Murder of a Small-Town Honey srm-1

by Denise Swanson

  "Your dad and I don't have that kind of money, you know that. Besides, I'd never go behind your father's back." May snapped the towel out of Skye's hands and folded it across the rack.

  "Are you working tonight?" Skye asked.

  "Yes. I've got the eleven-to-seven shift again. Things are really crazy with that Gumtree woman getting herself killed and all."

  Skye checked her watch and discovered it was already

  past eight o'clock. "Time to get going. There's still a lot of unpacking I've got to get done. I don't know where the past week has gone."

  "Why couldn't you live here? Your room is ready for you, and you could save all that money you're paying for rent. How much are you paying?"

  "I'm used to having my own space. You'd be as uncom­fortable with me back home as I would be living here." Skye avoided revealing exactly how much her rent was.

  "Well, why didn't you at least move back sooner? I could have taken some time off and helped you unpack and get settled."

  "Don't you remember me telling you I needed to finish some cases after school got out? There were several meet­ings scheduled that I had to attend."

  May pouted. "We didn't even have time to go shopping for school clothes."

  "Mo-o-ther." Skye drew out the single word to show her extreme displeasure.

  "Okay, okay. I hope you wore something nice for your first day."

  "Yes, Mother. I wore clean underwear, too."

  At first May scowled at the impertinent retort, but seeing Skye's grin she wavered, and then started to giggle.

  They were both laughing at that oft-repeated line by the time they walked out the back door and watched Jed finish with the Impala.

  He wiped his hands on the rag sticking out of his back pocket. "I'll have to order a part for your seat belt. I got it undone, but don't let anyone use it. It'll probably take a couple weeks to get the new buckle. With the age of this car, parts are hard to find."

  Skye nodded and looked around for the family's pet Labrador retriever. "Where's Chocolate?"

  "I had to put him in the pen. He wouldn't leave me alone."

  "Chocolate's only a puppy, Dad. You've got to train him. I'll give you some books on behavior management. It's like what I do with kids. If he does what you ask, you reward him. When he does something inappropriate, you give him consequences."

  "The only thing that dog understands is a kick in the ass."

  "Da-ad."

  Feeling besieged by both parents' attitudes, Skye thanked her father for the oil change and her mother for supper, all the while sliding into her car and anticipating her escape down the lane.

  CHAPTER 8

  You've Got a Friend

  Skye didn't realize she was holding her breath until she felt herself exhale. What was it about her parents that impaired her verbal abilities and made her react like a twelve-year-old? Although they were wonderful, down-to-earth people, they could not accept either of their children making adult decisions. She loved them dearly, but they drove her crazy.

  She relaxed against the car seat and retraced her route as far as the stoplight on Basin Street. Here she turned left and headed toward her cottage. This six-block area of Scumble River's business district contained Stybr's Florist, from which Skye had received her first corsage; the Strike and Spare Bowling Alley, where she went on her first date; and Oakes Real Estate, from whom she rented her cottage. Mike Young's studio, the bank, and the dry cleaner were also situated on that modest stretch of road.

  She sighed. Scumble River was so much the same as when she'd left, it was hard to remember she wasn't eigh­teen anymore.

  Upon reaching home, Skye put a load of laundry in the machine and started to unpack a carton of books. She stopped to admire the built-in bookshelves lining the great room's outer walls between the sliding glass doors.

  Working steadily, she stopped only to put wet clothes in the dryer, soiled clothes in the washer, or clean clothes in drawers and closets. She had lost track of the time when the

  phone rang but glanced at the microwave's clock before she answered it. Its digital readout glowed 11:06 P.M., too late by Scumble River's standards for a social chat.

  "Hello?"

  There was no answer, and Skye was beginning to think she was the victim of an obscene call when she heard someone crying.

  "Hello, who is this?"

  Another pause, then finally a voice said, "It's Mom. Hold on."

  Skye's heart stopped. If her mother was calling this late and crying, it could mean only one thing. Someone in the family had died.

  After a few minutes, May continued, "Skye, it's your brother."

  Her eyes began to tear, and she sank suddenly to the floor. "Vince? What happened to Vince?"

  "He's been arrested for the murder of that Gumtree woman."

  "What?"

  "They have him at the police station right now. They were just bringing him in when I got to work. Wally wanted me to go home, but I said I'd go on and work my shift." May's voice sounded more steady as she told the story.

  "Does he have a lawyer?"

  "No, there's no one here but Vince, Wally, and a few other officers."

  Skye's thoughts were coming fast and furious. "Okay, Mom, do exactly as I say. I don't have time to argue or ex­plain. Put the phone down and go tell Vince to say ab­solutely nothing until I get there with an attorney. If they try to stop you from seeing him, push your way in. They certainly aren't going to risk hurting you. Make sure Vince understands not to say anything. Not one word. Put your hand over his mouth if you have to. Do it right now."

  The sound of the dial tone surprised her. Skye had been

  sure she'd have to argue with her mother to get her to do anything that rude.

  Now the problem was to find a good lawyer with experi­ence in criminal law. Skye flipped through her address book, trying to remember which of her sorority sisters had become the hotshot attorney in Chicago. When she'd joined the Peace Corps, she'd lost touch with most of her college friends, although she was always conscientious about keep­ing her address book up to date. Finally spotting the name, she punched the numbers into the phone so hard she broke her fingernail.

  As the phone rang and rang, Skye chewed on the nail's jagged tip and chanted in her head, Be home. Come on, be home.

  On the tenth ring the phone was picked up and a groggy voice answered, "Yes?"

  "Hi, this is Skye Denison, from Alpha Sigma Alpha. Is this Loretta Steiner?"

  "Yes. Who did you say you were? Is this a sorority fund-raising drive?" the voice asked in a bewildered tone.

  "No. Look, you were a senior the year I pledged. During second semester I lived two doors down from you in the house. My mom made those special thumbprint cookies everyone loved." Skye hurried to explain before Loretta hung up the phone.

  "Yeah, I remember you. You had the most striking green eyes I'd ever seen. What's up?"

  "I'm sorry to bother you, but if memory serves, you be­came a lawyer and you practice criminal law. I think I've seen you in the Tn'fe?" Skye clutched the receiver.

  Loretta answered cautiously, "Yes, I'm an attorney and my practice does include criminal cases. Are you in trouble with the law?"

  "No, not me, but the police have just arrested my brother for murder. Will you represent him? Can you come right now?" Skye's voice cracked.

  "Where do you live again? Scrambled Eggs or some­thing quaint like that?"

  "Scumble River. It's seventy-five miles south of Chicago, off of 1-55. Take the Scumble River exit and follow that route until you come to Coal Mine Road. Turn left. You'll go over some railroad tracks—Scumble River's version of a speed bump—and a bridge, then turn left again on Maryland Street. The police station is on the corner of Maryland and Kinsman."

  Loretta's tone became sober. "Okay, it will take me about an hour and a half to get down to you. Are you at the police station?"

  "No."

  "All right. Give me your number, the number at the po­
lice station, and your cell phone. When we hang up, go im­mediately to the station and tell them you've retained me. Don't let your brother answer any questions."

  "I don't have a cell phone." Skye slipped on her shoes.

  "That's okay. Just give me the other numbers and get to the station as quick as you can."

  "Thank you. Thank you so much." Stretching the cord as far as possible, Skye was able to grab her keys from the table in the foyer.

  "Don't thank rne yet. I have two questions, then we both need to get going. What's your brother's name and did he do it?"

  Skye took a deep breath. "His name is Vince Denison and no, he did not do it."

  Scumble River's police department was housed in a two-story red-brick building bisected by a massive double-deep three-door garage.

  Accessible from both streets, the police department oc­cupied half the main floor, with the jail and interrogation room on top. Offices of the city hall were on the other side

  of the building, and the town library was on the second floor of that half.

  When Skye arrived, shortly after midnight, the city hall/library part of the building was dark. Her mother's white Oldsmobile and her father's old Ford pickup were the only vehicles in the parking lot. To add to her feeling that she was the last person left alive on Earth, Skye saw an empty squad car in the open garage.

  There was no one behind the counter when she walked through the frosted-glass door, and the phone was ringing. Standing on tiptoe, she reached over and felt for the lock-release button located under the counter's lip.

  Upon foiling these elaborate security measures, Skye let herself in to the dispatch area. The telephone continued to ring.

  "Mom?" Skye called.

  Silence except for the ringing phone.

  She tried again. "Is anyone here? Should I answer the phone?"

  Afraid it was Loretta trying to reach her, Skye picked up the receiver. "Scumble River Police Department. May I help you?"

  "May, is that you?" Mayor Clapp's distinguishing whine came through the handset.

  "No, sir, it's her daughter. May's not feeling well at the moment," Skye said. I'm sure Mom really is sick. I know I feel like throwing up.

  "Uh, well, uh, you tell whoever's on duty that dog is back in my yard raising a ruckus. I want them to drop what they're doing and get over here right now. Do you hear me, girl?"

  "Certainly, sir. I'll relay your message. Have a good night."

  Walking into the hall and to the bottom of a flight of stairs, Skye yelled as loud as she could, "Mom, Dad, where are you?"

  Chief Boyd came hurrying down the stairs. "Boy, I'm glad to see you, Skye."

  She interrupted him. "Why have you arrested my brother?"

  "He's not under arrest. We just brought him in for ques­tioning."

  "At this time of night? What's he got to do with Mrs. Gumtree's murder?"

  He moved closer. "Look, I can't discuss this with you. Could you just come up here and convince May that she doesn't have to sit with Vince? Really, I'm not trying to railroad him. I just want to ask him some questions. The rest of the men have gone home."

  "Sorry, Chief, I was the one who told her to do what she's doing. His attorney should be here soon, and she'll straighten things out."

  "Well, at least tell your dad he doesn't have to wait. He keeps dozing off. I'm afraid he's going to fall off his chair."

  "Fine, I'll get Dad to go home. Don't you try anything funny with Vince." As she climbed the stairs, Skye added over her shoulder, "By the way, Mayor Clapp called to re­quest your services. It seems there's some dog that's keep­ing him from getting his beauty sleep, and he'd like your assistance in removing it, ASAP."

  Sitting at the dispatcher's station, Skye waited for Loretta to arrive. The chair was armless and covered in shiny green vinyl. She thought it served more to keep the dispatchers alert during the long stretches of time when nothing was happening than to make them comfortable.

  Although she'd persuaded her father to go home and rest, she decided that May was the best protection Vince could have, next to a lawyer. Skye had been waiting there for over an hour, and now she expected the attorney at any minute. In the meantime, she had been instructed by May to

  answer the phone. So far, that wasn't a problem. It hadn't rung.

  Chief Boyd had called one of his men at home and or­dered him to take care of the mayor's dog problem. He'd been less successful in finding a substitute for May.

  The Scumble River Police, Fire, and Emergency Depart­ments shared a common dispatcher. Four middle-aged women each worked thirty-two hours a week, rotating be­tween the afternoon and midnight shifts. One woman worked straight days during the week. They covered the phones and radios, as well as doing paperwork for the offi­cers. None was willing to climb out of bed at midnight and come down to the station, although all wanted to know what was wrong with May.

  Despite the uncomfortable chair, Skye was starting to doze off when the buzzer on the police station door sounded and Loretta Steiner marched in. Six feet tall and well muscled, she was even more impressive than Skye re­membered. Everything about her was genuine, from her coal-black hair to her dark-brown skin.

  Loretta didn't bother with preliminaries. "Where's my client?"

  Matching the lawyer's demeanor, Skye opened the door between them and motioned Loretta through. "He's in the interrogation room at the top of the stairs. My mother and the chief of police are with him."

  "What's your mother doing there?"

  "Seeing that the chief doesn't question him. She was the best protection I could think of until you got here." Skye led her toward the stairs.

  "Where's everyone else?" Loretta looked around the empty room.

  "This is a small town. There's not much personnel avail­able at any one time. My mom's the dispatcher on this shift, and Chief Boyd couldn't get anyone else to come in, so I'm

  answering phones. By the way, when you get up there, tell my mom to come down and take over."

  Striding past Skye and up the stairs, Loretta muttered about small towns and not liking to leave Chicago. Halfway up the stairs she turned and called down, "Skye, they ever see a black woman lawyer here before?"

  Skye smiled for the first time since her mother's phone call. "No. There are no blacks in town, and there sure aren't any women lawyers."

  Loretta whooped. "Well, we're going to have us a good time tonight."

  CHAPTER 9

  Maybe Baby

  Six o'clock Tuesday morning came too early for Skye. She had never enjoyed rising at the crack of dawn, and having had less than four hours of sleep did not improve her disposition. Her first thought when the alarm went off was to wonder if she could get away with calling in sick. After a brief consideration, she decided that doing so might be frowned upon after having worked only six days.

  At almost the same moment, the idea that maybe she'd better save her personal and emergency days for Vince's trial popped into her head. She firmly shoved that thought back down into her subconscious, refusing to even contem­plate Vince's being treated as a criminal.

  Sitting on the side of her bed with her head in her hands, Skye tried to gather the energy required to take the next step and get into the shower.

  Abruptly the hypnotizing music coming over her clock radio was interrupted by the WCCQ weather announcer's voice. "Well, folks, you'd better sit yourself down in a big tub of ice, because we're going to break all records for heat and humidity set on this day in history."

  Groaning, she began to search her mind for something to wear. Some of the rooms at school were air-conditioned and some were not. It depended on when that particular ad­dition had been added and how much money had been in the budget at the time.

  Following a quick shower and a cup of Earl Grey tea,

  she dressed in a short-sleeved empire-waist cotton-knit dress. Remembering the problem she'd had keeping up with Lloyd Stark on Thursday, Skye chose to wear white flats instead of the heels that ma
tched the dress. She hoped the Midwest fashion police would forgive her lapse. She was undecided about panty hose, so she stuffed a pair in her white canvas tote, just in case there was some school rule about bare legs. But since her dress's hemline reached al­most to her ankles, she hoped no one would even notice. At the last instant she wove her hair into a French braid to keep it out of her face.

  It was tough knowing what to wear on any given day. In the morning she might be sitting on the floor with the kindergartners, and the afternoon could find her at a meet­ing with the superintendent. Her wardrobe had to be more versatile than a one-man band playing Tchaikovsky's 7872 Overture.

  The drive to Scumble River Junior High took less than five minutes, allowing Skye to be in her makeshift office by seven-thirty. With her first Pupil Personnel Services meeting not until eleven-thirty, she would have plenty of time to prepare a list for the PPS team of students who needed reevaluations or counseling.

  She worked steadily until her door burst open and Ur­sula Nelson, the school secretary, flew in. "Come on. Mr. Stark wants to see you."

  "Okay, I'll be there in a minute." She started to put the folders she was working on back together.

  Ursula's beetle-brown eyes bored into Skye. "Mr. Stark does not like to be kept waiting."

  "I'll come to the office as soon as I've secured these files."

  Ursula turned without another word and rushed out of the room.

  Skye inserted the loose papers back into the various records and placed them in the file cabinet. She then con-

  scientiously pushed in the metal bolt and made sure the drawer was locked. Smoothing her hair and dress, she grabbed paper and a pen and set off for the principal's of­fice.

  Lloyd was pacing in front of the doorway when she ar­rived. Without saying a word, he hurried inside, apparently expecting her to follow. Once they were both past the threshold, he shut the door. "We have a problem."

  "Yes?"

  "One of our students, Travis Idell, an eighth grader, spent the summer having parties while both his parents were at work."

  So far Skye was unimpressed. "Yes?"

  "They were pretty wild parties." Lloyd seemed to think Skye should understand without him having to go into de­tail.