“I won’t hold my breath, but it’s worth a try,” Wally agreed. “I’ll have Martinez run a picture of Suzette over to Reid tomorrow.”
“Good.” Skye opened her mouth to tell Wally that Simon would be dog sitting for her, but decided later might be a better time to reveal that piece of information. Sometime when Wally was more relaxed.
“We need to get Owen’s DNA,” Wally said after a few minutes of silence. “But I don’t want to come right out and ask for it.”
“Because, as you said earlier, you don’t want him to know he’s a suspect?”
“Right.” Wally twitched his shoulders as if his neck were stiff.
“I really would like to be able to look him in the eye again, without having that nagging doubt in my mind.”
Wally passed a slow-moving combine, waving to the driver. “Too bad there’s no legal way to get his blood without his knowledge.”
“Yeah.” Skye stroked Toby, letting her thoughts wander ; then, as Wally guided the T-bird into the self-storage lot, she blurted, “The Red Cross.”
“What?”
“The Farm Bureau had a blood drive this past Monday, and Owen always gives.” Skye twisted to look at Wally. “That means, if you can get his blood from them, you don’t need a warrant for it. Once he donates it, he gives up all expectations of privacy.”
“How do you know that?”
“I saw it on some TV program,” Skye admitted. “But surely the show’s writers would have to get something like that correct.”
“Maybe.” Wally sounded unconvinced. “I’ll check with the city attorney.”
While Wally made that call, Skye examined the storage facility. It looked a little like a fifties-style motel, albeit a windowless one surrounded by a six-foot-high chain-link fence with razor wire strung across the top.
There appeared to be two types of spaces available: one the size of a single-car garage, and the other twice that large. The siding was a dirty tan, and paint was peeling off the steel doors.
Skye and Wally were parked in front of one of the larger units. She couldn’t see any other vehicles, and the facility was silent except for the sound of Wally’s voice as he talked into his cell phone.
Several minutes later, he clicked the sleek black device shut, exited the T-bird, and opened Skye’s door. “Ready to investigate?”
“Yep.” Skye wiggled out of the low-slung sports car, conscious of her skirt riding up, and asked, “Is it okay to bring Toby inside?”
“Sure. There’s nothing in there he can hurt.”
Once Wally took the key from his pocket and opened the lock, Skye preceded him into the dark interior. It had an eerie, deserted vibe, and she was glad when Wally reached past her and pulled a chain attached to a bare bulb, flooding the room with light.
Now she could see the labyrinth of cardboard boxes surrounding her. The entire unit was stacked with bins, crates, and cartons as far as Skye could see. A narrow path wound through the maze, but Skye could make out only a few feet in front of her.
“Where do we start?” Skye tried to keep her voice even, and not reveal how overwhelmed she felt by the sheer volume of records.
“Let’s do a walk-through.” Wally’s tone was grim. “Maybe there’s some organizational method that isn’t obvious at first glance.”
“Okay.” As Skye navigated the warren, she read the words hand lettered in black on the sides of the boxes. “It looks like they’re arranged by year.”
“That’s something.” Arriving at the back of the space, Wally pulled the chain on another bare bulb, then motioned to a long table against the rear wall. “We can sort through the cartons on this.”
“Sure.” Skye gripped Toby’s leash; he’d begun trying to tug her forward. “I wonder if anyone’s been here since they dropped off the records.”
“I doubt—” Wally broke off and pointed to the floor, then said softly, “I guess they have, and I’d say fairly recently, too.”
A fresh trail of footprints disturbed the thick layer of dust that covered the floor. The prints led away from where Skye and Wally now stood and into an aisle they hadn’t been down yet.
Skye started to reply, but Wally put a finger to his lips and motioned her behind him. He unsnapped his holster and rested his hand on the butt of his gun, then moved forward.
Skye picked up Toby and followed. The cartons near the door bore dates beginning in the 1990s, and as she moved down the second aisle, she saw boxes marked 1980, then 1979.
Wally stopped abruptly. He stood motionless, but everything about his stance screamed that he was on high alert. Suddenly, he tilted his head, and at the sound of a door easing closed, he took off running.
Toby whined and tried to leap from Skye’s arms to follow him, but she tightened her grasp and clamped a hand over the canine’s muzzle. Should she go after Wally? No, better to stay here and not distract him from his pursuit. It wasn’t as if she could run fast enough to catch anyone, not while wearing high heels, a dress, and carrying a dog.
Skye crept forward a few steps and saw papers scattered across the floor. Taking out a bag she’d tucked into her pocket to dispose of any future doggy deposits, she slipped it over her right hand. Using one plastic-covered finger, she fanned out the sheets and glanced through them. They were records concerning a twenty-seven-year-old bicycle theft from the park’s bike rack.
Next, she righted a carton that was lying on its side and saw black Magic Marker numbers scrawled across the edge. She squinted until they came into focus—1978. Underneath the year, MAY—JUNE was written in smaller print.
Glancing around, she noticed an empty file folder crumpled in a corner. She gingerly moved it toward her with the toe of her shoe. A white label across the top read PAULETTE NEAL.
CHAPTER 17
“Hey Good Lookin’”
The windows along Scumble River’s main drag were dark when Skye and Wally drove back to town. Wally hadn’t been able to catch the intruder, who had presumably stolen the contents of the Neal folder, so he’d had to call in a county crime technician to dust the empty box and the other files for fingerprints. By the time the tech arrived, did her job, and departed, it was close to eight thirty, which meant Skye and Wally didn’t get home until after nine.
Skye’s stomach growled as Wally turned the T-bird into the church parking lot. Both she and Toby were starving, and she’d bet Bingo would be yowling for food as well.
“You sure you don’t want to get a bite at McDonald’s ?” Wally asked, opening her door.
“No.” Skye slid behind the wheel of her Bel Air and deposited Toby in the backseat. “I have a hungry cat waiting for me.”
“Okay.” Wally kissed her cheek. “Then I’ll stay here and work on the case awhile.” He jutted his chin toward the police station behind him. “Although I’m not sure where to start.”
“Yeah.” Skye sighed in sympathy. “I imagine it’s hard to figure out who had a motive to kill Suzette when you have so little information about the real person behind the public persona.”
“Exactly.” Wally shoved a hand through his hair. “We’re not aware of any Scumble Riverites with whom she had more than casual contact, although we’re still looking. And so far, all of the owners of black pickups we’ve located have alibis. We’ve interviewed the Country Roads employees and the laborers who were on the theater construction site, but everyone says she kept to herself.”
“Even Kallista Taylor and Flint James?” Skye asked, then said, “Dang it! I never did tell you the negative things they said about her Saturday night, did I?” Skye described the scene in the trailer, ending with, “So both Flint and Kallista were jealous of Suzette. For Flint it was professional; for Kallista it was personal.”
“No one mentioned a word about that yesterday or today in any of the interviews we conducted with the Country Roads people.”
“Of course not.” Skye crossed her arms. “Who would volunteer that kind of information about the star or the boss’s
wife?”
“Nobody who wanted to keep his or her job.” Wally’s eyes were cold. “But tomorrow will begin round two of the interrogations, and this time I have something specific to ask them. Especially since neither of them has an alibi.”
“I am so sorry I forgot to tell you about that conversation. I didn’t realize they were two of the three Country Roads people who couldn’t account for their time.” Skye felt she had let Wally down. “What kind of psych consultant am I if I don’t remember the important details ?”
“You overheard Flint and Kallista before the murder, when what they said wasn’t that important. Then you had a nasty shock when you found Suzette in that horrific condition.” Wally leaned into the Chevy and embraced Skye. “No one could expect you to be at the top of your game after seeing that.” He rested his cheek against hers. “Besides, it’s only been two days.”
“Thanks for understanding and not being mad.” She hugged him back. “But I promise I’m over it now. Simon is going to dog sit for me, and I’ll concentrate on helping you find the killer.”
Skye held her breath, wondering how Wally would take the news of Simon’s involvement.
“Why would you ask your ex-boyfriend for help?” Wally’s voice was soft, but it had an edge that made Skye flinch.
“Actually, Simon volunteered.” Skye hastily explained the conversation they’d had at the ATM. “I have a feeling he might end up adopting Toby if they get along and no one else claims him.”
“Yeah.” Wally nodded thoughtfully. “I can see that.” After a few seconds his face relaxed. “Reid will need the companionship.” Wally kissed her, then straightened. “Because he’s not getting you back.”
“That was my thinking. Do you want me to help with the reinterviews tomorrow after I get out of school?”
“Definitely.” Wally’s smile was predatory. “I’m going to save the two major players for you. And instead of bringing Kallista and Flint into the PD, we’ll approach them in their home territory, where they’re apt to be less careful of what they say.”
“I can’t wait.” Skye started to close the Chevy’s door, but stopped. “Hey—how about Darleen? Were you able to trace that number I gave you?”
“Just like I figured, it came back to a disposable cell.” Wally crossed his arms. “And no one answered when I dialed it, not even voice mail.”
“Guess whoever called isn’t in much of a hurry for the money.” Skye studied Wally’s tired expression before asking, “Have you decided if you’re going to pay her or not?”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Wally leaned a hip against the car. “But if you want me to, I will, because getting to marry you is worth more than a measly quarter million dollars.”
“That’s such a sweet thing to say.” Skye beamed at him. “But I’d never encourage you to give in to blackmail.”
“I’ll try calling that number again tomorrow.” Wally’s shoulders hunched forward. “Maybe we can work something out.”
“Well, whatever you decide, I’m behind you a hundred percent.” Skye started the Bel Air’s engine. “If we don’t get a letter from Darleen supporting your request for an annulment, it may take a bit longer, but it will still come through and we’ll still get married.”
Skye had been praying it wouldn’t come to this. She’d been sure they’d find the name of Suzette’s brother last night in the police file. But now that the file was officially stolen, that hope had vanished.
Noreen had said only two people currently at Scumble River High were at the school when Quentin Neal worked there—Homer Knapik and Pru Cormorant, the English teacher. Voluntarily spending time in Homer’s company was bad enough, but questioning Pru ventured into the realm of appalling.
Pru hadn’t liked Skye when she had her as a student, and she disliked her even more as a colleague. The animosity was mutual, especially since last month when the English teacher had tried to shut down the newly opened bookstore in town, claiming the romances it sold were pornography and the horror novels were satanic.
Skye had been putting off the discussions with Homer and Pru all day. But by the afternoon, when the elementary school student she had scheduled for testing was absent, Skye had run out of excuses and reluctantly headed over to the high school. Pru wouldn’t be available until eighth hour, which was her second planning period, but Homer was almost always free.
The session with Homer went remarkably well. Having successfully turned over the administrative problems pertaining to Woodrow Buckingham’s integration to the special education coordinator, the principal was in a mellow mood.
Homer answered Skye’s questions with only a few snide remarks, but he could add nothing to what Noreen had already reported. Homer’s sole recollection of Quentin Neal was that he had done his job and kept out of trouble.
When the seventh-hour bell rang, Skye waited for the kids to leave before approaching Pru’s room.
“Hi, Pru,” Skye called from the open doorway. “Got a minute?”
The English teacher was facing a six-foot-high double-door metal cabinet. At Skye’s greeting, she swung around and scowled. “Did Mrs. Cook complain about that note I sent home yesterday?”
“What note?” Skye asked cautiously. Homer usually sent her to deal with Pru when the teacher ticked off a parent, but he hadn’t mentioned a problem.
“The one I wrote that said, ‘Your son sets low standards and then consistently fails to achieve them.’ ”
“Holy smokes!” Skye blurted out. “What possessed you to send a parent something like that?”
“I know you think I’m crazy,” Pru snapped, “but I’ve just been in a very bad mood for the past twenty-odd years.”
“Of course I don’t think you’re crazy,” Skye soothed, thinking, Mean as a polecat, but not crazy.
“Fine.” Pru crossed her arms. “Which of your little darlings needs special treatment this time?”
“No one at the moment.” Skye forced a smile. Pru thought everyone should be treated equally—that is, everyone but the two or three students she selected as her pets every year. “However, I always appreciate your cooperation when I do have a request.”
The English teacher narrowed her wintry blue eyes and twitched her pointy nose. “Then to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
Skye held on to her smile. “I understand you knew Quentin Neal. He was a music teacher who worked here quite a while ago.”
“He was here only for a year, so I wouldn’t exactly say I knew him,” Pru quibbled. “Especially since he taught a fluff subject.”
“I understand. But is there anything at all you can recall about him?” Skye was fairly sure that Pru, who acted as gossip central for the school, kept track of all the new teachers, even the ones she dismissed for teaching superfluities like music and art. “Maybe who his friends were?”
“I do remember he was a handsome man.” Pru gave a small shrug, her expression contemptuous. “All the young females on the staff, and several of the older ones who should have known better, were atwitter.”
“Did he chirp back?” Skye asked, wondering if Pru had been one of the cheeping flock. “I imagine that kind of adulation would be tempting to him.”
“No.” Pru smoothed her stringy dun-colored hair back into its chignon. “He was pleasant, but he kept his distance.”
“Did you ever meet his family?” Skye asked. “I understand he had twins.”
“Yes to both your questions. And since the girl was just murdered here in town a couple of days ago”— Pru’s smile was superior—“I imagine she is why you’re so interested in Quentin.”
“That’s true,” Skye admitted, not allowing herself to be baited. “Do you remember his son’s name?”
“Let me think.” Pru tapped a bony finger on her receding chin and pursed her thin lips. “It wasn’t an S name like Stephen or Scott, as you’d expect with twins.”
“Did it rhyme with Suzette?” Skye asked, realizing the absurdity of
the suggestion before the last word slipped from her lips.
“What boy’s name ends with ette?” The English teacher glared in contempt at Skye’s stupidity.
“Oh.” Skye ground her teeth, angry she had given Pru an opening to ridicule her. The woman had done enough of that when Skye had been in her class twenty years ago. “Right.”
“Let’s see.” Pru tsked. “I almost had it when you interrupted me.”
“Sorry.” Uh-oh. Being interrupted was one of Pru’s major pet peeves.
“I remember thinking the name was appropriate.” Pru’s pause was indisputably for effect. “The little boy was such a hellion.”
Skye held her breath, waiting for the big revelation to which Pru was building up.
After several seconds, Pru shook her head. “No.” She rubbed her temples. “I’m afraid it’s flown out of my head.”
Sheesh! What a letdown. “Well, thanks for trying.” Skye barely refrained from shaking Pru until the teacher came up with the name. “If you think of it, let me know or call Chief Boyd. The police would be grateful for your cooperation in this matter.”
“Of course.” Pru looked meaningfully at the wall clock, then glowered at Skye. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to use the few minutes left of my planning period for my own work, instead of yours.”
As Skye walked back to her office, she processed what Pru had told her. What boy’s name could be associated with the word hellion?
“Adolph?” Wally guessed. It was four thirty and they were in his Thunderbird on the way to the Up A Lazy River Motor Court to talk to Flint James. “Damian?”
“That’s a good one.” Skye had been thinking of names since she’d left Pru. “Attila?”
“Fidel?” Wally parked the Ford in an empty slot next to a red Maserati.
“I’ve got it.” Wally exited the T-bird, walked around the hood, and held out his hand to Skye. “Cain. Wasn’t he the ultimate hellion?”
“Yes. I’d have to say killing your brother qualifies you for that title.” Skye marched up the sidewalk to cabin number two and knocked, paused, then knocked again when there was no response. “That’s odd. He should be here. When I called Uncle Charlie just before we drove over here, he said that Flint James was in his room. He’d pulled in a few minutes before I phoned.”
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