This association infuriated Skye’s mother, and May had not wanted the Dooziers at the baby shower. She’d maintained that they would ruin the event, but Skye had stood firm. They were her friends and they’d be hurt if they didn’t receive an invitation. Moreover, Skye figured the family would show up anyway, and it was better they were there as expected guests rather than as party crashers.
Cora’s voice broke into Skye’s thoughts. “May, honey, Earl and his family will be fine.” She patted her daughter-in-law’s hand. “I’d be more worried about Carson’s date than the Dooziers.”
“Do you mean Bunny Reid?” May narrowed her eyes. “You don’t think he’d bring that tacky woman, do you? She’s not on the list.”
“I’m pretty sure that since they’re living together and”—Skye slid a sly look in her mother’s direction—“Carson’s paying for most, if not all, of this little wingding, Bunny will be here.”
“I… He…” May sputtered, but didn’t deny that Carson’s black American Express card was involved.
Skye hid her smile by taking another sip of coffee, then asked. “But why should we be worried about Bunny’s presence, Grandma?”
Cora turned to Skye. “Well, if whoever blew up the bowling alley was trying to kill Bunny, and that person decides to come after her again…”
Although Cora’s expression was sincere, Skye noticed her grandmother snuck a peak at May and there was a twinkle in the elderly woman’s eyes.
Skye finished Cora’s thought. “A murderer on the loose at the party would cause a lot more trouble than the Dooziers ever could.”
“That explosion had nothing to do with Bunny Reid.” May’s expression was mulish. “At least not personally. It’s those cotton-picking slot machines.”
“Why do you say that, Mom?” Skye asked. Since when had her mother become anti-gambling? Skye’s parents loved going to Las Vegas, not to mention May’s visits to the Joliet casinos with her friend Maggie. “Have you heard something around town?”
“Everyone is talking about how tight Bunny has those things set.” May’s chin had a mutinous set to it.
“Everyone?” Skye glanced at her grandmother, who shook her head and shrugged.
“I worked with the Marthas for Elaine Daly’s wake and all the ladies were bellyaching about how much money they lost on the alley’s machines.”
The Marthas were a group of women from the Catholic church who coordinated funeral luncheons providing food prep, service, and cleanup.
“Why do you keep playing?” Skye asked. “I mean, if you know the odds are bad.”
She didn’t see the attraction of pushing a button and watching various wheels spin. Skye was more like her father, who preferred poker or blackjack. At least with those games there was a modicum of something besides pure luck involved.
May scowled. “We all play for a little while before our bowling leagues and no one ever wins. But we’re determined to earn back our money.”
May’s glare dared Skye to state the obvious. The chances of that were slim to none.
“How much do most of you lose each week?” Skye hoped she wouldn’t need to perform an intervention with her mother for a gambling addiction.
“Twenty dollars.” May’s mouth pinched closed, then she added, “But a lot of time we break even. It’s just that we never come out ahead.”
“I wonder if Bunny will replace the machines,” Cora murmured.
“I think she’ll want to,” Skye said slowly. “But whether Simon agrees is a whole other question. He wasn’t too keen on them before the explosion and I can’t image a bombing has improved his opinion.”
“And how do you know that Simon didn’t want his mother to put in video gambling machines?” May demanded, crossing her arms and staring at Skye.
“Because Bunny told me.” Skye raised her brows. “How did you think I knew?”
When May’s cheeks reddened, Skye snickered. Her mother had done a complete turnaround, jumping from Team Simon to Team Wally in less than a year. Skye would like to think it was because Wally had proved to her mom that he was an amazing person and a wonderful husband. But she suspected it was more that he’d been a participant in producing May’s grandchildren.
“While you are only risking twenty bucks a week, I’ll bet some of those women are putting a lot more into those one-armed bandits.” Cora’s eyes were cold. “And how is all this legal gambling affecting the groups like the church and American Legion who count on bingo and King of Diamonds and such to fund their activities?”
“That’s a very good question.” Skye frowned. She couldn’t picture Father Burns planting a bomb to wipe out the competition, but American Legion members might have a little more experience with explosives.
Chapter 15
(Baby, You Can) Drive My Car
With the christening party/baby shower in May’s capable, not to mention controlling, hands, and the twins in a cooperative mood, Skye decided to venture into town. First, she’d hit the supermarket, then, if the babies continued to behave nicely, she’d surprise Wally and take him to lunch at McDonald’s.
Before her mother and grandmother left, Skye asked them to keep an eye on the twins while she took the dirty dishes from their refreshments into the RV and got ready for her expedition into town. After placing the cups, plates, and spoons in the sink, she evicted Bingo from the diaper bag and packed it with the babies’ paraphernalia.
Next, she removed her grocery list from under the magnet on the fridge and stuck it in her purse, then put on a nice pair of jeans and a pink jersey top.
The tornado had taken most of Skye’s pre-pregnancy wardrobe and she hadn’t had time to get to the mall since the twister, so internet shopping had become her new best friend. She’d ordered the shirt she’d just put on last week, and it had arrived yesterday afternoon. Luckily, with the cooler weather, it had long sleeves. And she loved the boat neck, as well as the tulip-style panels designed for discreet nursing.
A few minutes later, Skye hurriedly returned to the tent. She thanked her mom and grandma for watching the twins and walked with them back to the driveway. Waving, she watched the rear lights of May’s white Oldsmobile 88 disappear down the road.
Once they were gone, Skye began the daunting task of getting the babies buckled into the SUV. Thankfully, the stroller that she and Wally had selected was part of a travel system that converted to car seats.
Skye hadn’t had much practice—this was her first attempt at a solo trip with the twins. But the seats clicked easily out of the apparatus and into the attached base installed in her Mercedes. With the babies settled into the back of the car, she folded the stroller’s frame and hoisted it into the rear of the SUV.
Although the morning had started out bright, with a pleasantly crisp fall breeze, by the time that Skye pulled into the parking lot of the supermarket, clouds had begun to roll in and were covering the sun. It looked as if it could start sprinkling any minute.
The dreary weather sobered Skye’s mood, and as she cruised the surprisingly jam-packed lot looking for an open slot, she thought about the bombing. So far, there seemed to be an equal amount of evidence pointing toward Paige and Bunny Lanes as the primary objective of the explosion, but something in her gut had Skye leaning toward the insurance investigator versus the bowling alley as the intended target.
In her perpetually sleep-deprived state, it was difficult to think clearly and figure out what she knew for sure and what was intuition. Skye felt around the corners of her brain, but just as a flash of an idea raced through her mind, she was distracted by the sight of someone putting groceries into a tan Prius parked only three spaces from the door.
Speeding up, Skye zipped around the corner, and stopped almost behind the Toyota. The woman was piling bags into its trunk and Skye put on her turn signal to indicate her intention to claim the spot.
Wh
ile she waited, she peered into the back seat. Her son was dozing, his little face peaceful, but his sister was grinning and cooing. This seemed to happen a lot—one baby sleeping while the other stayed alert. Almost as if one twin was always in charge of guarding the perimeter. Maybe Wally’s police genes had been passed on to his children.
The Prius woman took an eternity to unload her groceries, return her cart to the corral near the doors, and get settled behind the wheel. Finally, her brake lights came on and she began to inch backward. The Toyota was barely out of the parking place when a blue Audi Roadster zipped into the space, narrowly missing Skye’s right front bumper.
She hit her horn, but the fiftysomething driver ignored her and as he exited the sports car, all Skye could see was the glowing tip of a long, thin cigarette. He paused at the sidewalk to dispose of his smoke, then entered the supermarket without a backward glance.
Fuming, Skye stifled the urged to swear at the obnoxious jerk. Finally, although it wasn’t as if Wally could arrest the creep for stealing her space, she jotted down the license plate number on a paper napkin. At least she’d be able to identify the detestable man if he did break any laws when she was around.
Eventually, she calmed enough to find another empty spot—about a mile and a half from the door—settle the twins’ car seats into the stroller frame, and make her way into the store. As the sliding glass door swished open, the enticing smell of chocolate chip cookies and freshly baked bread tickled her nose. Her mouth watered, but she ignored the temptation.
Skye shivered at the sudden coolness of the over air-conditioned store. Goose pimples popped up on the skin on her arms and she rubbed them to get warm. Reaching down, she made sure the babies were covered by their blankets, then blew on her icy fingertips.
She couldn’t figure out how to push the stroller along with a grocery cart, so she utilized the basket under the seats. The store was remarkably busy for a Thursday morning and Skye had to weave through crowded aisles to get to the deli counter. People were stocking up for something, but she had no idea what. It wasn’t as if there was a holiday coming up.
Heck! Yes, there was, too, a holiday. Friday was Halloween. How in the world had she forgotten that?
Emmy had even mentioned that there was a party at the shooting range, but Skye had been so annoyed with the pretty dancer flirting with Wally that the implication had slipped passed her.
Skye didn’t think they’d get any trick-or-treaters out where they lived. Their house was the only one for miles along a rural road. Still, she’d better buy a bag of candy just in case. And if they didn’t get any kids, she’d just be forced to eat the chocolate herself. One tiny sweet treat a day couldn’t hurt, right? Even her doctor told her not to worry about dieting while she was nursing.
Earlier that morning, before May and Cora’s arrival, Skye had started Italian beef cooking in the Crock-Pot. That along with a container of coleslaw from the deli and a bag of Milano French Rolls, and supper would be ready anytime Wally made it home.
After getting what she needed for dinner, Skye grabbed an assortment of fruits and vegetables, as well as some other basics. Next on her list was laundry detergent. It seemed as if she went through at least a bottle a week.
Once she’d stowed the huge jug of Woolite in the bottom of the stroller, she headed to the candy aisle. She had just put her fingers on the last bag of miniature peanut butter cups when a long arm clad in expensive fabric reached above her and snatched it from her grasp.
Skye had heard the heavy footsteps approaching but hadn’t paid much attention. As she whirled around, the stench of too much aftershave and stale beer washing over her, making her stomach roil, Skye came face-to-face with the guy who had stolen her parking spot.
He wore a designer suit and a posh tie, but his face looked like a boxer who had lost one too many fights. His nose was mashed to the side and had to have been broken at least once, and there was a scar by the side of his watery brown eyes.
What a jerk! The anger Skye had only partially set aside broke loose and she glared at the man. “Give that back to me right now!” She tried to keep her voice low and firm, but it came out high pitched and pleading.
“Are you out of your mind?” The man snorted. “First come, first served.”
Skye bristled. This was one of those cases where she truly hated being a psychologist. She knew intellectually that, in the long run, violence never solved anything, but she also knew that a good punch to the gut, or maybe a shot from the pepper spray in her purse, would shut this guy up and make him give her the candy.
This whole incident reminded her of a run-in she’d had early on when she’d first moved back home and met Simon. He’d taken her parking space and her Diet Coke at this same store. She should have followed her instincts then and never gone out with him. At least there was no chance she’d end up dating this yahoo.
In a haughty tone, Skye said, “Despite your fancy suit and tie, clearly you are no gentleman. You can pretend otherwise, but you saw me waiting for that parking space and took it anyway. Then, you saw me reaching for the last bag of peanut butter cups and snatched it from my fingers.” She narrowed her eyes and let ice drip from her words. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”
“What do you mean by that?” The guy clutched the candy to his chest.
“It means small-town folks would rather give you the shirt off their back than even appear to be taking something their neighbors might need.” Skye gazed down at the twins, who were staring at her as if they understood every word and were cheering her on, then glanced over his shoulder. “You already made a spectacle of yourself, so hand over those peanut butter cups and choose another candy.”
“Or what?” the guy asked, turning his head in the direction she was looking.
The grocery store was small: a bakery, a deli, a refrigerated section, and half a dozen aisles, as well as a frozen foods section. And it appeared as if most of the shoppers in the market had gathered and were watching the exchange. People were frowning and there was a hostile buzz in the air.
Survival instinct must have kicked in, and the guy backed up until he reached the end of the aisle. But before he could escape, a large man with a headful of pure-white hair stepped into his path and said, “Yuri, I see you’ve met my goddaughter, Skye.”
She swallowed a giggle at the man’s oh no expression. Charlie might be approaching eighty, but at close to six feet and three hundred pounds, he was not easily ignored. And it was best not to underestimate his influence around town. If a robin fell to earth, he knew about it before the feathers hit the ground.
“I… Well, that is…” The man babbled for a second, then sputtered to a stop.
“You were just about to give her that bag of candy, weren’t you?” Charlie wore his standard uniform of gray twill pants, a limp white shirt, and red suspenders. His expression implied he’d seen it all—twice—and wasn’t interested in a third show.
“I can’t,” Yuri whined. “My wife wants them. You know she’s miserable here in Scumble River. But if I keep her supplied with peanut butter cups, vodka, and gossip magazines, she doesn’t complain, at least not quite as much.”
As his irritated expression clearly indicated, Charlie wasn’t used to people arguing with him and he snapped, “If your wife is so unhappy here, you should take her home to Chicago. Especially since you no longer have a place to stay for the night.”
“But the city council is finally meeting tomorrow.” Yuri glared. “And I paid you in advance for that cabin through the weekend.”
“Do you have a receipt?” Charlie asked raising a bushy white eyebrow.
“What?” Yuri glanced at the other shoppers who had moved to watch Charlie take on the out-of-towner. “You said cash was a better deal.”
“It is.” Charlie folded his massive arms, his stare daring the man to continue. “You get a discount and I do
n’t have to deal with the credit card company’s paperwork or give them a cut.”
“Fine.” Yuri threw the bag of peanut butter cups at Skye and scurried away. His voice carried as he hurried out the door. “But most women your size would be eating cottage cheese, not candy.”
There were a few unintelligible murmurs from the crowd. Skye’s face flamed and she hoped no one was agreeing with Yuri.
But just in case, as she tucked the package into the stroller’s basket and walked over to give her godfather a hug, she announced, “The candy is for the trick-or-treaters, not me.”
“Everyone knows you always give out peanut butter cups,” Charlie said loyally. After kissing her cheek, he bent and gazed at the twins. “Sweetheart, you have two of the most beautiful children I’ve ever seen. I’m so glad you finally came back to town and settled down.”
“Thanks, Uncle Charlie. What a sweet thing to say.” Skye beamed. “Me too. Who knew that being fired from my first job, maxing out my credit cards, and having my fiancé jilt me would turn out so well?”
“I never doubted it for a moment,” Charlie said smoothly. “It’s nice to see you out and about.” He gently patted the babies’ heads with his huge hand. “I imagine it’s not easy with these two here.”
“True.” Skye glanced around, happy to see the crowd had dispersed and she and Charlie were out of the spotlight. “And with that in mind, I better check out while the twins are still cooperating.”
“Yep.” Charlie hugged her goodbye and said, “See you at the baptism on Saturday.”
Skye was headed toward the registers at the front of the store when a loud female voice stopped her. “Hey, Skye, wait up.”
She turned to find her cousin Gillian Leofanti Tubb hurrying toward her. The overhead fluorescent fixtures cast a harsh light over Gillian, emphasizing every wrinkle, blemish, and scar on her cousin’s naked face.
Die Me a River Page 15