Murder of a Bookstore Babe (17 page)

They were silent for a moment before Wally mused, “The county crime scene techs have finished with the store, so I gave Risé and Orlando the go-ahead to open up tomorrow. Maybe I should stop them.” He paused, then said, “No.” He trailed his fingers lightly up and down Skye’s arms. “The techs already gathered all the evidence, and if the criminal was after Kayla, not the books, Tales and Treats probably doesn’t have anything to do with the case. And if it does, better to let it open up and allow whoever murdered that girl to think he got away with it.”

“Yep, keep an eye on the store and see what happens,” Skye agreed. “But what I can’t figure out is, who would want to kill a young girl like Kayla?”

“The usual motives are money, vengeance, and obsession.” Wally covered her hands with his. “What do you know about her?”

“She doesn’t seem to have any money. Her family is lower-middle-class and she needed that job.”

“How about revenge or passion?” Wally asked. “Anyone mad at her, or does she have a jealous ex?”

“Not that I’ve heard. She seems well liked and dated Chase Wren all through high school. They were engaged to be married. You saw how broken up he is about her death.” Skye twisted to look at Wally. “Do you want me to see what Xenia has to say?”

“That’s a good idea. And I’ll work on the forensic side.” Wally got to his feet. “Now, let’s stop worrying about criminals and concentrate on us.”

“Good idea.” Skye took his hand and pulled herself up. “Want to take a dip?”

“Sure.” Wally looked around. “Did you say you brought our suits?”

“Nope.” Skye unbuttoned her ecru blouse, revealing a cream lace bra. “Is that a problem?” She twitched her shoulders and the top dropped onto the sand.

“Guess not.” Wally grabbed the tails of his shirt and skimmed that garment along with his white T-shirt off over his head.

Skye shimmied out of her nut brown skirt. “I didn’t think so.” She fingered the top of her ivory satin panties.

He unzipped his uniform trousers and kicked off them and his Jockeys. “I’m ready.”

“Yes. I would say you definitely are.” Skye unhooked her bra and wiggled out of her underwear. “Race you to the raft.”

S
kye was still smiling when she arrived at work Tuesday morning. Her night with Wally had been fabulous. They’d gotten a lot of issues between them cleared up, and the rest of the time they’d spent together was better than she’d thought possible. Even the ominous note she found in her mailbox from Neva Llewellyn, the junior high principal, couldn’t wipe the grin off her face.

“Why are you so happy?” Ursula Nelson, the school secretary, watched her with suspicious beetle brown eyes. “Didn’t you see that message from Neva?”

“I saw it.” Skye refused to give the older woman the satisfaction of appearing concerned. “Please tell her I’m available anytime she’s ready to see me.”

“Go right in.” Ursula rose from her chair like a bird of prey and flapped her wing toward the principal’s closed door. “She’s been waiting for you.”

Skye glanced at her watch. It was barely eight o’clock and the staff wasn’t required to be at the school for another half hour. What in the heck had gotten Neva in such a state? She searched her mind for any recent offenses, but the first few weeks of classes had gone smoothly. Surely Neva didn’t share Homer’s aversion to Skye’s work with the police.

When Skye entered the principal’s office, Neva, seated at a gleaming cherrywood writing table roughly the size of a cruise ship, looked up and said, “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Uh.” Skye was immediately wary. Neva had never offered her any refreshment before. “Sure.”

“How do you take it?”

“Cream and two packages of Sweet’N Low, if you have it, or three sugars.”

Neva made a moue of distaste but rose and walked over to a sideboard that contained an elaborate apparatus. As she pressed various buttons, Skye took a seat on one of the pair of Queen Anne chairs facing the desk. She fished in her tote for her calendar, a notepad, and a pencil, then put the bag by her feet.

“Enjoy.” Neva handed Skye a delicate cup and saucer decorated with tiny pink roses.

“Thank you.” Skye breathed in the wonderful aroma, then took a taste.
Wow!
“This is fantastic.”

“Yes, it is.” Neva sat back down and straightened the immaculate leather-bound blotter on her desktop. “I’m very particular about my coffee. One needs the right machine, filtered water, and of course, the best beans to make a good cup.”

“I see.” Skye wondered where Neva was leading. She wasn’t usually inclined to waste time chatting. “Any particular brand you prefer?”

“I usually order my beans directly from Kona, Hawaii, but these are from Tales and Treats.” Neva took a sip. “Mr. Erwin suggested it, and I must say, he was correct in his assessment.”

“He seems very knowledgeable about that sort of thing,” Skye agreed.

“Which, in a way, brings me to why I wanted to see you this morning.” Neva ran a fingertip along the rim of her cup. “I understand both you and Tales and Treats had a difficult weekend.”

“Yes, that’s true.”
Shoot!
Was Neva also going to yell at her about being the pied piper for the dead? “The protesters on Saturday were bad enough, but finding that poor girl on Sunday was awful.” There. Maybe if Skye made it clear she didn’t enjoy discovering bodies, Neva wouldn’t berate her for doing so.

“I imagine it was,” Neva whispered. A single tear slid down her cheek, and she wiped it away, then cleared her throat. “You’re probably unaware that Kayla Hines was my goddaughter.”

“Oh, my.” Skye swallowed hard. “You’re right, I didn’t know. I’m so sorry for your loss. Would you like to talk about her?”

“Thank you for your condolences.” Neva leaned forward. “But I didn’t bring you in here for sympathy or grief counseling.”

“Oh?” Skye’s heart jumped in alarm, but she forced an unperturbed look on her face.

“From what I’ve been told, the authorities are claiming that Kayla’s death was a result of a break-in gone wrong.” Neva’s intense gaze bore into Skye. “Which means the police will use that as an excuse to limit the investigation.”

“No, but—”

“You’ve got to find out who killed her,” Neva interrupted Skye. “The murderer must be punished.”

“Do you suspect someone?” Skye asked. “Was there anyone who hated Kayla or had it in for her?”

“No.” Neva shook her head. “Everyone loved her. There was something about Kayla that drew people to her.” She frowned. “And that’s the problem. There’s no obvious villain, so the police will give up after only a cursory investigation and blame it on the burglary.”

“I’m sure the officials will use every means available to find Kayla’s murderer.” Skye hadn’t asked Wally whether she should mention that he no longer considered burglary the motive. “And since I do work as the police consultant, I will offer any help I can.”

“That’s not enough.” Neva tapped a manicured nail on the desktop. “As I understand it, the police only seek your advice if the crime was psychologically motivated.”

“That’s often true.” Skye searched for a way to set Neva’s mind at rest without revealing anything Wally might want kept quiet. “But since I found her, I’m already involved, and I will be working the case.”

“Kayla’s parents won’t push.” Neva shook her head, clearly not accepting Skye’s reassurances. “My cousin is under her husband’s thumb and too busy with her second family to spend any energy on Kayla. And Kayla’s stepfather doesn’t care what happened to her.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. It sounds as if Kayla had to grow up fast and rely on herself and her friends to get by.”

“Kayla had such talent and ambition,” Neva explained. “But she was torn because she yearned for a real home but wanted a career that would make it difficult to settle down.”

“That’s a tough choice.” Skye’s tone was soothing.

“I’m counting on you.” Neva gazed at Skye unblinkingly. “You seem to have a special talent for solving mysteries.”

“Not really.” Skye stood up. “The
Star
has exaggerated my part in previous investigations.” She backed away from the desk, bumping into a delicate butterfly table and leaving a scuff on the ivory wall.

Neva rose, too. A line appeared between her brows as she contemplated the scrape on her formerly pristine paint, and Skye winced. That mark was undoubtedly going straight onto Skye’s permanent record. The one Neva kept in her head.

“The police department does a great job,” Skye babbled, knowing she should shut up. “I’m happy to help, but they don’t need me.”

“Be that as it may.” Neva jerked the cuffs of her taupe wool suit jacket for emphasis. “My goddaughter deserves an advocate.”

Skye reached the door. Tasting freedom, she put her hand on the knob, but Neva grabbed her wrist, thwarting her escape. “And I’m going to see she has two—you and me.”

“I’ll do what I can.” She freed herself from the older woman’s grasp, unsure how else to respond. The junior high principal had never shared anything personal with her before—which, come to think of it, wasn’t an altogether bad thing.

Neva murmured, “It isn’t right, how her parents ignored her.” As Skye stepped over the threshold and started down the hall, she heard the principal mutter, “They treated her like a servant. Worse, like a ghost. Why didn’t I ever do something about that?”

Skye blew out a breath of relief as she rounded the corner and was out of the woman’s sight. She felt sorry for Neva, but there was no way she was going to question the principal’s past inaction regarding her goddaughter. At the moment, the best Skye could do was pass the information about Kayla’s neglectful family to Wally and see whether he wanted to pursue it. She couldn’t think of any reason her parents would want Kayla dead. Heck, it sounded as if they barely knew she was alive.

A few minutes later, Skye sat in her office staring at the brown stains on the white ceiling tiles. She often thought those blots could be used to administer a Rorschach test. Too bad that was an assessment tool rarely used by school psychologists anymore.

The windowless room was painted yield-sign yellow and was no bigger than a walk-in closet. Skye had attempted to dispel the claustrophobic effect by arranging crisp white curtains around a travel-poster scene of the mountains. The custodian had originally used this space to store cleaning supplies, and there was nothing she could do about the faint lingering smell of ammonia. The pine-scented air freshener she’d plugged into the only outlet had made her sneeze, so she’d discarded it, preferring the stench to the sniffles.

Still, she was grateful for the private office. Not having to share or beg for a room every time she came to the building was a blessing. Many school psychologists would give up both their sick days and their retirement funds to have that luxury.

Skye’s thoughts were interrupted by the jangling of her newly installed telephone—a perk she still wasn’t sure how she’d gotten. She stared at the blinking light, trying to remember whether she was supposed to pick up the receiver, then press the button, or vice versa.

Mentally flipping a coin, she did the former, then crossing her fingers, said tentatively, “This is Skye Denison. May I help you?”

“It’s about time.” Her mother’s voice blared from the handset’s speaker. “I’ve been calling since six o’clock. I tried you at home and on your cell. I finally remembered this number a few minutes ago.” She paused for breath. “Why aren’t you answering your phones? Is something wrong?” May didn’t wait for any real troubles; if circumstances weren’t exactly as she expected them to be, she made up problems.

“Everything is fine.” Skye twisted the phone’s cord. “Why do you always think the worst?”

“Because then I’m pleasantly surprised if it doesn’t happen.” May’s tone was tart. “If everything is so hunky-dory, why couldn’t I reach you?”

“Uh.” Should she admit she’d spent the night at Wally’s, which would send May into a diatribe of how wrong he was for Skye, or should she fib? She chose a middle path. “I left early this morning to go swimming,” she said, which was true. She just hadn’t left from her own house. “And you know I can’t have my cell on when I’m at school.”

“Humph.” May made an unhappy noise.

“You know, Mom . . .” She paused, aware that what she was about to say wouldn’t make a difference but unable to stop herself. “Being out of touch for a couple of hours does not automatically mean that I’m dead. I’m sure if I was, one of the town gossips would inform you.”

“That isn’t funny, missy. I’ve had a bad morning. First, the phone rang at three a.m., scaring me to death. Then when I answered, someone giggled and hung up.”

“Well, Mom”—Skye couldn’t resist giving May a little zinger—“there are worse things than getting a call for a wrong number at three a.m.”

“Like what?”

“It could have been the right number.”

Without missing a beat, May continued. “Next, I find out your brother’s bought an engagement ring. And to top it all off, you disappear.”

Yikes!
How had May found out about Vince? “Are you sure?” Skye stalled, wanting to hear exactly what her mother knew about Vince and Loretta before responding. “Could Vince have just been helping a friend pick one out?”

“No.” May was adamant. “Aunt Kitty’s sister saw him over in Kankakee at a jewelry store in the mall last Friday.”

“Maybe it wasn’t him.” Skye was surprised the news had taken so long to reach her mother.

“It was him.”

“Is she sure what he was buying was an engagement ring?” Skye kept trying to poke holes in the story. “Could it have been some other kind of ring?”

“It was a two-carat diamond solitaire set in platinum,” May stated flatly.

“How the heck did Aunt Kitty’s sister find that out?” Skye couldn’t imagine someone being able to provide such detail with just a visual.