal.” Her voice sounded whiny and a drop of sweat ran down her temple. “It’s pretty bad when a person is threatened by her own niece on the day her mother dies.”
Neal put his hand on her wrist, his fingers digging into the soft skin. “I said, drop it.”
Skye looked at the people around the table and saw no sympathy for her aunt.
Mona’s tone changed. “Darling, this has all been too much for me. I’m feeling faint. Could I have a drink?”
Neal got up and went to the sink. He filled a glass of water and put it in front of Mona. When Mona didn’t immediately reach for it, he asked, “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Not the kind of drink you had in mind?”
Conversation died after Mona’s outburst, lethargy seeming to take over. The sound of a car door slamming made them all look up. Knocking on the door startled them. No one ever knocked at Grandma’s.
When everyone remained seated, Skye shrugged and went down the steps to see who was there. It was a little after ten-thirty at night, not a time many people in Scumble River came calling.
Simon was standing on the concrete apron, dressed in a black suit and white shirt. His expression was grim. “May I come in?”
“You might want to reconsider that request. The situation hasn’t brought out the best in the family.”
“Then they’re really not going to like what I have to say. Let’s get it over with.”
Skye tried to question him, but he insisted on speaking to everyone at once. They walked into the kitchen together, but Simon stayed at the door and Skye rejoined Vince by the sink.
Simon cleared his throat. His gaze swept the room. “First, let me say I’m sorry for your loss. I was fortunate to get to know Antonia when Skye brought me out to visit, and she was a special lady who will be missed by everyone. Sadly, it is my conclusion, as coroner consulting with Doctor Zello, her personal physician, that she did not die of natural causes.”
As Simon spoke, the twins started to cry, a twitch appeared near Dante’s eye, and Hugo blew his nose. But upon hearing Simon’s last sentence, everyone froze.
Finally, Dante pushed his way over to Simon. Thumping his index finger into Simon’s chest, he shouted, “What are you talking about? If this is some sick joke . . .”
Simon pushed Dante’s finger aside and went on as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “We found some irregularities when we examined her. This means we will have to perform an autopsy. I will take care of that as soon as possible and let you know when you can make funeral arrangements.”
A stunned silence followed until May asked, “By not dying of natural causes, do you mean . . . ?”
Simon nodded. “We suspect she was murdered.”
CHAPTER 4
One, Two, What Should We Do?
Suddenly voices bounced off the walls and filled the small room. Dante’s was the loudest: “What is the meaning of this? You can’t go cutting up someone just to prove you’re a big shot to your girlfriend.” He flung a look at Skye. “Skye, tell him you don’t want your grandmother to have to go through this.”
Skye considered her response. Simon would understand if she didn’t admit that it was her idea in the first place. And Wally and Doc Zello would never tell. But she believed an autopsy was necessary, and it would be spineless not to say so.
Everyone was looking at her, waiting. Vince moved closer.
“I’m sorry, Uncle Dante. I can’t ask Simon not to do an autopsy because I’m the one who talked him into it.”
The roar of voices was deafening, and this time May’s rose above the rest. “Oh, Skye, why?”
Looking at her mother’s face, which seemed to have aged ten years since that morning, Skye was torn. Maybe she should have just let things be. Why did she always seem to be the one stirring the pot?
She had taken too long to answer and now others were shouting questions.
Skye pushed off from the sink and stood straight. “Because when I got here—”
Simon broke in. “Skye, I don’t think you should discuss what you saw. I’m sure the chief would not want that information disseminated.”
The room began to buzz again. Skye heard various bits but couldn’t tell who said them.
“What do you think she saw?”
“Anyone know where Mrs. J is?”
“She’s probably making this whole thing up.”
Most of the babbling stopped at the sound of the door slamming. The appearance of Chief Boyd at the top of the stairs silenced the rest. He looked at Simon, who nodded.
“You all have my sympathies for your loss. I’m sorry that circumstances aren’t different, but I’m sure you all want to know if Antonia was murdered, and if so by whom. The only one who would gain by the termination of this investigation would be the killer.”
When Chief Boyd finished speaking, Skye noticed that the atmosphere in the room began to change. Now her aunts, uncles, and cousins were eyeing each other, perhaps wondering who had been loudest in their objections. Chairs shifted slightly and they appeared to withdraw into themselves.
Chief Boyd allowed them to digest what he had said a little longer, then went on. “We have put an all points bulletin out on the housekeeper. Now, you can all understand when I ask you to leave this house immediately. We will need to keep it secured until we know if it is a crime scene or not, so please do not return without my permission. Also, anyone who went into any room besides the kitchen tonight, please stay behind for a few minutes.”
Some grumbled, but everyone started to gather their belongings and move toward the door. As they formed a natural line, Wally stopped each one of them and asked them to come into the police station the next day to make a statement.
Mona, Ginger, and Hugo admitted to taking a chair from the dining room, but stated they’d gone no farther into the house.
Everyone else had left by the time the Denisons reached the front of the line. Jed, Vince, and May had been through the entire house except the bedrooms. Skye, of course, had been everywhere.
When he heard this, Chief Boyd shook his head. “Okay, well, Skye, I guess that means first thing tomorrow we fingerprint you.”
“Great. When’s first thing to you guys?”
“How about eight?” He didn’t look up from the notes he was taking.
“How about nine?” Skye wasn’t a morning person, and since she’d be taking a personal day due to her grandmother’s death, it would be nice to sleep in a little. She felt tired to the bone.
“Eight. Don’t push it.” He slapped the notebook shut. “Come on, folks, it’s time to leave.” He shepherded them all down the stairs.
After they all shuffled outside, May fetched the hidden key and handed it to the chief, who turned it in the lock. He then went to his car and took a roll of barricade tape out of the trunk. Tearing off a couple of strips, he put them in an X across the front and back doors.
They walked toward their vehicles, everyone having driven separately. Simon accompanied Skye to her car, which was parked in a dark corner beside the garage. As they reached it she noticed that something didn’t look right.
Simon put his hand on her elbow. “I’m surprised your grandmother didn’t have a yard light. Almost everyone in the country does.”
“She does.” Frowning, Skye looked up and pointed. “It must be burnt out.”
“Can you see to unlock your door?”
“It’s not locked. I never lock my door when I’m on the farm.”
“Why? Don’t you think criminals can drive on a gravel road?”
“No, smarty. It’s a habit. On a farm, machinery is always being moved in and out and they have to be able to move the cars to get around.”
“So, you leave the keys in too?”
“Yeah, most of the time.”
“That is really dumb in this day and age.”
“Look, things are different on a farm. I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but usually . . . It’s hard to explain to a city boy. Can we do this a different time? Say anytime except right after my grandmother’s been murdered.” Skye felt tears pushing to overflow but forced them back.
“Fine.”
Her eyes had adjusted to the dark as they stood talking, and what she saw made her gasp.
Simon grabbed her arm. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh my God. My tires.” Skye pointed to the four flats on her car.
“Shit.” Simon walked around the vehicle.
“They couldn’t all go flat at the same time.” Skye moved closer, trying to get a better look.
“No, they couldn’t. Someone slashed them on purpose.”
Skye leaned her head on the leather seat back of Simon’s Lexus. The chief had told Skye he would dust the Buick for prints immediately, but she could wait and fill out a vandalism report when she came in to the police station the following morning. Jed had insisted he would get the tires fixed first thing the next day. Skye hadn’t been able to convince her father that she was capable of arranging for her tires to be replaced herself. And she was too tired to argue for long.
The country roads were dark and Skye almost dozed until Simon stopped for the traffic signal at Maryland and Basin Streets. She shook her head; the only stoplight in town and she always managed to find it on red.
Basin Street, Scumble River’s main thoroughfare, consisted of a six-block area that housed most of the town’s smaller businesses, including the bank and the dry cleaner. Larger establishments, such as the supermarket and hardware store, had moved to the outskirts about ten years earlier in search of parking.
As the Lexus turned onto Stebler, the streetlights became fewer and fewer until they disappeared completely by the time Simon pulled into Skye’s street. She rented a small river cottage from a divorced couple who couldn’t decide who should get ownership. The cottage was ideal for Skye, and she hoped the couple wouldn’t settle their differences until she was able to save some money, find another job, and make her escape from Scumble River.
Simon parked in her driveway and turned to Skye. “Would you like me to come in?”
She frowned, misunderstanding his intent. “I’m really tired and just want to go to sleep.”
He raised an eyebrow. “That’s fine, but wouldn’t you feel better, after all that’s happened, if I made sure the place is safe?”
Skye began to slide out of the car. “Oh, well thanks, but I can take care of myself.”
Simon followed her, watching as she tried unsuccessfully to fit the key in the lock. “Look, your tires were slashed and you’re the one ruffling everyone’s feathers about your grandmother’s death. Don’t you think there might be a connection?”
“Okay, you’re probably right. I’m too tired to think straight.”
The door finally opened and Skye trudged wearily inside. On her way into the great room that acted as her living and dining areas, she threw her purse on a table.
She watched Simon scan the room. It was half of the large octagon shape that made up the cottage. The outer arc was comprised of windows and sliding glass doors that faced the river. He made sure they were all locked, with bars across their tracks, before moving on. Skye trailed behind him.
The bedroom was a quarter of the octagon and also had a set of sliding glass doors with windows on either side looking over the water. He secured these and checked out the closet and bathroom.
The only remaining space was the small kitchen/utility area that looked out on the driveway, and the half bath off the foyer. Both were empty.
He put his arms around her. “Make sure you turn the dead bolt and put on the chain when I leave.”
Skye nodded mutely, having trouble keeping her eyelids open.
Simon kissed her softly on the lips. “I’ll call you tomorrow after you’ve been to the police station.” He turned and spoke over his shoulder as he went through the door. “Don’t forget you’re supposed to be there at eight.”
Skye locked up behind him, turned, and made her way into the master bathroom. I should take a shower. She stripped off her clothes and stuffed them into the hamper. At least, I should wash my face. Grabbing her nightgown off the hook behind the door, she slipped it over her head. It would take only a second to put on some Fruition lotion. She sank into her pillows. Esteé Lauder would be so disappointed in me . . .
Her alarm buzzed at six, its usual time. Skye reached out and slapped it off. A few seconds later she forced herself out of bed and grabbed the telephone. After letting the schools know she wouldn’t be in due to a death in the family, she crawled back between the sheets.
The next time she awoke, the numbers on her clock radio glowed seven-thirty. She leaped out of bed and into the shower, stripping off her nightgown on the way. The hot water revived her and she soaped, shampooed, and rinsed quickly.
After toweling her body and hair, she threw on underclothes then stood at her closet, stymied. What should she wear to be fingerprinted, taking into account it was the day after her grandmother died and it was going to be hotter than heck out?
As she contemplated her inadequate wardrobe, her glance fell on the clock. Damn, she was going to be late and she still hadn’t done her hair or put on any makeup.
Skye dialed the nonemergency number for the police. She had it memorized since she often called her mother when May was working at the station.
Thea Jones, another of Scumble River’s dispatchers, answered. At the sound of Skye’s voice she said, “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry for your family. You know, we all love May. She’s gonna take it real hard. She was real close to her mama.”