Murder of a Small-Town Honey (20 page)

“Yes, dear, but we only have Pepsi products.” May smiled with false patience.

They settled back into their chairs, and Skye picked up the pen again. “Okay, first there’s Abby. She has no alibi and is very jealous of Vince’s attentions.

“Next, we have Darleen and Chief Boyd. I haven’t been able to find out where she was at the time of the murder, but he certainly had opportunity. I’m also not sure what the motive is for her, but she overreacted when I brought up Honey’s name, and it certainly seems funny that he’s not investigating anyone but Vince.”

Leaning forward, May seemed as if she were going to say something, but Skye held up her hand. “Let me finish.”

May sat back.

“Okay, Lloyd definitely has something to hide. He was really ticked off that I called the police after his office was ransacked, and he threatened to have me fired when I asked about his past relationship with Honey.

“It would have been awkward for me to ask him directly about his whereabouts, so I called his wife and pretended to be Barb, from the paper. As Barb, I told her the
Star
was planning on running a picture taken while the parade was being set up, and I was trying to identify the people in the photo. I said I thought one of them was Lloyd but couldn’t tell for sure. She told me Lloyd wasn’t feeling well that day and stayed home while she and the kids went to the parade.”

May got up to throw away her empty soda can. “Is there anyone in town you don’t suspect?”

“Vince. I know he’s innocent, and I’m going to prove it,” Skye answered seriously. Her voice softened as she continued, “I do wonder about Charlie. After all, he does inherit a lot of money, and Vince said that Charlie has been short of cash lately. Maybe you could find out where he was before I found the body.”

May put her hands on her hips. “Come on. That’s going too far. Charlie would never do anything to hurt Vince or you.”

“True, but he couldn’t have known Vince would be implicated.”

“How about the fact that the shears had the name of the shop on them? That definitely makes it look like whoever did it was trying to point to Vince.”

Skye paused. “Well, that could be the case, but it could also be that whoever plunged those scissors into Honey did it on the spur of the moment and didn’t know they were engraved. The question is how they were removed from Vince’s shop—and if the police lab found any fingerprints on them.”

“No prints. They were wiped clean.” May began straightening papers and putting files away. “So, is there anyone else on your list?”

“Mike Young. He was roaming around taking pictures for the paper that day, so he has no alibi. Maybe she knew something about his past—when they were in high school together.”

“How was your date with him last night?” May looked at Skye with hope in her eyes.

“Okay. He is nice-looking, but he’s pretty chauvinistic and he quotes the Bible all the time. Abby sure didn’t seem to like him.”

“Are you going to see him again?”

“I don’t think so. He asked me to attend the Tuesday night service at his church, but I’m going to pass. In fact, I think I’ll stop at his studio on my way home. I can thank him for taking me out and at the same time tell him I’m busy Tuesday. Also, I seem to have misplaced my sunglasses. Maybe he remembers where I left them.” Skye stood up and started walking toward the door.

May asked plaintively, “Am I ever going to hear wedding bells?”

“Only if you start to have auditory hallucinations,” Skye shot back.

At that moment the chime over the front door jingled. Skye and May looked at each other and burst out laughing.

Chief Boyd rounded the counter and stopped dead. “What’s going on with you two?”

Glancing guiltily at Skye, May couldn’t meet his eyes. “Nothing. We were just, ah . . . ah.”

Skye interrupted, “I just stopped in to say hi. I’ve got to be going now.”

She was nearly through the gate when May rushed over. “You forgot this.” She was waving the magazine with the reports still hidden inside.

“Oh, right. Thanks, Mom. I’ll get it back to you as soon as possible.” Skye showed the cover to Chief Boyd. “I’m trying to get some decorating ideas for the new place. You know, rugs, drapes, flowers . . . that sort of thing. ’Bye, Mom. I’ll call you later at home. ’Bye, Chief.”

Make Believe

Skye sat in her car for a few minutes, trying to slow her heartbeat and catch her breath. Clearly she was not cut out for a life of crime.

Driving carefully to Mike’s studio, she was half afraid Chief Boyd would tail her. After parking, she combed her hair, powdered her nose, and put on lipstick before approaching the door. Just because she didn’t want to go out with the guy didn’t mean that she didn’t want him to want to go out with her.

There was no one in the waiting room, so she tapped on the closed connecting door.

Mike’s voice yelled, “I’m in the darkroom. Have a seat. I’ll be out in a couple of minutes.”

She yelled back. “It’s only me, Skye Denison. Don’t rush.”

For a moment Skye wondered if she smelled smoke but decided she was just overwrought. As she sat on the sofa and leaned toward the table of magazines, she noticed an ashtray with the Red Lobster logo. She turned to the end tables and spotted two other ashtrays, also with restaurant names on them.

 

It was only two o’clock, and Skye had already tried watching TV and reading. Nothing seemed to hold her interest. Finally she gave in and decided to go visit Charlie. She still had a lot of unanswered questions.

When she pulled into the motor court’s parking lot, the first thing she saw was a white Lexus with gold trim, the same one she had encountered at the grocery store. She considered turning around and going home, but curiosity won out and she climbed the steps.

Charlie had cleaned up after Wednesday’s vandalism. The carpeting had been tacked back down, the furniture righted, and the books replaced on their shelves. The only evidence of that night’s destruction was the squares of lighter-colored paint on the walls where pictures had hung.

Simon and Charlie were sitting on the sofa, paging through what at first looked like a book of wallpaper samples. When Charlie saw Skye at the screen door, he motioned her inside. Not knowing what to expect, she reluctantly pushed the door open and headed for a chair.

“Come sit over here, sweetheart. I need you to help me pick things out for Honey’s funeral.”

Reluctantly, Skye went to the couch and sat in the only space available, next to Simon. “What’s going on, Uncle Charlie?”

“When Simon called this afternoon to let me know they were finished with the autopsy and were going to release Honey’s body tomorrow, I asked if his funeral parlor could handle the arrangements. He said yes and offered to bring me these books tonight so I wouldn’t have to find a ride over to him. Wasn’t that obliging?”

“Very,” said Skye, thinking to herself,
So, Mr. Simon Reid, you’ve heard about Charlie’s inheritance.
She looked at Simon and said aloud, “How kind of you, but Charlie knows my parents or I would be glad to drive him anywhere he wants to go.”

Simon sat back, looking totally at ease. “Oh, it’s nothing. I often go to people’s houses to make the arrangements. It’s so hard for older people to get around. That’s why I got these books made up. It makes the whole process somewhat easier.”

“I’ve got the cemetery plot already,” Charlie said. “I bought it when her folks died. There’s plenty of room for Honey, and me too when it’s my time.” He pointed to a picture of a casket on the open page in Simon’s lap. “I thought this white one would be nice, with pink satin lining. Do you think it’s okay?”

Skye noticed that it was one of the most expensive on the page. “Did Simon suggest that one?”

Simon shot her a look before answering smoothly, “I try not to influence people’s selections. It’s such a personal matter.”

She wondered if he was intimating that she had no business helping Charlie choose. “It’s kind of expensive. I’m sure Mr. Reid could show you something a little simpler.”

Before Simon could speak Charlie said, “I didn’t like the cheap ones he showed me first. After all, she was a TV star. We don’t want the Chicago people who come to her funeral to think we’re hicks.”

Skye noticed that Charlie’s eyes were tearing up. “That one would be perfect.”

Simon put the catalog he was holding on the coffee table and took another from the briefcase at his feet. Skye noticed that the attaché was made of expensive Italian leather.

He opened the new volume. “Now for the headstone.”

Skye and Charlie looked closely as he turned the pages. Coming to the last page, Simon gazed at them expectantly.

“Skye, which did you like?” Charlie asked.

“Well, Simon is right. It’s a very personal decision,” hedged Skye.

Charlie looked at her helplessly. “I’ve always thought of you like a daughter. Who else could I ask?”

“I thought the white granite one with the gold letters looked nice.” Skye swallowed a lump in her throat. She sometimes forgot how alone Charlie really was.

He nodded. “Me too. We could put a gold star on it, and it would be like her dressing room door.”

“What would you like on the stone besides the star?” Simon asked.

“Her name and the dates of her birth and death.” Charlie turned to Skye. “It seems like there should be a saying or something.”

Skye thought a moment and then smiled softly. “How about:
And throughout all Eternity I forgive you, you forgive me.
”

Simon looked at her, a surprised expression on his face. “That’s beautiful. I guess I need to hire you as my epitaph consultant.”

“It’s Blake. I have a minor in English,” Skye answered, disconcerted by Simon’s approval.

“That’s perfect. Honey caused a lot of heartache while she was on this Earth, but that don’t give anyone the right to kill her. Now they can all forgive each other.” Charlie reached across Simon and patted Skye’s hand.

Simon put his pile of books in his briefcase and pulled out an appointment book. “When would you like to schedule the service?”

“I’m not having any wake, and I want the funeral on this coming Monday. It’s Labor Day, so most people won’t have to take a day off work. Honey didn’t have many friends here in Scumble River, so it’ll mostly be people paying their respects to me. I don’t want to inconvenience them any more than I have to. Her agent said he didn’t think many people from Chicago would come.”

“Will we be going to a church?” asked Simon.

“No.” Charlie shook his head. “She never believed in any of that when she lived with me, and her agent said she hadn’t changed. Could you say a few words?”

“Sure, and anyone else who might want to will be welcome.” Simon added, “You know it takes a while for the headstone. It won’t be ready on Monday.”

Charlie nodded and got up, sticking out his hand. “Thank you for your time. I appreciate your kindness.”

Simon shook Charlie’s hand and picked up his attaché. “Skye, would you walk out to the car with me?”

“What?” Skye looked at Charlie, puzzled. He nodded slightly. “Okay, just for a minute.”

After holding the door open for Skye, Simon led the way toward the Lexus. He unlocked the doors and put his things in the backseat. For once he seemed at a loss for words. “Ah, Skye, I was wondering—ah, I mean, if you’re not busy, would you like to go out tomorrow? We could go to brunch.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” The words flew out of Skye’s mouth before she could stop them.

He raised an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

“As well you should. What makes you think I would want to go out with you after the way you acted in the store Thursday night?”

“I really didn’t do anything wrong at the supermarket.” Before Skye could reply, he hurried on. “But I am sorry if my conduct caused you any distress. Truce?”

Skye was not by any means completely satisfied by this equivocation. She might forgive his caddish demeanor, but it wouldn’t be forgotten.

She opened her mouth to dismiss him, but before she could speak his golden eyes bored into hers and she forgot what she was going to say.

Taking her hand, Simon held it between both of his. “I’d really like to get to know you better. I promise to be on my best behavior. Please come to brunch with me tomorrow.”

“Yes, I’d like that.” Skye was tempted to look around to see who had said that. She certainly had not intended to go out with him. She found him obnoxious, didn’t she?

“You’re probably wondering why Sunday brunch.” Simon’s thumb made lazy circles on her palm.

His touch made her feel light-headed, and she fought to keep her voice even. “A little.”

“I generally have funerals Friday and Saturday, but since no one gets buried on Sunday I can always count on that day off.”

“That makes sense.”

Simon let go of her hand. “Great. Is ten all right?”

“Fine. I’ll see you then.” She felt strangely bereft when he got into his car and drove off.

As Skye walked back into Charlie’s, her mind cleared and she firmly pushed away the memory of Simon’s touch. By the time she reached the door, she had almost convinced herself that what she had felt wasn’t real.

She found Charlie standing by the bookshelves, holding a slim black volume in his hands. The cover was graced by a giant red scorpion.

“What do you have there, Uncle Charlie?” Skye looked over his shoulder.

“It’s Honey’s yearbook. I found it stuck inside another book when I was straightening out the mess from Wednesday. Look at all the people who signed it.”

Skye took the book from his hands and idly leafed through it. Suddenly she stopped. There, on the page showing the pictures of the faculty, right below Lloyd Stark’s photograph, was an inscription. It said:
I hate and I love. Perhaps you ask why I do so. I do not know, but I feel it, and I am in torment.
There was no signature, but Skye intended to get a sample of Lloyd’s handwriting first thing tomorrow morning.