Murder of a Small-Town Honey (9 page)

The first words out of her mother’s mouth were, “Hope you’re hungry. Supper’s almost ready.” To May, food equaled love, and no further words of affection needed to be spoken.

Skye noted the time on the green-and-white-flowered wall clock—five minutes after six. “Isn’t it a little late for you guys to be eating dinner?”

“Dad’s been up since five-thirty. He’s already cut Grandma Leofanti’s grass, put new seat covers on the pickup, and will be finishing our lawn in a few minutes. I dispatched from eleven to seven last night at the police station, then walked my three miles with Hester and Maggie, cleaned up the house, put up twelve quarts of corn, and slept this afternoon. You know we’re busy in the summer. We hardly have time to eat.”

Skye knew better than to prolong this conversation. She’d had the same one too many times before. If it went any farther, her mom would start asking what Skye had accomplished that day—merely going to work would not have met with approval.

Instead, Skye started to set the table. The plates, glasses, and flatware were in the same place they had been for as long as she could remember. She moved the salt and pepper shakers and the napkin holder from the counter to the table.

“What are we having?” Skye asked, peering into the refrigerator.

“Fried chicken, corn on the cob—it’s the last of the season—Grandma Denison’s rolls, mashed potatoes, and stewed tomatoes.”

Skye grimaced.
Stewed tomatoes, the soul food of Scumble River.
“It’s hard to believe Grandma is still making rolls from scratch at eighty-one. I stopped over there last Friday after school and she was making pies for the Lions Club to sell at Chokeberry Days.”

May stopped stirring long enough to give Skye a sharp look. “Hard work keeps us all going.”

Seeing that Skye was holding a brown plastic tub, she added, “Make sure you put out the real butter for Dad. He won’t touch that Country Crock stuff I use for my cholesterol.” May paused and gave Skye another sharp look. “You better use the Country Crock too, since you’re still carrying around all that weight you gained last year.”

Before Skye could respond, the back door slammed. Jed detoured into the tiny half bath off the utility room in order to wash his hands, and came out still carrying the towel. His jeans hung low, accommodating his belly, and his navy T-shirt was sweat-soaked and torn, evidence of his hard day of work.

“Ma, I think this one’s had it. You can see right through it, and it won’t dry my hands no more.”

Jed held the threadbare towel up to the light.

“Maybe Vince could use it at his shop. I hate to just throw it away.” May walked over and examined the towel critically.

“How many times do I have to tell you? We aren’t giving him a thing ’til he gets over this notion of being a hairdresser. No son of mine is going to do ladies’ hair for a living. I’ve got three hundred acres to farm, and my son won’t even help me.”

May started to reply but seemed to think better of it and turned back to the stove to remove ears of sweet corn from boiling water. Jed stomped to his chair. Skye finished putting the food out and joined him at the table. May, carrying an enormous platter of chicken, was the last to sit.

They ate silently. Skye brooded, upset because her father still hadn’t accepted her brother’s choice of occupation and her mother was still nagging her about her weight. It was no use trying to change their minds, and she was tired of arguing with them.

Near the end of the meal, Skye’s thoughts turned to the murder. “So, Mom, any news at the police station about Mrs. Gumtree?”

Nodding, May took a sip of her iced tea. “Yeah, but they’re all acting really secretive. I tried to pump Roy last night, and he just said the chief would have his hide if he blabbed anything.”

“Maybe what they’re trying to hide is that they’re clueless. That new coroner didn’t seem too impressive.”

“Sounds like you and Simon didn’t hit it off,” Jed said as he slathered butter on his third roll.

“He seems a little arrogant and conceited.” Skye studied her plate and carefully speared a tiny bit of stewed tomato.

May tilted her head. “Seems to me that’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

Skye pushed back her plate. “What? Are you saying you think I’m arrogant and conceited?”

“I wouldn’t say arrogant and conceited exactly.” May jumped up and brought over strawberry shortcake, dishing it out without asking who wanted some. Refusing food was not an option in May’s kitchen. It never seemed to occur to May that she sent mixed messages—lose weight, but be sure to clear your plate first.

Skye’s mother continued, “But you are a little snobbish and sort of vain. I mean, look at what you said in your valedictorian speech at school.”

Skye pushed her dessert plate away. One mistake, twelve years ago, and not even her own mother ever let her forget. “You just don’t understand the difference between self-esteem and egotism,” Skye said.

“Maybe not.” May finished her cake and began to collect the dirty dishes. “But I do know what the Bible says: ‘Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.’”

No one spoke as the two women finished clearing the table.

Finally Jed got up and headed toward the back door. “So how’s the car running?”

Skye faked a smile. “Fine. It never breaks down, that’s for sure.”

“That car will last forever if you take care of it the right way. If you’re going to be here a while, how about I change the oil?”

Skye hid her true feelings about the car. “That would be great, Dad. I’m going to help Mom with the dishes, so you’ll have plenty of time.” She went to the sink and shook out the dishcloth. “If you get a chance, take a look and see if you can figure out why the seat belt on the passenger side won’t unfasten.”

“Will do. I’ll probably need to order some parts,” Jed said as he left for the garage.

May took the dishcloth out of Skye’s hands and replaced it with a towel. “Why don’t you talk to Vince? Maybe if he helped in the field, your dad could forget the other.” Obviously May had decided the subject of Skye’s pride was closed.

Skye carefully dried the dish she was holding and tried to form an acceptable answer. Finally she equivocated, “Remember, I’m Vince’s little sister. I’d be the last one he’d go to for advice.”

“He’d listen to you if you explained about Dad.” May rinsed the soap off the plate Skye was about to dry.

“Vince has had the shop for almost ten years now. He has real talent. He’s happy doing what he’s doing. He hated farming. He hated the hours, the uncertainty, and the dirt. It’s time for Dad to give it up.”

May stopped scrubbing the big black cast-iron frying pan that Skye’s grandmother had also used to fry chicken when May was a little girl. “Maybe if you married someone who would help your dad in the fields . . .”

“Mom, that isn’t going to happen either. You and Dad have already tried to fix me up with every guy whose father owns land anywhere near ours.” She twirled a lock of her hair. “Let’s see, there were the two pig farmers to the south, the four Piket brothers to the west, Zeke Zadock to the north, and the triplets to the east. Presumably at least some of those
eligible
bachelors are married by now.”

“What did we do wrong? It’s not natural that neither of my children is married. What about our marriage scared you so much?”

Skye muttered, “You don’t really want to know. Maybe I should tell you just for spite.”

Her mother was a social butterfly, wanting to be out doing something or going somewhere all the time. Her dad, on the other hand, was a homebody, content to putter in his yard and garage. It seemed to Skye that her parents rarely agreed on anything.

Withdrawing her head and upper torso from the cupboard, where she’d been putting pans away, May gave Skye a hard look. “What’s that? What did you say?”

“Nothing, Mother, talking to myself. How do you like dispatching? I was surprised at Christmas when you told me you were taking a job—especially that one.”

“A little extra money is always good. Besides, it’s been pretty lonely here with you gone and your brother on his own.” May looked sideways at Skye. “So, I took the first job Charlie could get me.”

“Did Charlie help Vince too? It looks as if everyone but Dad owes Charlie their job.”

“Well, in a way. You can never tell your dad this, but he co-signed Vince’s loan for the shop.”

“Mmmm, I always wondered how Vince got the money. I knew Dad didn’t give it to him, so I thought maybe you had managed to slip it to him somehow.”

“Your dad and I don’t have that kind of money, you know that. Besides, I’d never go behind your father’s back.” May snapped the towel out of Skye’s hands and folded it across the rack.

“Are you working tonight?” Skye asked.

“Yes. I’ve got the eleven-to-seven shift again. Things are really crazy with that Gumtree woman getting herself killed and all.”

Skye checked her watch and discovered it was already past eight o’clock. “Time to get going. There’s still a lot of unpacking I’ve got to get done. I don’t know where the past week has gone.”

“Why couldn’t you live here? Your room is ready for you, and you could save all that money you’re paying for rent. How much are you paying?”

“I’m used to having my own space. You’d be as uncomfortable with me back home as I would be living here.” Skye avoided revealing exactly how much her rent was.

“Well, why didn’t you at least move back sooner? I could have taken some time off and helped you unpack and get settled.”

“Don’t you remember me telling you I needed to finish some cases after school got out? There were several meetings scheduled that I had to attend.”

May pouted. “We didn’t even have time to go shopping for school clothes.”

“Mo-o-ther.” Skye drew out the single word to show her extreme displeasure.

“Okay, okay. I hope you wore something nice for your first day.”

“Yes, Mother. I wore clean underwear, too.”

At first May scowled at the impertinent retort, but seeing Skye’s grin she wavered, and then started to giggle.

They were both laughing at that oft-repeated line by the time they walked out the back door and watched Jed finish with the Impala.

He wiped his hands on the rag sticking out of his back pocket. “I’ll have to order a part for your seat belt. I got it undone, but don’t let anyone use it. It’ll probably take a couple weeks to get the new buckle. With the age of this car, parts are hard to find.”

Skye nodded and looked around for the family’s pet Labrador retriever. “Where’s Chocolate?”

“I had to put him in the pen. He wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“Chocolate’s only a puppy, Dad. You’ve got to train him. I’ll give you some books on behavior management. It’s like what I do with kids. If he does what you ask, you reward him. When he does something inappropriate, you give him consequences.”

“The only thing that dog understands is a kick in the ass.”

“Da-ad.”

Feeling besieged by both parents’ attitudes, Skye thanked her father for the oil change and her mother for supper, all the while sliding into her car and anticipating her escape down the lane.

You’ve Got a Friend

Skye didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she felt herself exhale. What was it about her parents that impaired her verbal abilities and made her react like a twelve-year-old? Although they were wonderful, down-to-earth people, they could not accept either of their children making adult decisions. She loved them dearly, but they drove her crazy.

She relaxed against the car seat and retraced her route as far as the stoplight on Basin Street. Here she turned left and headed toward her cottage. This six-block area of Scumble River’s business district contained Stybr’s Florist, from which Skye had received her first corsage; the Strike and Spare Bowling Alley, where she went on her first date; and Oakes Real Estate, from whom she rented her cottage. Mike Young’s studio, the bank, and the dry cleaner were also situated on that modest stretch of road.

She sighed. Scumble River was so much the same as when she’d left, it was hard to remember she wasn’t eighteen anymore.

Upon reaching home, Skye put a load of laundry in the machine and started to unpack a carton of books. She stopped to admire the built-in bookshelves lining the great room’s outer walls between the sliding glass doors.

Working steadily, she stopped only to put wet clothes in the dryer, soiled clothes in the washer, or clean clothes in drawers and closets. She had lost track of the time when the phone rang but glanced at the microwave’s clock before she answered it. Its digital readout glowed 11:06 P.M., too late by Scumble River’s standards for a social chat.

“Hello?”

There was no answer, and Skye was beginning to think she was the victim of an obscene call when she heard someone crying.

“Hello, who is this?”

Another pause, then finally a voice said, “It’s Mom. Hold on.”

Skye’s heart stopped. If her mother was calling this late and crying, it could mean only one thing. Someone in the family had died.

After a few minutes, May continued, “Skye, it’s your brother.”

Her eyes began to tear, and she sank suddenly to the floor. “Vince? What happened to Vince?”

“He’s been arrested for the murder of that Gumtree woman.”

“What?”

“They have him at the police station right now. They were just bringing him in when I got to work. Wally wanted me to go home, but I said I’d go on and work my shift.” May’s voice sounded more steady as she told the story.

“Does he have a lawyer?”

“No, there’s no one here but Vince, Wally, and a few other officers.”

Skye’s thoughts were coming fast and furious. “Okay, Mom, do exactly as I say. I don’t have time to argue or explain. Put the phone down and go tell Vince to say absolutely nothing until I get there with an attorney. If they try to stop you from seeing him, push your way in. They certainly aren’t going to risk hurting you. Make sure Vince understands not to say anything. Not one word. Put your hand over his mouth if you have to. Do it right now.”