Murder of a Chocolate-Covered Cherry

by Denise Swanson

  “No. But from the title she mentioned while we were waiting for the opening ceremony, she writes tell-all books about celebrities, which I don’t read.”

  Wally shrugged. “Well, if the media is more interested than I’m guessing, Dante said the mayor’s office would take care of any spillover Grandma Sal’s people can’t handle.”

  “That’s a relief. The press was a darn nuisance on our last case.” Skye thought about the Thanksgiving murder for a moment, then asked, “Any news on Ashley’s disappearance?”

  He shook his head. “The county and state police are looking for her, and all the area police departments have her picture. But no one’s seen a thing.”

  “Well, I had an idea this afternoon, but it didn’t pan out.” Skye looked at him from under her lashes. He seemed only mildly interested, so she quickly gave him the rehearsed and sanitized story, ending with, “But she wasn’t there, so I nailed the shutter back.”

  “Too bad.” Wally wiped his fingers, crumpled up his napkin, and threw it on top of his empty plate. “But what was causing the noise if it wasn’t her?”

  “Just a mouse.” Skye kept her face down so he couldn’t read the real answer in her eyes. She didn’t want to go into the whole rat versus mouse issue. “Still, I feel like an idiot for tearing over to the drive-in when she wasn’t even there.”

  “Why would you feel like an idiot for following a logical lead?” Wally cupped her cheek. “You would feel a whole lot worse if she was found there later and you’d disregarded your hunch.”

  Skye turned her face and kissed his palm. This was why she was with Wally and not Simon. Simon’s insistence that she act as coldly logical as he was drove her nuts. Wally’s acceptance of who she was, with no desire to change her, made her feel cherished.

  Wally scooted back his chair and started to clear the table. Skye ran hot water in the sink—she hadn’t been able to afford to install a dishwasher yet.

  “So we’re all caught up on the murder and Ashley, right?” Wally asked.

  “I think I’ve told you everything I wanted to.” Skye squirted detergent into the water. “Xenia’s blog—which she now claims isn’t hers—my idea that fell flat, and the runner wearing the jumpsuit. Yep, that’s it.”

  Skye plunged the dishes and silverware into the bubbles, trying to come up with more information to stall him, but before she could think of anything Wally said, “There’s something I need to tell you, and I’m not sure how you’re going to take it.”

  Skye’s stomach clenched. Had his ex-wife come back? Had he met someone else? Was he sick?

  When she didn’t speak, Wally continued. “I know you’ve wondered what’s been up these couple of months. Why I’ve had to cancel out on you so many times.”

  She nodded, but couldn’t force any sounds past the lump in her throat.

  “Well, you know how I don’t like to talk about my family or my past?”

  “Yes.” Her voice quavered, but she managed to squeak out the single word.

  “I told you it was because after my mom died, my dad and I didn’t have anything in common, since he didn’t like me going into law enforcement, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Well, that’s true, but not the whole truth.” Wally’s eyes were wary.

  “Okay.” Skye dried her hands on a dish towel and walked back to the table. She had a feeling she needed to sit down for this.

  “The reason my dad was so upset with me for becoming a cop rather than getting my MBA was because I’m an only child, and there was no one else to take over the family business.”

  “I can understand that. My dad feels the same way about Vince not taking over the farm. He’s been a little better about it the past few years, since he’s seen how happy Vince is with the hair salon, but it still bothers Dad.”

  Wally moved closer to Skye, taking her hands. “Imagine how your dad would feel if the farm wasn’t five hundred acres, but five thousand.”

  “Your dad owns five thousand acres?”

  “He owns a lot more than that.” Wally squatted in front of Skye. “I’m from a little town in west Texas. My grandfather was a rancher, and then when my dad was in his late teens, oil was discovered on their land. My dad parlayed the oil money into an international company with concerns in almost every kind of manufacturing.”

  Skye’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. What do you say when your boyfriend tells you his father is a multi-millionaire?

  CHAPTER 11

  Beat for Two Minutes

  Skye jerked her hands from Wally’s grasp, pushed back her chair, and jumped to her feet. She felt light-headed, and the room seemed to spin out of focus. Her mind raced as she tried to figure out what to do, what to say. She needed to be alone for a couple of minutes to pull herself together. The bathroom. That was it. He wouldn’t follow her in there, and she was slightly queasy.

  As she fled the kitchen she said over her shoulder, “I need to use the restroom. I’ll be right back.”

  She staggered up the stairs and into the master bath. Once inside she slammed the door, snapped the lock, and leaned against the thick wood as if guarding it against a marauding Mongol horde.

  When she was sure Wally hadn’t followed her, she moved from the door to the sink and got a damp washcloth for the back of her neck. She still felt a little shaky, but her heart rate had returned to normal and the pizza was no longer threatening reappearance.

  A few seconds later her brain kicked back into gear and began working again. The first coherent thought it produced was a question. If Wally’s a gazzillionaire, but has never revealed that fact before, why is he bringing it up now? And, most important, does that change anything between us?

  Skye had a bad feeling that it might. After all, she was a farmer’s daughter from Podunk, Illinois. Wally’s father was the CEO of an international conglomerate, and probably had homes in Paris, London, and St. Kitts.

  Not to mention how poorly the whole rich-boyfriend thing had gone the last time Skye found herself in this situation. Been there, done that, had the T-shirt repossessed right off her back. Her ex-fiancé Luc had proved to be a shallow, bigoted, self-centered bastard. How often did a guy have to dump her for being a country bumpkin before she caught on?

  No, wait. That wasn’t fair to Wally. She’d known him for eighteen years, and she’d never seen any trace of Luc’s awful characteristics in him. He was thoughtful, fair, and always put others’ needs ahead of his own. Could money change that in a person?

  And, hey, he didn’t say his father had died and left him the money. He and his father weren’t even on good terms. Maybe Mr. Boyd had cut his son out of his will, and that was what Wally had been leading up to.

  She was being silly, jumping to conclusions. Just because Wally had finally told her about his family didn’t mean that his father had persuaded him to resign as the Scumble River police chief, move back to Texas, and take over the family business. Did it?

  Skye stared in the mirror. A thirtysomething woman with too-generous curves and hair that tended to revert back to Shirley Temple curls at the slightest hint of humidity looked back at her. Her only remarkable feature—large emerald green eyes—clouded with worry.

  She bit her lip. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t see herself on the arm of a tuxedo-clad millionaire attending charity balls and making small talk with all the other trophy wives. Did Dior even make an evening gown in her size?

  Praying that Wally wasn’t about to shuck his old life, including her, and become a star on Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, Skye splashed cold water on her face, freshened her lipstick, and treated herself to an extra spray of Chanel. Then she squared her shoulders and went back downstairs.

  She found Wally pacing in the sunroom. When she entered, he rushed over to her. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She perched on the edge of the chair. “I’m sorry I took so long. You sort of threw me for a loop, and I needed time to think.”

  �
�And have you?” His dark eyes were intense.

  “Yes.” Skye sank back, feeling a little dizzy again. “And I am ready to hear the rest of what you have to tell me.” She paused, and when he didn’t say anything she prodded, “There is more to this than just a sudden urge to tell me about your family, right?”

  Wally nodded and sat back down on the settee, then became interested in one of Bingo’s squeeze toys. He studied the little rubber mouse as if he had never seen one before. Finally, without looking up from the plastic rodent, he said, “It all started the beginning of January. My father called to wish me a happy New Year, then mentioned he was in the area on business and asked if we could get together.”

  “That would have been the first time you canceled a date with me.”

  “Yeah.” Wally turned the molded toy over and ran his finger along the seam. “I figured this was a onetime visit on his part; he’d never been to Scumble River before, and I didn’t see any reason to go into my whole complicated family situation with you.”

  “Yeah. You wouldn’t want to do that unless you were in a serious relationship.” Wally tried to protest, but Skye cut him off. “Except it wasn’t a onetime visit. He’s been back … let’s see …” She thought backward, counting the missed dates on her fingers. “He’s been here five more times, including last night, right?”

  “Yes.” Wally gripped the mouse, and its loud squeak in the silent room startled them both. “He dropped by twice in February and twice in March.”

  “And you still didn’t think to mention him to me or introduce us?”

  A muscle below Wally’s right eye twitched, and he said, “I just don’t trust him. I was afraid he’d do something to hurt you, or that knowing him would make you think less of me.”

  She ducked her head so he couldn’t read her face as she considered what he’d said. Did she believe it? Or was there something else he wasn’t telling her? She braced herself and asked another question. “What about last night?”

  “That was different.” Wally finally put down Bingo’s plaything and looked at Skye. “Previously he’s called from Chicago and then driven down, or I’ve met him in Joliet for dinner. Yesterday afternoon after I got off work I took the Thunderbird to the gas station near I-55 to fill it up so it would be ready for our date that night, and there he was, filling up his rental car. I figured he was going to surprise me, so I explained how I couldn’t cancel our date this time, since you were counting on me as your escort, and he said that was fine; he’d see me today for lunch.”

  “So, what happened?” Skye tilted her head. “I mean, you did stand me up, so …”

  “Well, he seemed to be acting odd, like he hadn’t really expected to see me and didn’t want to. And he almost looked as if he were in disguise.”

  “How so?”

  “He had shaved his head and was wearing cheap mirrored sunglasses, and his rental car was a Ford Escort.”

  “I’m guessing he has a beautiful thick head of hair like you, usually wears designer sunglasses, and always rents a high-end automobile.” Skye tapped the armrest of her chair. “Could he be sick? Maybe he didn’t shave his head. Maybe his hair fell out because of chemo treatments?”

  “I considered that, too. In fact, I thought maybe the reason he’d been in Chicago so often was for treatment. That could explain his suddenly wanting to see me too.”

  “But?”

  “But then I saw him pull into a cabin at Charlie’s motor court and throw a tarp over his car.”

  “Hmm.” Skye scrunched up her face, thinking. “That is odd. First, how did he get a reservation? Charlie’s been booked up for this weekend since January. And second, why would he protect a rental car with a tarp?”

  “Unless he was trying to hide from someone.” Wally ran a hand through his hair. “So, I decided I’d better watch him.”

  “Did he do anything suspicious?”

  “Nope. He didn’t leave the motor court. I watched until eleven, when the lights went out, and he was there the next morning when I got the call about Cherry’s death. I drove past on my way to the factory.”

  “What did he say when you had to cancel lunch with him today?”

  “Not much. Said he’d catch me next time. But I was afraid he might show up at my house tonight before I could tell you about him, which is why I suggested we meet here.”

  “I see.” Skye tucked her legs under her and got more comfortable. “You know, it’s pretty weird that he would drive all the way down here from Chicago without checking to see if you were free. It had to take him at least ninety minutes to two hours, depending on traffic, and then he wasn’t upset when you couldn’t see him. Is he usually that easygoing?”

  “No. He expects everyone and everything to revolve around his convenience.”

  “Since he said he’d catch you next time, I’m assuming that means he’s left town.”

  “That’s what you would think, isn’t it?” Wally’s brows met over his nose. “But I had a funny feeling about it, so I came past the motor court on the way here, and his car was still there.”

  “Why would he stick around and not tell you? Unless he meant he’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “That can’t be it. If nothing else he’s always extremely precise in what he says.”

  “When you’ve gotten together these past few months, what has he talked about?” Skye plucked a pen and pad from the end table. “Was there a theme—the good old days, your childhood, current events?”

  Wally bent forward and put his elbows on his knees. “A lot of it was just general stuff. We hadn’t seen each other in years, and it seemed to me he was mainly trying not to start an argument.”

  “You never asked what he was doing in Chicago so often?” Skye’s massive curiosity couldn’t imagine leaving that question unanswered.

  “No. I figured it was business, and I didn’t want to get him started on how much I had disappointed him by not taking a job with the family company.”

  “Maybe he’s thinking of remarrying. Did he sound you out about how you’d feel about a stepmother?”

  Wally shook his head. “My father has a lot of traits I don’t particularly care for, but he loved my mother with a passion that never faded. He would never remarry. No other woman could take her place.”

  “Never is a long time. He’s been a widower for what, eighteen, nineteen years?” Skye tried to put it delicately. “A man has needs.”

  “Tell me about it.” Wally raised a brow, and his chocolate brown eyes invited her to fall into their depths. “I’m not saying he didn’t have an occasional lady friend, but the Boyd men are like wolves—there is only one true mate for us. And once we find her, no matter how short a time we have together, there is no one else.”

  Skye caught her breath. Wally had been married for over ten years before his divorce two years ago. Was Darleen his true mate, and Skye just someone to meet his needs?

  Before she could figure out how to phrase that question, Wally had pulled her up from her chair and settled her on his lap, tucking her curves neatly into his own contours as if they were two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

  The muscles that rippled under his uniform shirt as he lifted her quickened her pulse, but she tore her gaze away and raised it to his face. Smooth olive skin stretched over high cheekbones, and his strong features held all the sensuality he usually kept hidden. He was a devastating package, and Skye yearned to tear off the wrapping.

  Lightly he fingered a tendril on her cheek, then slid his hand down to caress her neck and bare shoulders. Hypnotized by his touch, she tingled under his fingertips, her growing arousal erasing all her questions and doubts.

  Suddenly, as if he couldn’t wait any longer, he crushed her to his chest. Her body tightened from the contact, and she wound her arms around his neck and lifted her face to his, basking in his hungry gaze. His kiss was urgent, devouring her and making her forget everything but him.

  He freed one hand and was sliding her shirt off when she hea
rd the first yowl. Skye stiffened, but either Wally hadn’t heard it or he was ignoring it.

  A few seconds later an even louder howl, this one sounding almost like a baby’s scream, penetrated his passionate fog, and he tore his mouth from hers. “What in the hell was that?”

  A third yowl ripped through the house, followed by a thud and another howl.

  Skye scrambled from Wally’s lap. “I think that’s Bingo, but he’s never sounded like that before.” She raced in the direction of the noise, which seemed to be coming from above them.

  Wally followed her as she ran up the stairs and into her bedroom. They both skidded to a stop and gaped at the agitated feline. The black cat’s fur was standing on end, making him appear twice his normal size. He was arched by the balcony doors, hissing at what Skye at first thought was an elderly woman, but a moment later realized was just a bunch of rags being blown against the glass by the wind.

  As they stared, Bingo gathered himself up and launched himself at the door. His bounce off the pane and onto the floor produced the thud they had heard in the sunroom.

  Skye leapt forward and tried to grab the cat, afraid he could hurt himself or break the window.

  When Bingo evaded Skye’s grasp, Wally snatched up an afghan draped over a chest at the bottom of the bed, snapped it open, and threw it over the cat, scooping the disturbed feline up like a sack of fireworks about to go off at any minute.

  Skye took the squirming cat from Wally’s hands and cuddled him to her chest, murmuring reassuring words.

  Wally strode over to the doors and flung them open, surveying the balcony. He stepped outside and picked up the bundle that had been beating against the glass and examined it. It was a faded housedress wrapped around a tree branch.

  Skye joined him. “Where do you think that came from?”

  “It must have blown off someone’s clothesline. It’s been really windy the past couple of days.”