Murder of a Small-Town Honey (25 page)

“Who’s your uncle?”

“Mike Young.”

Before Skye could respond, a voice from the hall yelled, “Zee, ya comin’ or not?”

Zach waved and ran out the door.

Skye put the materials back in their case and began to score the various tests she had given Zach.
First Lloyd and now Mike. Everyone seems really interested in what I saw.

 

The town of Laurel was the county seat of Stanley County. It contained the courthouse, the sheriff’s office, and the jail. Skye spent the time driving there trying to figure out what to say to Vince.

She pulled into a metered space at a quarter to six. Digging through her wallet and tote bag, she came up with two quarters, a dime, and a nickel in change. This bought her two and a half hours. With visiting hours ending at eight she would have fifteen minutes to get from the jail to her car before it was parked illegally and ticketed or towed.

Skye wasn’t sure of the proper attire for a jail visit, but knowing Vince’s fastidiousness, she had worn crisply pressed khaki pants, a light-blue oxford-cloth shirt and loafers. Going for a low-key effect, she had pulled her hair back with a tortoiseshell barrette.

She didn’t know where the entrance to the jail was located. Looking around, she decided the most likely direction would be through the sheriff’s office.

Its interior was similar to that of the police station in Scumble River. Walking in, she saw a bench to the left and a glassed-in counter to the right. Ahead was a closed steel door. There was a button on the counter, which Skye pushed.

A woman around May’s age stepped up to the window, leaned forward, and spoke through the grate. “Yes, what can I do for you?”

“I’m here to see my brother, Vince Denison.” Skye found herself somewhat embarrassed to admit that she had a brother in jail. “I was told that I could visit him between six and eight.”

The woman smiled warmly. “You must be Skye. I’m Betty. May and I know each other from dispatching. She told me all about you. Vince is really anxious to see you. Come on back and I’ll take you to the jail.”

Betty met Skye on the other side of the door and guided her up a corridor and down some steps. A man in a tan deputy’s uniform sat behind a desk, reading a newspaper and eating a sandwich.

Betty marched up and snatched the paper off the desktop. “Ed, this here is Skye Denison. Her mother is May Denison from the Scumble River P.D. She’s here to visit her brother, Vince. You treat her nice, and there’ll be cookies for you tomorrow.”

Ed put his half-eaten sandwich down, wiped his hands on his pants, and stood up. “Now, Betty, you’re going to make this girl think I’m not nice to everyone.”

She sniffed and started back. “You just remember she’s got to come back by my desk, and I’ll be asking her if she had a good visit.”

“Okay, Miss, you’ll have to leave your purse here, and I got to ask if you have any concealed weapons on you.”

Shaking her head, Skye handed over her tote bag. “I brought Vince a few magazines. Can I give them to him?”

“Let’s see ’em.”

“They’re in my tote, right on top.”

Ed examined the magazines, then turned them over and shook. A shower of subscription cards was the only thing to fall out. He handed the magazines to her. “We haven’t got a visiting room, so you’ll have to sit in his cell. You can take that folding chair by the desk. You’re lucky there’s only one other prisoner—it’s not too bad.”

Ed unlocked the steel door and led her into the jail. Skye followed, carrying the metal chair. The cell closest to the door held a short man with a barrel chest and shaved head. He appeared to have no neck. He lay on his cot with his eyes closed.

The next four cells were empty. Vince was in the last one, seated on the cot with his back supported by the beige cinder-block wall. The only other furnishings were a sink and a toilet without a seat.

While the deputy inserted the key he said, “Vince, stay right where you are.” Turning to Skye, he explained, “The prisoners are supposed to be leaning against the far wall whenever we open a door.”

Vince stayed seated and Skye walked in. She set up the chair. “Is there anything else, Ed?”

“Nope. I’ll leave the door by my desk open. Just yell when you’re ready to leave.” He slammed the cell door and walked away.

Vince got off the bed and held out his arms. “Thanks, Sis. I sure never wanted you to see me this way.”

Skye hugged him and gave him the magazines. “Here, I thought you might need something to read. Is there anything else I can get you?”

“No, Mom and Dad brought some clothes and stuff. They get our meals from the local restaurants.” Vince sank back onto the bunk.

She tried to make herself comfortable on the metal chair. “Tell me about the letter.”

“I wrote it after Honey started demanding more money. That letter was only meant as a bluff.”

Studying a scuff on her loafers, Skye avoided his eyes. “You never were too good at poker. I used to clean you out of your allowance all the time.”

“Have you found out anything? Loretta said you gave her the names of some other people who had motive and opportunity.”

Looking over her shoulder, Skye lowered her voice. “I had a date with Simon Reid on Sunday.”

“So? Is that the big secret?”

“He’s the county coroner.”

“Yeah, I know, and he owns Reid’s Funeral Home. How can you date someone who works with dead bodies?” Vince screwed up his face in distaste.

“Fine. How could you have slept with a woman who hit the floor anytime someone yelled ‘hoedown’?” Skye shot back.

He ducked his head. “Hey, let’s not fight. This whole situation is just so frustrating.”

“That’s okay. I’m sorry too. But Simon seems like a really nice guy. He knows how to keep a secret, and he’s helping me investigate.”

Vince got up and went to the sink. He toyed with the handles on the faucet. “How?”

“Simon was with me when I searched Honey’s condo, and he told me the results of the autopsy.” Skye stared at the graffiti behind Vince’s head. It claimed that Bubba loved Charlene.

“What did you find out? Where’s my son?”

“I’m sorry, Vince, you don’t have a son.” Skye was not happy to be the one to break the news to him. “Honey lied. The autopsy showed she’d never been pregnant. She was sterile.”

His shoulders sagged. “I think I always knew there was no child. She must have borrowed a baby that one time she let me see him, and sent pictures of a friend’s kid. Her bluff certainly worked better than mine did.”

“We did find a record of all her blackmailing activity.” Skye hastily added, “Besides you, she was getting money from Lloyd Stark, Darleen Boyd, and Mike Young. I’m pretty sure what she had on Lloyd—he had an affair with her when she was his student—but I haven’t got a clue what Darleen and Mike were paying her to keep quiet about. Do you have any ideas?”

Vince thought for a minute, pacing the length of the cell and back. “What Darleen could have done I can’t even imagine, but Honey used to hint about something she and Mike were up to.”

“We’re guessing that whatever she was blackmailing him about took place after she left town. She may even have snuck back into Scumble River from time to time. Her records show that Mike didn’t start paying until after he got out of prison, so I don’t think it was about drugs. And it probably happened after she left town.” Skye paused, then asked, “Can you think of anywhere she might have hidden something in town? Something that would give her the power to blackmail people?”

“Honey loved secrets and hiding and sneaking around. I think it was going behind Charlie’s back that turned her on more than I did.”

“Where did you two, ah, you know, do it?” Skye asked, curious as to the mechanics of the situation. “I mean, Charlie owned the only motel. Neither of you had any privacy where you lived, and as I remember you drove a Camaro—not exactly roomy enough for sex.”

“She had a few places all decked out and ready. But each boyfriend only got to know about one of them. Our place was the boathouse at the recreational club.” Vince frowned. “Wait a minute. I remember Honey talking about another of her rendezvous spots. She said ‘Union’ would be a good name for it.”

Skye thought hard. “There’s a lot of different ways you could take that. The Union versus the Confederacy, the union of two people in holy matrimony . . .”

“That doesn’t help much, does it?” Vince’s voice reflected his disappointment.

“It’s on the tip of my tongue. It’ll come to me if I think of something else.”

Time in a Bottle

Vince kept urging Skye to leave before it got too late. He was worried about her lonely drive home. The roads between Laurel and Scumble River were rural and deserted at night. At quarter to eight, she gave in and called to the deputy.

After hugging Vince good-bye, she accompanied Ed out of the jail. As she walked by the guy in the first cell, she asked casually, “What’s he in for?”

Ed locked the door and grinned. “That’s a funny one, Miss. That fellow walked into the travel agency in town and asked for an airline ticket. Didn’t care about the cost. He just wanted the next flight to Miami.

“The agent asked him the date of his return. He said no return, he wanted a one-way ticket. She wanted to know how he’d pay. He took out a roll of bills thick enough to choke a horse. They finished their business, he took the ticket and left. She figured it was sorta unusual, but . . . what the heck, it’s a weird business.

“Except he came in the next week and they went through the same routine. This time she called us. We checked things out. Shot his description to the feds, and what do you know? He’s wanted for drug smuggling in three states. We’re holding him until their agent gets here.”

Skye reclaimed her tote from the desk. “Pretty sharp travel agent.”

“They get real suspicious. There’re a lot of scams people try to play on them.”

“Thanks, Ed. I’d better get going before my meter runs out.”

“Tell Betty not to forget those cookies,” Ed shouted after Skye’s retreating back.

Betty looked up from her word search puzzle when Skye stopped at her counter to say good-bye. “Did Ed treat you okay?”

“He was very nice. What does he usually do?”

She walked with Skye to the outside door. “He likes to scare girls. You know, pretend he won’t let them out.”

“Well, thanks for taking care of him. I’m in no mood for that nonsense.” Skye waved and made her way to her car. It was eight-fifteen exactly, and the meter’s red flag popped up just as she pulled away.

Pondering the word
union,
Skye drove toward Scumble River. She turned on the radio, but WCCQ out of Crest Hill was full of static, so she tuned in to the Chicago country music station, US99.

According to the radio, it was nine on the dot when Skye turned onto Maryland Street in Scumble River. The news and weather were being broadcast, interrupting the music.

There was a moment of silence, then the announcer’s voice said, “Our big story for today is an explosion in a passenger train at Union Station.”

Skye was thinking,
Nowhere is safe,
when it hit her:
Union Station. “Union” could mean that old railroad depot on Kinsman Road. It had been vacant for years.

Without a second thought she went through the intersection at Basin, past Center Street, and turned left on Kinsman. Four blocks down, past the railroad tracks, on the left side, was the old terminal, a small clapboard building with peeling paint and broken windows.

Skye took the flashlight from the glove compartment and slid out of the car. She left her purse inside, locked the door, and pocketed the keys. It was a bright night and the moon was almost full, so she didn’t switch on the light. Cautiously, she picked her way across the loose boards and up the rotting wooden steps.

Because the door was off its hinges, she was able to shove it aside. She stepped into the room, turned on the flashlight, and played it over the interior. A dirty mattress with springs poking through the torn cover lay against one wall. Beer cans and wine bottles were scattered everywhere. An old oil lantern, melted candle stubs and empty matchbooks littered the floor.

Short of carbon dating, there was no way to tell how long this debris had been here.

Feeling discouraged, Skye was about to leave when it occurred to her.
Honey liked to hide things. Maybe she hid something here.

She looked over everything again and thought,
It can’t be in something movable. Honey would have been afraid someone would carry it off unknowingly.

A counter that ran the length of the rear wall was the only other fixed feature in the room. Skye walked around it. It was open in the back. She pointed her flashlight inside but found nothing.

She had already made her way back around the ledge and was almost out the door when she thought,
I never looked up.

Retracing her steps, she squatted down and shone the light on the underside of the counter. Nothing. Next, she reached up into the inverted crevice at the joining of the top and the front board.

Duck-walking the length of the shelf, Skye trailed her fingers along the vee. In the furthest corner she felt something. By turning around and sitting inside the opening, she could see a manila envelope attached to the wood with gray duct tape.

As Skye tore it down, she heard a cracking sound, as if one of the outside wooden steps had given way. Before coming from under the counter, she took her shirttail out of her pants and stuck the bulky envelope down the back waistband of her slacks. She blessed both elastic-waist pants and oversized blouses while she tucked her shirt back in.

A police siren sounded in the distance as she crawled backwards. It was the last thing she heard before she felt her head explode and the world disappeared.