Murder of a Stacked Librarian: A Scumble River Mystery

by Swanson, Denise

  “So Neil Osborn had a zillion-dollar motive to shut up his wife,” Frannie said excitedly.

  “There’s only one problem. He has an alibi.” Skye explained about the recording. “Unless it was somehow altered.” She turned to Justin. “Can that be detected?”

  “Yes.” Justin nodded, then added, “But faking something like that would be pretty difficult. You’d have to have really sophisticated computer graphic equipment and know how to use it.”

  “Most likely not something a kindergarten teacher or a contractor could do without help.” Skye sagged in her chair.

  “Sorry. No.” Justin shrugged. “Not unless they had a digital recording background. And anyone they asked to do it for them would probably want to know why.”

  “Yeah.” Frannie put her chin in her hands. “Would they trust someone to keep quiet? Especially after the murder made the news?”

  “That’s a good point.” Skye checked the wall clock and was surprised to see it was only quarter to eight. “I’d better let Wally know what we’ve found.”

  When Wally didn’t pick up his home or cell phone, she left a message for him to call her back. Then Skye checked with the PD, but the dispatcher said she wasn’t expecting him. Realizing she’d just have to wait for Wally to return her calls, Skye pulled up a chair and asked Frannie about college.

  “I really like it at U of I.” Frannie beamed. “And it will be even better next year with Justin there.”

  “Oh?” Skye glanced between the two young people. “I’m glad to hear that. You know, earlier I had the distinct impression that there was some kind of problem. Has it been settled?”

  “Well . . .” Frannie snuck a peek at her boyfriend, who gestured for her to go ahead. “The money Justin was counting on for school didn’t come through, and since his folks can’t afford to help him, it looked as if he might not be able to go.”

  “So what happened?” Skye was well aware that Justin’s parents could barely manage their own bills. Mr. Boward was in constant pain, and his wife suffered from a debilitating depression, which meant neither was able to hold down a job.

  “Uh . . .” Frannie bit her lip. “Uh, someone agreed to pay for his next two years.”

  “Great!” Skye smiled. “Who?”

  “Uh . . .” Frannie hesitated again.

  “Simon,” Justin blurted out, then said a little defiantly, “I know you didn’t pick him, but he’s still a nice guy.”

  “Of course he is. And although I don’t feel about him the way I do Wally, I still love him as a friend.” Skye patted Justin’s hand. “I’m just surprised he has that kind of ready cash. He’s not superrich.”

  “No, he isn’t,” Frannie said. “But he makes quite a bit of money from the funeral home and earns a salary as the coroner, too, so he’s better off than most people around here.”

  “Still, even though I agree he’s a nice guy and has the money, why would he pay Justin’s tuition?” She turned to the young man. “You’re not related to Simon, are you?”

  “I wish,” Justin muttered, then explained, “Simon told me that he’d done really, really well in the stock market the last few years and he’d been considering setting up a scholarship for local kids. So when Frannie told him my problem, he decided that I would be the first recipient. His only condition is that I earn at least a B average, and when I graduate, I have to mentor another Scumble River student who wants to attend U of I.”

  “That’s just incredible.” Skye was overcome at Simon’s altruism. “I had no idea he was so generous.”

  “Well, he is.” Frannie thrust her chin out. “And he feels bad that you didn’t invite him to the wedding. Why didn’t you?”

  “It would have been awkward,” Skye explained. “Are you sure he would want to come?”

  “Yes. That way he can show everyone he’s not a loser and you two are okay.” Frannie ducked her head. “And I think his new girlfriend really wants to go, so he feels bad he can’t take her.”

  “Why would Emmy want to come to my wedding?” Skye asked, confused.

  “Duh.” Justin grunted. “’Cause it’s the place to be.”

  Frannie translated her boyfriend’s observation. “She’s new in town, and she wants to be accepted as part of the community. Being at your wedding would give her a chance to meet people and mingle.”

  “I see.” Skye thought about what Frannie and Justin had said and something clicked in her head. Simon and Emmy both had a similar motive for wanting to attend her wedding, although Emmy’s was less obvious.

  “You could still invite him,” Frannie prodded. “I could let him know right now.” She whipped out her cell, her fingers flying over the tiny keyboard.

  “Sure,” Skye murmured absently, still thinking about motives. Who else, besides Neil, would lose millions if Yvonne revealed the company’s use of contaminated land? “Oh, my God!” Skye squealed.

  “What?” Frannie and Justin asked simultaneously.

  “Hank Gaskin.” Skye reached for her phone just as it rang. “Hank Gaskin killed Yvonne.”

  CHAPTER 24

  If Books Could Kill

  “So you see, he had as much motive as Neil.” Skye had explained to Wally about the polluted property, and now she was making her case for Hank Gaskin as the killer. “Plus, he was late getting to the Osborns’ on Christmas Eve, he was limping when he arrived, and Kerry described his mood as weird.” Her words poured out faster and faster as all the pieces fell into place. “I bet he hurt his leg in the crash. I wonder if he has a white 2006 Escalade or—”

  “Whoa,” Wally broke in. “You’ve made a lot of good points. But before we get ahead of ourselves, let me check if Gaskin owns or leases a vehicle that fits our evidence.”

  “We also need to find out what was formerly on the land they’re developing.” Skye’s eyes flashed. She had a gut-deep feeling that they were on the brink of figuring it all out.

  Justin tapped Skye on the shoulder and said, “I can do that.”

  She relayed his message to Wally.

  “Tell Justin that he’s still on the clock as a consultant,” Wally instructed. “And he needs to e-mail the info to me as soon as he finds it.”

  “Got it.” Skye gripped the receiver. “Call me back as soon as you know anything.”

  When she disconnected, Justin whirled on her. “Why didn’t the police check to see if this guy owned an Escalade to begin with?”

  “Since he lives in Chicago, it wouldn’t have been within the parameters of Martinez’s search.” Skye described how a vehicle investigation worked; then, feeling a little defensive, she added, “And he was never a suspect because we had no idea that Yvonne’s death was tied to her ex-husband’s company. Not to mention the two times Wally and I saw him, he was driving a Honda.”

  Justin grunted and turned back to the laptop, clearly not satisfied with her explanation.

  As Skye raised her brows at Frannie, who shrugged, the phone rang. She snatched the receiver from its base and, seeing Wally’s name on the caller ID, demanded, “Does Gaskin own a 2006 white Escalade?”

  “Yes. The Civic belongs to his son.”

  “I knew it.” Skye pumped her fist in the air. “What now?”

  “I just called Osborn’s secretary—she gave me her cell number in case I needed to reach her away from the office—and she told me that Gaskin’s been driving the Honda since the day after Christmas.”

  “Which matches our timeline.”

  “Now we have to figure out where he stashed the Cadillac.” Wally’s voice was grim. “Because of all the TV crime shows, he probably thinks it’s a lot easier to find a hit-and-run vehicle than it really is, so he wouldn’t park it in a public garage.”

  “And he lives in the city, so I’m guessing it has to be at a job site.”

  “Or wherever his company stores their construction equipment.” Wally paused. “I’ve sent Quirk and Martinez to pick up Gaskin for questioning, and as soon as I can get a warrant, I’ll a
ssign Anthony and whoever else is available to go check all of his business’s sites and facilities.”

  “You’re going into the station, aren’t you?” Skye’s stomach tightened. Would he be late for their wedding or even, God forbid, miss it altogether?

  “I have to.” Wally’s tone was cautious. “But I promise to be at the church on time. I’d never stand you up.”

  “I know.” Skye forced a cheerful note into her voice. “In about forty-five minutes I’m leaving the house to have my hair and makeup done at Vince’s salon, but I’ll have my cell with me. Keep me updated.”

  “Will do. Love you.” Wally hung up, clearly eager to get to the PD.

  While Skye and Frannie fixed breakfast, Justin surfed the Web, hunting for information about the Lawnton site’s previous occupant. When Skye slid a plate of bacon and eggs in front of him, he mumbled his thanks and ate without taking his eyes off the monitor.

  Skye and Frannie talked about the day’s schedule until Justin shouted, “Found it!”

  Peering over his shoulder, Skye and Frannie both demanded, “What?”

  “Gaskin’s development is on land that used to have a facility that made porcelain enamel frit for steel.” Justin tapped the screen. “The plant was in operation from 1917 through 1978. The metals utilized in making the porcelain contained lead, nickel, cobalt, and chromium, which are all potentially toxic. And the structure that housed the factory had asbestos insulation.”

  “Oh, my.” Skye pointed to the last paragraph on the monitor. “It says here that the process’s waste products and the asbestos taken out of the building when it was torn down were discarded on the northwest corner of the property. That’s where the playground is going in.”

  “All those kids exposed day after day to carcinogens.” Frannie shuddered. “I wonder if Mr. Osborn knew what his partner was up to.”

  “I’m sure that’s a question we’ll be asking Gaskin when we interview him.” Skye checked her watch. It was time to forget about the investigation and think about her wedding. She said to Justin, “I need to get over to Vince’s right now. Can you make sure Wally sees this info?”

  “I’ve already e-mailed it to him, along with Mrs. Osborn’s files.” Justin closed the laptop and headed for the door. “I’ll see you at the church.”

  “Two thirty sharp. Don’t be late.” Skye turned to Frannie. “You need to be at the salon at ten.”

  “Trixie and Loretta are picking me up at a quarter to.” Frannie patted Skye’s shoulder. “Just relax. We’ve got your back.”

  Ten minutes later, Skye walked into her brother’s shop, and he immediately went to work on her hair. Once Vince had finished coaxing her natural curls into a cascade of ringlets down her back with a few tendrils surrounding her face, he secured her Swarovski crystal tiara to the crown of her head, then turned her over to the cosmetician he’d hired to do the bridal party’s makeup.

  Due to a little gentle persuasion on his wife’s part, Vince had recently expanded his business and employed two additional hairdressers, so when Trixie, Loretta, and Frannie arrived, all three could be styled simultaneously.

  It was nearly noon by the time they were all coiffed and made-up, so they headed to May’s, dropping Skye’s car at her place on the way. Skye breathed a sigh of relief when she walked into her folks’ house and saw that all the Christmas decorations had been put away.

  Skye and her mom shared a teary embrace, and May sobbed, “I can’t believe my baby is getting married. I’ve dreamed of this day since you were born.”

  “Really, Mrs. D?” Frannie asked, a note of astonishment in her voice. “You literally started planning this wedding as soon as you went into labor?”

  “Yes. I certainly did.” May narrowed her eyes at Frannie, daring the young woman to dispute her statement. When Frannie was silent, May said to the group, “I fixed you a bite to eat. You’d better sit right down because the photographer is due in an hour.”

  Skye had butterflies in her stomach, but she knew better than to refuse lunch. It was never a good idea to rile May, especially not today of all days. Besides, dinner wouldn’t be served at the reception until seven, and she didn’t want her stomach to growl during the ceremony.

  While everyone else chatted and ate May’s homemade broccoli cheese soup and chicken salad croissants, it hit Skye that in three hours she’d be Mrs. Walter Boyd. Skye Denison Boyd. She smiled. It had a nice ring to it.

  As soon as they were finished eating, May shooed them into Skye’s old bedroom, where their wedding finery had been stashed. Trixie and Frannie quickly put on their dresses, and Loretta struggled into hers—Skye swore her sister-in-law had gotten even bigger since last night when she’d seen her at the rehearsal.

  While her attendants were changing, Skye shed her tracksuit, blessing the article she’d read that suggested wearing a top that opened down the front and didn’t have to be taken off over her freshly styled hair. Then she exchanged her bra for a strapless bustier and slipped on her stockings and a long petticoat.

  Gesturing to her gown, she said, “I think I’m going to need help getting into this thing.”

  Frannie lifted the dress from where it hung from the top of the door, unzipped it, and spread the full white charmeuse satin skirt so Skye could step into it. Once she was in the center, she slid on the long sleeves and tugged the off-the-shoulder décolletage into place.

  Sucking in, Skye said, “Okay, do me up.” If the dress wouldn’t fasten, she would so regret eating the tower of chocolate last night.

  Frannie grabbed both sides of the material and pulled them together; then Trixie took hold of the tab and inched the zipper upward. Once it was closed, Skye let out a relieved sigh. It was a little tight, but she could still breathe.

  Loretta adjusted the marabou-trimmed neckline and stepped back.

  “How do I look?” Skye asked.

  At that moment, May appeared in the doorway dressed in an ecru beaded-taffeta sheath. She sighed. “Like a princess.” She hugged Skye and whispered in her ear, “Honey, remember to enjoy the little things because when you look back at your life, you realize that they were really the big things.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Skye blinked back tears. “I will.”

  May sniffed, then announced, “The photographer’s here.”

  The photographer snapped pictures of Skye gazing into the mirror, being rezipped into her gown, and putting on her shoes, then herded them into the living room.

  As he was arranging them all into an elaborate pose on the sofa, Frannie whispered to Skye, “Have you heard from Wally yet about the case?”

  “What about it?” May’s head snapped up and swiveled in her daughter’s direction.

  “Uh . . .” Skye stalled.

  “Don’t make me call the PD.” May waved her finger in Skye’s face.

  Recognizing the futility of trying to keep the information concerning the break in the case from her mother, Skye explained the morning’s events and Wally’s work at the station. May’s expression went from curious, to dismayed, to horrified. She collapsed against Frannie and grabbed her chest, moaning.

  Afraid her mother was about to have a nervous breakdown, Skye hastily added, “Wally promised he’d be at the church on time and I trust him.”

  May took a deep breath, visibly composed herself, and said, “Then I do, too.”

  Skye hugged her mom, and while the photographer pondered his next shot, she said, “Would someone go grab my purse for me?”

  Frannie fetched the handbag and Skye checked her cell. Wally had left a voice mail. “We just got the warrant to search the construction company’s properties and Gaskin’s residence. No one answered the doorbell at his house, but now we can legally gain entry. So far, Quirk and Martinez haven’t been able to locate our suspect, but they’ll keep trying. I’m headed home to change. Dad, Quentin, Vince, Justin, and your father are already there. See you soon.”

  Skye relayed Wally’s message to her mother, who was reassu
red to hear that Wally had left the PD and was home getting dressed. Once May’s stress had been alleviated, Skye and her attendants posed for a couple more photos.

  Finally, the photographer gathered up his equipment and announced, “I’m going over to the groom’s to take some pictures of him and his guys getting ready.”

  With the photographer on his way, Skye took a minute to thank her bridesmaids and to give them their gifts—ruby-and-pearl pendants. At two thirty, they piled into the limo that was waiting in the driveway—a much more modest version than the one Carson had provided the night before—and left for the church.

  As they were driven the short distance to the ceremony, Skye silently recited the old rhyme. She had her something old—Grandma Leofanti’s bracelet; something new—her gown; something borrowed—May’s handkerchief; and something blue—the bow on her garter. She was all set.

  The parking lot was full when they arrived, and Skye smiled in relief when she saw Vince’s Jeep. He’d been the one in charge of transporting the groom. She and her attendants slipped into the side entrance, hurriedly ducking into a small room at the back.

  The florist waiting in the anteroom pinned a corsage of crimson amaryllis blossoms and Hypericum berries on Skye’s mother; then May went around front, where Uncle Charlie would escort her to her seat. A similar corsage had been given to Skye’s grandmother, whom May would join in the front pew.

  Next, the florist handed Trixie, Frannie, and Loretta domed nosegays of white hydrangeas with long, red satin streamers gathered at the ends in soft ruffles. Skye’s bouquet consisted of tiny pinecones tipped in glitter, forming a halo around scarlet roses and baby’s breath ringed with white marabou.

  Almost immediately, Father Burns knocked and asked if everyone was ready. When they said yes, he instructed the bridesmaids to line up and told Skye that he’d send her father in to her.

  Skye heard the music change and pictured Frannie walking toward the altar, followed by Loretta, then Trixie. Soon it would be her turn. She fingered the necklace that Wally had presented to her after the rehearsal dinner. The two swirling ribbons—one lined with shimmering baguette-cut diamonds and the other with glittering round diamonds, forming an X—matched the earrings he had given her for Christmas. She marveled at how lucky she was. It amazed her that her very ordinary life had turned into such a magical love story.