Murder of a Small-Town Honey (22 page)

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Authors: Denise Swanson

BOOK: Murder of a Small-Town Honey
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Skye refused to talk about their find on the way home. She felt that anyone driving in the city needed to concentrate on the road and not be distracted, especially anyone driving a beautiful and expensive car like Simon’s Lexus.
By the time they reached I-55 and she could relax her vigil, she was caught up in her own thoughts and didn’t want to explain them until she was sure. Digging out a small pad of paper and a pen from her purse, Skye began making notes.
She twisted the pen point back into the casing just as they pulled into her driveway. “I’ve figured it out.”
“You know who the murderer is?” Simon turned toward her with an incredulous look on his face.
“No, but I know what the killer has been searching for and why.”
“And the answer is . . .” Simon made a “go on” motion with his hand.
“Let’s go inside. It’ll be easier if I show you.”
Simon got out of the car, coming around to Skye’s side to help her out, and had them both at the front door in record time. Skye had her keys ready and they were inside and at the kitchen table before the screen door finished swinging shut.
“Would you like something to drink?” Skye indicated the refrigerator.
He smiled stiffly. “No, but I would like to see the object for which I risked getting arrested.”
She started to spread out the papers she had been writing on in the car but stopped. “Gee, I’d sort of like a soda before I explain. My throat’s awfully dry. Oh, darn, I forgot. I don’t have any Diet Coke.”
“Skye,” he said softly, “show me. Now.”
“Fine, be that way.” When she finished straightening the sheets, Skye handed him a copy of the address book.
Before they had left the condo, she’d used Honey’s well-equipped home office to duplicate the book. Then, after having carefully wiped her fingerprints off its surface, she had put the original in an envelope addressed to Chief Boyd and dropped it into a mailbox in Chicago.
“See if you can figure it out,” she said.
Simon got up and turned his chair around. Resting his chin on the high back, he looked from the copies in his hand to what Skye had written. After a while he asked, “Is this a record of payments?”
She nodded.
“It looks to me like Honey was blackmailing four people. Four identical sets of letters and numbers appear repeatedly. The letters must refer to who and the numbers to how much. Do the columns refer to monthly payments?”
“Probably. It looks like she started blackmailing the first person about sixteen years ago. Maybe just before she left town. She added another cash cow six months after that. The next was six years later, and the fourth started to pay only about two years ago.”
“I’m surprised anyone would or could pay as long as those first victims.” Simon tapped the pages in front of him.
Leaning forward, Skye pointed to her notes. “If I figured this right, she demanded very small amounts, only fifty dollars a month to start with, and the increases were small, too. So, as the person grew older and made more money she upped the ante, but only a little at a time. She made sure they never felt the pinch.”
“Are you figuring that the numbers in the address book should be multiplied by ten to get the actual cash value? How did you come up with that?” Simon got up again and turned his chair back around.
Skye cocked an eyebrow at him. “Bored?”
“No, I’ve just always had a lot of nervous energy. Go on.”
“I’ll explain my reasoning if you promise not to tell anyone what I tell you.”
“Hey, I’ve already sworn not to tell on your mom.” Simon took Skye’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly.
Taking a deep breath, she squeezed back before gently removing her hand. “Okay, we have four sets of two letters, obviously initials of some sort. But
OH, NB, EW,
and
WY
fit no one’s name who is involved.”
“How do you know? Couldn’t it be people from her city life that you aren’t aware of?”
“Possibly,” Skye conceded, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. “But the truth is, my brother was one of her victims, and since I know that and the amount of the last demand . . .”
“You worked backward.”
“Yep. He was supposed to pay her twenty-five hundred dollars the week after the parade. So, I looked for the latest entry after each initial. Two,
NB
and
OH,
had a hundred and fifty written next to them, and
WY
had a fifty after it. But
EW
had two hundred and fifty in its column. And the one before that was one hundred.
“
EW
had to be Vince because he was supposed to pay twenty-five hundred and he was asking to borrow fifteen hundred, which is the difference between the prior month’s payment and the current month’s.”
Simon got up and strolled over to the refrigerator. He took out a can of Diet Pepsi and waved it at Skye, who nodded. “Why did the payments go up so much the last month? And who are the others?”
Skye retrieved two glasses from the cupboard. She filled them with ice and, taking the can from Simon’s hand, split the contents between the tumblers. After a healthy swallow she took a clean sheet of paper from the pad and wrote the alphabet. On top of those letters she wrote it backward.
She put her pen tip on the bottom
E.
“If Vince Denison equals
EW,
then the letter on top of this
V
should be an
E
and the
D
’s letter should be
W,
which they are. Who else on my list of suspects has a
V
or a
D
in their name?”
“Darleen Boyd,” Simon said after thinking briefly.
“Right, and in this code
B
equals
Y,
so
WY
is Darleen. Using the same logic,
OH
is Lloyd Stark and
NB
is Mike Young,” Skye finished with a flourish.
Simon ran his long fingers up and down his glass of soda. “There’s only one thing,” he said hesitatingly. “This makes Vince look even more guilty. He was paying more than anyone else, and he was supposed to see her the day of the parade.”
“I don’t care. We are operating on the premise he is innocent. If you can’t agree with that, you should leave now.”
For a few minutes Simon silently made interconnecting water rings on the table’s white tile top. He sighed. “I can live with that for now, but if we find insurmountable evidence against him, I’ll have to turn it over to the police.”
“You won’t do it without telling me first?”
“Okay. It would be better if we did it together.”
“We’ll see.”
Simon finished his drink and put the glass in the sink. Not looking at her, he asked, “What was Vince being blackmailed about?”
“Honey claimed to have had his baby fifteen years ago. She called it child support.”
“Did Vince ever see this baby or have visits?”
Skye started gathering up the papers. “Only once, right after it was born. But he’s seen pictures. Why?”
“Because according to the autopsy report, Honey Adair never had a child.”
“Just as I thought. She aborted the baby and still put Vince through the wringer.”
“No. Honey never had an abortion either. She was sterile. The medical examiner hypothesizes that she had a sexually transmitted disease that caused an infection in her fallopian tubes.”
“That’s interesting. She claimed to be pregnant to try to get Mike Young to marry her, but he found out she was lying. So, next time, when she told Vince she was pregnant, she demanded money instead of marriage and then conveniently disappeared.” Skye pounded the table with her fist so hard her glass trembled.
“The real question is, what was she blackmailing everyone else about?”
“Lloyd is easy. It has to be about his affair with her when she was his underage student.”
Simon nodded. “How about Darleen and Mike?”
“I have no idea about Darleen. Her only connection was dating Mike before he hooked up with Honey.” Skye tapped her finger against her lip. “Mike, on the other hand, was heavily involved in drugs at that time.”
“Didn’t he serve prison time for that already?”
“Yes, but maybe he did something awful while under the influence, and she was holding that act, not the drugs themselves, over his head. From the dates, it looks like she didn’t start blackmailing him until after he got out of prison and was trying to turn his life around.”
“That makes sense,” Simon agreed. “And having experienced prison once, Mike might not have been willing to take any chances of returning.”
CHAPTER 20
Monday, Monday
After a restless night, Skye rose early on Monday. She dressed in a black linen A-line dress, black hose and shoes, then put her hair into a French twist, spraying it until she was sure no curl would escape at an inopportune moment. Adding the string of pearls her parents had given her when she graduated from college, she was ready for Honey’s funeral.
On the way to the funeral home, Skye noticed that the Labor Day sky was drab and cloudy. A pall draped Scumble River like a mantle of shame and made it seem that the town had been singled out as degenerate and corrupt. It was a perfect day to bury someone who had been murdered.
May wanted them to walk in together as a family, and she had instructed Skye to meet them at eight-thirty outside of Reid’s. Skye arrived a few minutes early, only to find her parents’ white Oldsmobile already parked in the nearly full lot.
She got into the backseat of her parents’ car. “Where’s Vince? He usually beats all of us.”
Twisting in her seat, May looked back at Skye. “I don’t know. Right before we left, I tried calling him, but no one answered. We thought he must be on his way already.”
“Could he have spent the night somewhere else?” Skye was proud of herself for wording her question so delicately.
May didn’t answer, but Jed caught Skye’s eye in the rearview mirror and winked.
Her head rested against the back of the seat, and she let her mind wander. The car’s dark-red-velvet interior reminded Skye of an old sofa that had been in her grandmother Leofanti’s parlor. She must have been hovering between wakefulness and sleep, because the sound of a car door slamming made her heart skip a beat. Her father was standing outside the car.
“Dad’s decided we’d better go on in without Vince,” May said. “You call Abby’s when we get inside.” May joined Jed on the pavement.
Skye struggled out of the backseat. The velour gripping her dress made a graceful exit impossible. “Why do I have to be the one to call?”
“Because if I called, it would embarrass Abby.” May gave Skye a withering look.
The three Denisons walked up to the frosted-glass doors. Reid’s Funeral Home had been in business since the nineteen-thirties. It was a large one-story building with a red-brick exterior, white pillars, and a circular drive. One almost expected the governor to reside there.
Inside, a blast of cold air carried an overwhelmingly floral odor, yet held a hint of a less pleasant scent. Double doors opened to a small flight of carpeted stairs with a metal railing going up the center. One wall was completely mirrored, allowing mourners to arrange both their clothing and their expressions into appropriate lines.
After mounting the stairs, Skye and her parents parted. Jed and May went to the right, stopping to sign the guest book before making their way to the front, where Charlie stood facing the mourners, his back to Honey’s closed coffin. Sprays of flowers, potted plants, and wreaths flanked the casket.
Skye turned to the left and walked along the narrow aisle formed by folding chairs set in rows that faced the front of the room. Tucked behind the seats was a short hallway with rest rooms on one side and an office on the other. The door to the office was open, and inside, Simon was talking to a small man in a shiny navy blue suit.
Simon motioned Skye in as soon as he saw her. “Skye, I’d like you to meet my assistant, Xavier Ryan. Xavier, this is Skye Denison.”
Xavier dipped his head slightly. “Nice to meet you, Miss.” His pale blue lashless eyes were magnified behind old-fashioned horn-rimmed glasses, making them seem reptilian.
Although the last thing she wanted to do was touch this man, Skye pasted a smile on her face and held out her hand. “How do you do?”
His grip was surprisingly warm and gentle. After a brief squeeze, he turned to Simon. “I’ll go see if we need more chairs, Mr. Reid.”
Xavier left, and Simon moved closer to Skye. Taking her chin in his hand, he looked into her eyes. “I had a really good time yesterday. I’d like to see you again, soon. Are you free Wednesday night?”
She was pleased.
Gee, a second date. Even after I forced him into a life of crime. He must really be interested.
Aloud she said, “Yes. I’m usually home from school by five. Is six okay for you?”
Simon carried her hand to his lips and lightly kissed her fingertips. “How about five-thirty?”
Although she was having that breathing problem again, she managed to nod.
“I’d better go and check on Charlie. It’s about time to start.”
“Could you hold off beginning for a few minutes? I need to try and call Vince. He was supposed to have met us here at eight-thirty.”
“Sure. Use the phone on the desk. Let me tell Charlie what’s happening.” Simon looked over his shoulder as he left the room.
Knowing how few rings her mother allowed before hanging up, Skye tried Vince’s number first. His answering machine picked up after four rings. Next, she tried the shop, and got the same results.
Reluctantly, she dialed Abby’s number, having first looked it up in the book conveniently located beneath the telephone. Abby answered immediately, as if she were waiting by the phone.
“Abby, this is Skye Denison. Is Vince there?” Skye sat in the upholstered chair behind the desk.
“No. He was supposed to call me this morning before he left for the funeral, but he never did.” The worry in Abby’s voice was clearly audible.

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