“I already told you—it didn’t seem that important.” Wally tugged on his tie. “She was just one of the guys at the club.” He looked at her sharply. “Think about it. Have I talked about any of them?”
“No,” Skye admitted. “But I’m assuming the rest of the guys aren’t babes.”
“There are other women who belong to the gun club,” Wally insisted. “Tomi Jackson, Luella Calhoun, and Kathryn Steele all shoot.”
“Let’s see.” Skye kept track on her fingers. “Tomi is in her sixties or seventies, Luella prefers girls, and you’re usually at odds with Kathryn because her newspaper reporters frequently interfere with your investigations.”
“That’s not the point,” Wally argued. “The point I’m making is that I’ve never told you they were members of the gun club either.”
“Okay.” Skye crossed her arms. “Let’s set aside the issue of your not telling me about Emmy. Did you know that she was Ruby’s daughter?”
“No.” Wally braked for a stop sign. “I knew she was living with Bunny, but not why. I just figured that Bunny was renting out her extra room to make money for more Botox or plastic surgery. Like the time she accepted counterfeit money in exchange for closing down the bowling alley for that bachelor party or that cat show/speed dating thing she tried to pull off eight months ago.”
“Did you know Emmy had gotten into trouble in Las Vegas?” Skye asked.
“No.” He took his turn at the four-way, then said, “Emmy and I don’t talk that much, and when we do, we usually discuss weapons.”
“She seemed to know a lot more about you than just what guns you like to shoot.” Skye tapped her fingers on the dashboard. “She asked if we were there for dance lessons for the wedding.”
“Because when I first met her she indicated she was available.” Wally’s expression was wary. “But before you jump to conclusions, I made sure she knew that I was getting married in a few months. I guess I should have told you, but you were so busy during the summer. I didn’t want to waste the little bit of time we had together on something trivial.”
“Oh.” A faint flush rose in Skye’s cheeks. Between her job as a lifeguard at the recreation club—which Wally had suggested she not take this year—and her mother insisting that she do multiple cake and food tastings for the reception, Skye had barely seen Wally. That might have been a serious error on her part.
Wally abruptly pulled the car over to the side of the road, turned to Skye, and took both her hands in his. “Why are you suddenly so jealous? That’s not like you at all.” He studied her face. “I know you don’t truly think I would ever cheat on you with Emmy or anyone else, so what’s really going on?”
“I guess I have bridal jitters.” Skye caressed Wally’s palm with her thumb and gazed into his dark chocolate eyes. “A part of me is convinced that I’m not the kind of woman who gets a happily ever after, so I keep thinking the wicked queen will show up at the last minute, wave her magic wand, and make you disappear.”
“Darlin’.” Wally leaned over the console, cupped her cheek, and between kisses on her upturned face, he said, “That’ll never happen. I would shoot the wand to pieces before she could say ‘abracadabra.’ You’re stuck with me until death do us part.”
“I know I’m being silly and I’m sorry.” Skye pressed her lips to his, determined to show him that she was remorseful for having doubted him. When they came up for air, she said, “Four more days and I promise to return to the land of the sane.” She tilted her head. “Or at least my usual brand of insanity.”
“I’m looking forward to that.” Wally kissed her temple, then eased the Caprice back onto the asphalt. “Now can we discuss the case?”
“If we must.” Skye pretended reluctance, then asked, “I take it since we’re driving all the way over to Laurel, you’re certain Yvonne’s husband will be home. Did you call him and make an appointment?”
“No. I like to surprise possible suspects. When they’re off balance, they don’t always think before they speak and sometimes they blurt out something incriminating.” Wally slowed as a trio of deer ran onto the road, stared at the oncoming squad car, then scampered away. “What I did was phone his company to see if he was there. His secretary said that he was taking the day off to care for his son because his wife was sick with the flu.”
“We’re going into a house with flu germs?” Skye’s voice rose an octave.
“We have to talk to him.” Wally gripped the wheel so tightly, his knuckles turned white. “So we really don’t have much choice.”
“But what if we catch the flu and are sick for the wedding?”
Wally’s jaw clenched, but he repeated patiently, “I have no choice.” The muscle under his left eye twitched. “If you want, you can wait in the car.”
“No,” Skye conceded. “You’re right.” She started to bite her thumbnail, then stopped and sat on her hands. She had an appointment for a manicure on the twenty-eighth and wanted her nails to be in good shape. “Maybe we could wear masks and gloves.”
“Seriously?” Wally’s nostrils flared. “You want to conduct an interview wearing a mask? Are you sure you don’t want the whole hazmat suit?” he teased.
“I guess not,” Skye conceded, rolling her eyes at her own foolishness. “I suppose it would be a little tough to establish any kind of rapport dressed as if we thought he had the plague.”
“You think?”
“But I don’t want to sneeze my way down the aisle either.” Skye wrinkled her nose. “Or spend our honeymoon in bed—at least not in bed sick.”
“Definitely not.” Wally winked at her. “I have big plans for how we spend our time in bed.”
“Me too.” Skye’s heart did a tap dance, thinking of the sexy lingerie she’d received from her friends at last month’s personal shower.
“If we make sure not to touch our faces and wash our hands with sanitizer as soon as we get back in the car, we’ll be okay,” he soothed. “Besides, we both had our flu shots.”
“Sure.” Skye nodded, not really convinced but seeing no use in pursuing the subject. Instead, she said, “Does Yvonne’s husband drive an Escalade?”
Wally shook his head.
“Did you find out anything new about the case while I was gone this afternoon?”
“Not much.” Wally braked at a stoplight. They had entered Laurel’s city limits and were driving through town toward the highway. “Quirk escorted Phoebe home and she produced the SAT scores and the U of C acceptance letter. She also gave him her laptop and consented to have it examined by the crime lab. We’ll drop it off after we talk to her dad.”
“So you’ll authorize her release once we’ve talked to her dad?” When Wally nodded, Skye said, “That’s good. It sounds as if it’s pretty unlikely she killed her mother.”
“Right.” The light turned green and Wally drove forward. “The only other interesting thing is that as we suspected, Zuchowski wasn’t home.”
“Oh, oh.” Skye flipped down the visor. “Are you going to fire him?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” Wally frowned. “I hate to leave the department shorthanded while I’m away on our honeymoon, so I might put him on probation instead.”
“That’s a good compromise.” Skye took a brush from her purse and fixed her hair. “Back to the case, I might have some information. I went to see Loretta during that hour I had free.”
“Checking to see if her bridesmaids dress fits,” Wally guessed. “Did she try it on for you?”
“Yes, and it looks great.” Skye applied apricot lip gloss, then wiped her fingers on a tissue. “While Loretta was modeling the gown, she mentioned that she saw Yvonne the afternoon before she died.”
“What time?”
“Loretta chatted with her while Yvonne was closing up the library,” Skye answered. “So it must have been four o’clock.”
“What did they talk about?” Wally asked, getting into the left-turn lane.
“Big butts.” She paused t
o enjoy Wally’s startled reaction, then described Loretta and the librarian’s conversation. When Skye was finished, she asked, “You saw Yvonne when they pulled her out of the water, right?” At Wally’s nod, she added, “Do you remember what she was wearing?”
“She had on this tight red dress with pleats across here.” Wally gestured to his upper chest. “And what do you call those thin straps?”
“Spaghetti.”
“Yeah, those.” Wally nodded. “And she had this fancy coat that looked like it was supposed to go with the dress. It was red satin, too, but it had big black flowers all over it.”
“So she did go home and change,” Skye murmured almost to herself.
“She must have. She definitely wasn’t wearing the brown suit Loretta saw her in.” He rubbed his chin. “Until Phoebe told us about that Tom Riley guy, we wondered why she was heading away from her house. She must have been on her way to Laurel to meet him.”
“So we know she left the library parking lot after quarreling with Phoebe, drove home, and changed clothes.” Skye listed Yvonne’s last-known activities aloud so Wally could follow her line of reasoning. “That means we can narrow down the TOD.”
“Right.” Wally pulled up to the entrance of the Pheasant Creek subdivision and flashed his badge at the guard. Once the yellow and black gate was raised and Wally had driven through, he said, “How long do you think it would take her to put on different clothes?”
“Well . . .” Skye reflected on what she knew about Yvonne. She was fairly sure the librarian hadn’t been the type to fuss much with her hair and makeup. “Considering the situation, she would have been in a hurry, so I’d say maybe ten or fifteen minutes, tops.”
“Which means if we allow fifteen minutes for the argument with her daughter and ten minutes to drive home, we can now assume she was forced off the road between four forty-five and five fifty-five,” Wally calculated.
“Not exactly a precise TOD, but better than the two-hour window we had before.” Skye examined the widely spaced houses as Wally steered the cruiser down a street lined with tiny trees and huge homes.
“Slightly.” Wally pulled into a long driveway. “Here’s Neil Osborn’s place.”
“Fancy.” Skye studied the imposing faux Tudor castle. “I hadn’t realized that there was this kind of affluence in Laurel.”
“It’s less than an hour from Chicago and handy to I-80, so people are taking advantage of the cheap land.” Wally parked behind a nondescript Honda. “In this area they can build a fifty-five-hundred-square-foot house for the same amount a duplex would cost in the city.”
“True.” Skye nodded, then asked, “Have you contacted Tom Riley yet?”
“No.” Wally got out, walked around the Chevy to Skye’s side, and opened her door. “The bakery closes at two, and Phoebe doesn’t know where he lives and doesn’t have his personal telephone number. I’ve got Martinez running down his address.”
“If he was the one Yvonne was meeting, I wonder what he did when she failed to show up for their date,” Skye remarked as they walked toward the house.
“That’s a good question.” Wally rang the bell. “He should have either been upset at being stood up or concerned for her welfare.”
“Unless he killed her,” Skye said, staring thoughtfully into space.
Before Wally could respond, the huge oak door banged open and a short, fiftysomething man wearing an expensive suit charged past him, flung himself inside the Civic, and drove away, his tires squealing.
Another fiftysomething man, this one taller and dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, appeared in the doorway, scowled at the departing Honda, then turned to Wally and Skye and said, “Can I help you?”
“Neil Osborn?” The man nodded, and Wally said, “I’m Chief Boyd from the Scumble River Police, and this is Skye Denison, our department’s psych consultant. We’re here to talk to you about your ex-wife’s death.”
“Sure.” Stepping aside, Neil said, “Come on in, but I have to warn you my wife has the flu and I think my son might be getting it, too.”
“Then we won’t shake hands.” Wally crossed the threshold. “Where’s the best place for us to sit? Where we won’t disturb your family?”
“Let’s go to my den.” Neil led them across a large foyer and down a short hallway. “I’ve got the baby monitor so I can hear Neil Junior if he cries.”
Neil showed Wally and Skye into a large room decorated with sports memorabilia and neon beer signs. The two choices for seating were barstools or a row of black leather theater chairs lined up facing a massive flat-screen television.
Wally nodded imperceptibly toward the stools, and Skye quickly said to Neil, “What a lovely bar. Do you mind if we sit here?”
“Thanks. Sure. Have a seat.” Neil grinned. “I designed it myself. I salvaged this black mesquite from a church they were leveling.” He ran a hand over the bar’s surface. “You can’t buy wood like this anymore.”
“Gorgeous.” Skye beamed. “I’ve been remodeling a house and have been trying to keep as much of the original structure as possible.”
“Yvonne loved old houses.” He wrinkled his forehead. “She hated to see any building torn down. Which was kind of hard to avoid in my business.”
“How long had you and your ex-wife been divorced?” Wally asked.
“It’ll be three years this summer.” Neil stood behind the bar and leaned on the polished surface.
“We talked to your daughter today about where she was Christmas Eve,” Wally said, watching the older man closely. “Did you know she and your ex had had a disagreement right before Yvonne was killed?”
“Mothers and daughters argue a lot.” Neil thrust his fingers through his short salt-and-pepper hair. “It’s no big deal.”
“Phoebe claims that she didn’t want to spend Christmas Eve with you, and her mom said she had to because she had given you her word.” Wally sat back. “Does that sound like something they’d fight about?”
“Yeah.” Neil sighed. “The divorce was hard on Phoebe. And even though she and my wife get along pretty well, she’s still not comfortable spending much time with us. We try to include her, but with the new baby, it’s hard to give her the attention she wants.”
Wally and Skye exchanged glances. Neil had confirmed what Phoebe had told them. She raised a questioning brow and he nodded.
Skye took a breath and said, “Phoebe also told us about the SAT scheme that Yvonne foiled.” She tilted her head. “That had to upset you. All that money down the drain.”
“I won’t lie to you. I was mad when it happened, but I came to realize she was right.” Neil’s expression was shamefaced. “It was a moron move. I don’t want to teach my little girl to be a cheater.”
Skye murmured wordless encouragement for him to keep talking.
“But Yvonne and I had an amicable divorce.” Neil exhaled loudly. “We didn’t have any hard feelings between us, and we made a point to stay friends so Phoebe wouldn’t be caught in the middle.”
“It seems as if your ex-wife had a pretty strong sense of right and wrong,” Wally interjected. “Was that a problem between you two?”
“One of many.” Neil shrugged. “There were no shades of gray on Yvonne’s color wheel.” He shook his head. “It was hard being married to someone who always insisted that you do the right thing.”
“I can imagine,” Skye said. “It must have been rough having to look into that kind of mirror every day. Probably not easy having someone like her as a mom either. Did Phoebe resent Yvonne?”
“No more than any other teenager resents their parents’ rules.” Neil stared over Skye’s head. “But Yvonne was never one to look the other way, and I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what got her killed.”
CHAPTER 11
Babble like a Book
It took only a few minutes to establish that Neil didn’t have a good alibi. He claimed that he had been with his wife and son during the time his ex was killed, but neither of them
could be considered reliable witnesses. Wally then asked him a few more questions, but Neil maintained that he and Yvonne had had an amiable divorce. It was clear that the guy was either innocent of the murder or too smooth to incriminate himself.
When the baby started to cry and Neil edged toward the door to the hallway, Skye quickly asked, “Who was the man rushing away when we arrived?”
“My business partner, Hank Gaskin.”
“Phoebe mentioned that you two are more like brothers than partners.” Skye smiled. “In fact, she called him Uncle Hank. What was he so upset about?”
“Nothing.” Neil’s expression was bland. “He was just in a hurry.”
Wally and Skye exchanged skeptical looks, but silently agreed that Neil wouldn’t tell them any more. They said goodbye and left Yvonne’s ex to tend to his ailing family.
As soon as they got into the squad car, Skye grabbed the bottle of Purell she’d set at the ready on the dashboard. She motioned for Wally to hold out his palms, then squeezed a large dollop of the clear gel onto his fingers. After he rubbed in the liquid, he took his cell from his pocket, called the PD, and authorized Phoebe’s release.
While Wally was on the phone, Skye disinfected her own hands, then used a tissue saturated with the sanitizer to swab her purse and the door handles. When she finished wiping down the cruiser’s interior, Wally started up the Caprice, put it in gear, and pulled out of the drive.
As they headed toward town, he said, “If we don’t get a break in the case soon, we’ll have to come back and talk to the new Mrs. Osborn. I would have liked to question her today, but I draw the line at interrogating a sick woman.”
“Good thing.” Skye shuddered. “The air around her would be full of germs.”
“Remind me again, how many more days until you’re sane again?” Wally laughed without humor.
“Sorry.” Skye managed a smile. “That did sound a little cold.”
“Just a tad.” Wally patted her knee. “Let’s drop off Phoebe’s computer, then get some dinner. Where do you want to eat?”
Murder of a Stacked Librarian: A Scumble River Mystery Page 9