Murder of a Stacked Librarian (16 page)

“No,” Isla admitted. “There’s no way I can do it. All my equipment is ruined, and I don’t have anywhere to bake or decorate.”

“Oh, my God!” Skye moaned, then silently beseeched the Almighty.
Really?
Really?
She was trying to be laid-back. She wasn’t being a bridezilla. What had she done? Why was this happening to her?

Wally held his phone to his chest and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“No wedding cake.” Skye briefly explained, then realized that Isla was still on the line and begged, “You don’t have spare cakes in the freezer? You could decorate them at my house. Or you could even bake the cakes there. I have a big kitchen and I could help.”

“I’m so sorry, but it takes special pans and tools, and I just don’t have any extras.” Isla paused, then said, “But I do have your topper. It was in the dining room, so it wasn’t damaged.”

“That’s something, I guess.” Skye’s tone was flat. While she was thrilled that her one-of-a-kind, special-order topper, with the groom in a police uniform and the bride with chestnut hair and green eyes, was safe, she had no idea what she would put it on. Maybe she could create a Twinkie, Ding Dong, and Sno Ball structure like the one the Dooziers had made for Elvis’s wedding. Skye’s lips twitched. Wouldn’t that send May over the edge?

Focusing, Skye arranged with Isla to drop off the topper at the police station—she’d let Isla explain to May about the absent wedding cake—then said goodbye. As Wally wrapped up his call with Tom Riley’s last delivery customer, Skye slumped in her chair. What would she do?

Skye was so sunk in despair, it took her a few minutes to recognize that the baker was speaking to her. She tuned in just in time to hear him say, “So I could do it.”

“What?” Skye blinked away the tears she’d been holding back and concentrated on the man standing over her. “Could you repeat that please?”

“I said I couldn’t help overhearing that your baker won’t be able to make your cake.” Tom twisted his apron, a faint flush on his freckled cheeks. “So I offered to do it.”

“The wedding is Saturday,” Skye warned, not wanting to get her hopes up.

“Well, if you don’t mind keeping it simple, I could make a cake by then.” Tom gazed over her head, apparently visualizing a calendar because he said, “Today’s the twenty-seventh, so if I bake the layers after you leave this afternoon, I can ice it in the morning and stack it after the shop closes tomorrow, which gives me Friday afternoon to decorate it.” He paused, then cautioned, “But you have to be satisfied with the ingredients I have on hand.”

“I don’t have a problem with that.” Skye looked over at Wally. How did he feel about hiring someone involved in an ongoing investigation? When he stared back at her without responding, she prodded, “Is it okay with you if Tom makes our wedding cake?”

Wally twitched, seeming to surface from some sort of reverie, thought for a second, and shrugged. “His alibi checked out, so he’s no longer a suspect. And since I’m certain there are others who can testify that Yvonne and her ex didn’t get along, he’s not a vital witness to anything, so sure. Why not?”

“Then you’re hired.” Skye jumped from her chair and hugged the startled baker. “Thank you so, so, so much. You really saved the day.”

“You’re, uh, welcome.” Tom patted her awkwardly on the back, then stepped away. “Do you have time to fill out the order form now?”

“Definitely.” Skye glanced at Wally, and at his nod, she turned to Tom and said, “When do I need to get the topper to you?”

“Friday before two thirty,” Tom answered as he rummaged behind the counter for an order pad and pencil. “Have a seat and let’s get started. How many guests are you expecting?”

“Three hundred and ninety at last count.” Skye took Wally’s hand and murmured, “Mom added a few since the last time I told you.”

“What a surprise,” Wally teased. “She’s determined to outdo your California cousin’s wedding, and since you won’t let her go over-the-top with decor or entertainment, she’s doing it with sheer volume.”

“For that number of servings, you’ll need four tiers.” Tom made a note on his form. “You can have all the same flavor or different ones for each layer.”

“We were going to have two chocolate, a yellow, and a white.” Skye chewed her lip. “We were thinking those flavors would cover all the bases so that there should be something everyone likes. Are you able to do that?”

“Sure.” Tom chewed on the end of his pencil. “I could also do red velvet for one of the chocolate tiers, since it’s my specialty.”

“That would be amazing.” Skye beamed. “I adore red velvet. It’s a shame we can’t have Wally’s favorite. He loves carrot cake.”

“I can do carrot cake in place of the white, which can be a little bland.”

“Great!” Skye leaned over to hug the baker again, but when he flinched, she contented herself with patting his arm. “You’re amazing.”

“Nah.” Tom flushed, then got back to business. “With red velvet and carrot, I’d go with a cream cheese icing for the filling,” he suggested. “Do you want fondant or buttercream frosting?”

“Buttercream,” Skye decided, then added, “Our theme is winter wonderland and my bridesmaids are wearing red.” She tilted her head. “Can you do anything with that for the decoration?”

“I have just the thing.” Tom’s hazel eyes glowed and he got up, trotted into the back, and returned carrying a box. “We could use these.” He scooped up a handful of delicate crystal and silver snowflakes. “I ordered these for a cake I’m making in February, so I have plenty of time to reorder if you want them.”

“They’re perfect,” Skye crooned, touching one with her fingertip.

“And how about a fondant red ribbon and bow with the ribbons trailing down the tiers?”

“Brilliant.”

Tom scribbled furiously on his form, then asked, “Do you have any ideas for decorating the cake table?”

“My gown is trimmed in white faux fur, so maybe red-and-white marabou boas,” Skye suggested. “The florist said they’d have extra evergreen boughs, so we could twist the boas around those.”

“Wonderful. I have to drive to the grocery store tomorrow night. I’ll go to the Meijer on Boughton Road in Bolingbrook so I can get the boas at the Hobby Lobby down the street. I can call my friend Jan who works there and make sure what we need is in stock.” Tom whipped a calculator from his pocket, punched several buttons, frowned, entered in a few more numbers, then announced, “I can do what you want for six hundred dollars. Is that okay?”

Before Skye could answer, Wally declared, “Sold.” He took out his wallet, handed the baker his Platinum American Express, and said, “Charge it.”

• • •

“Thanks. I owe you one for the rush job.” Wally spoke into his cell phone as he and Skye sat in the parked squad car. “If you can keep this whole thing quiet, I’d appreciate it.”

“The drugs in the evidence closet were what they should have been,” Skye deduced, putting together his side of the conversation with his relieved expression. “Which means whatever Zuchowski was selling, it wasn’t police property and you weren’t negligent.”

“Thank goodness for small favors.” Wally eased the Caprice onto the street and headed out of Laurel. “But I still have a bad apple on my force, and the mayor will have a field day with that.”

“You can handle Uncle Dante,” Skye reassured him. “And if he gives you a hard time, we’ll sic my mother on him. In a few days you’ll be her son-in-law, and no one messes with May’s kids, not even her brother.”

“That would be an interesting battle to observe.” Wally’s lips twitched. “But I screwed up and I have to fix this mess myself.”

“Which you will.” Skye realized that they were driving in the direction of Scumble River rather than I-80. “Aren’t we going to go reinterview Neil Osborn? I thought you wanted to confront him about his lies regarding his relationship with Yvonne.”

“I think this time we should talk to the vic’s ex when he’s at work rather than comfortable in his own home,” Wally explained. “Besides, I want to verify what Tom told us regarding Yvonne’s feelings about Osborn before I question him again.”

“That makes sense.” Skye checked her watch. It was almost five o’clock. So much for getting to the bank while it was still open.

“Phoebe gave me a list of Yvonne’s friends and her previous colleagues, so I’ll call them and see what their impressions were of her feelings for her ex. Then I’d like to go talk to Chip Nicolet. His health club closes at nine, so I want to get there about eight forty-five.” Wally glanced at Skye. “I’ll understand if you don’t have time to come with me.”

“Thanks, but I’m fine.” Skye crossed her fingers that she was telling the truth. “I think I have everything under control.”

“Excellent.” Wally grinned at her. “Since you witnessed the altercation between him and Yvonne, it’ll be helpful to have you at the interview.”

“Let’s see. It’ll be close to six when we get to town, so that gives you two and a half hours to make your calls.” Skye thought about what tasks she could accomplish while Wally was busy. “How about I meet you back at the station at eight thirty?”

“Sounds good.” He paused, a guilty look on his face. “Unless you want to stop and get some supper before we start working.”

“What if we swing through Mickey D’s drive-up?” Skye suggested. “That way you can eat at your desk and I’ll take mine home.”

“You’re the best.” Wally squeezed Skye’s knee. “Thanks for understanding.”

Once they reached Scumble River, picked up their dinner from McDonald’s, and Skye was in her Bel Air, she realized that she should have gone into the PD to tell her mother that she had arranged for another wedding cake. She wasn’t sure when Isla was dropping off the topper, but May needed to know that the matter had been handled before she went monster-of-the-bride on the poor woman.

As soon as Skye got inside her house, she phoned her mother to explain the cake situation. Predictably, May didn’t take the news well, but after being reassured that a replacement had already been ordered, she calmed down enough to agree that a fire was not Isla’s fault. After a torrent of other wedding-related questions, comments, suggestions, and concerns, Skye was finally able to say goodbye to her mother and feed Bingo.

The impatient black cat had been rubbing against Skye’s ankles, purring loudly and meowing the whole time she talked to her mother. Now he watched intently as Skye opened the cupboard door, selected a can of Fancy Feast, and popped off the top. She scooped half into his bowl, then snapped on a plastic lid and put the remainder in the fridge.

Skye placed his dish on the floor and Bingo rushed toward it, but before he reached the food, he skidded to a stop. Scrambling backward, he rose on his hind legs and did what Skye could only describe as a kitty conga; then with his fur bristling, he ran from the room.

What in the heck had happened? Skye hadn’t heard anything and she was alone in the kitchen. Wait. She sniffed. What was that smell? It was citrusy, but with a hint of jasmine and patchouli. Skye had noticed the same scent before and done some research. It was a perfume called Tabu that had been popular in the 1930s, and it had been Mrs. Griggs’s favorite cologne.

Was the ghost here? Was the former owner’s spirit what had scared Bingo? But why would the pesky poltergeist be around now? Wally wasn’t even in the house, let alone getting frisky. Great! Was Mrs. Griggs going to start haunting her all the time?

Skye shrugged. At least nothing had caught on fire or been broken, and it wouldn’t hurt Bingo to lose a few pounds.

After gulping down her Caesar salad, Skye headed upstairs. It was past time to pack for her honeymoon. Last August, she’d hit the end of summer sales at Coldwater Creek and Macy’s at the Bolingbrook Promenade and at Von Maur in Lombard, and she now hoped she had everything she needed. Finding shorts, capris, or lightweight dresses in the dead of winter in Illinois wasn’t something she wanted to attempt.

Sixty minutes later, while she was trying to decide if she really needed both white and black sandals, her doorbell rang. Skye frowned. She wasn’t expecting anyone and her house’s location on a seldom-used rural road meant she rarely had drop-in visitors.

With a sense of dread, Skye ran down the steps and peered out the window next to the door. Clutching her chest, she moaned. What was Earl Doozier doing on her front porch, and why was he holding a dog dressed in a pink tutu?

CHAPTER 15

Truth Is Stranger
Than Fiction

S
kye backed slowly away from the door, afraid the stress of the wedding had finally made her lose her mind and she was hallucinating. The dog in Earl’s arms looked a lot like a furry ballerina. Along with a tulle skirt, it was wearing a tiny rose-colored tee with a heart-shaped chiffon appliqué and itsy-bitsy pink ballet slippers on each of its four paws.

The bell rang again, followed by a series of urgent knocks, and Skye reluctantly approached the window to take another peek. She pushed the curtain aside and nearly had a heart attack. Earl’s face was pressed against the glass, distorting his already decidedly odd features into a grotesque parody of himself.

Earl spotted Skye at the same time she saw him, which pretty much removed the option of pretending that she was out. Even as she recognized that she shouldn’t, she unlocked the dead bolt. It was probably a bad decision, but she couldn’t hurt the peculiar little man’s feelings by snubbing him. Not being completely crazy, she left the chain on and opened the door only a crack.

“Miz Skye, I’s so glad you’re to home.” Earl’s usual mossy grin was lacking. “Youse gotta tell me what to do with it.”

“It being the dog?” Skye guessed, then added, “It is a dog, right?” Knowing the Dooziers’ proclivity for inbreeding, she was half afraid the tiny creature Earl held in his arms might be his niece. His brother Elvis’s wife
had
given birth rather recently.

“A course it’s a pooch. Her name’s Sugar Plum.” Earl shoved his camo trucker hat farther back on his head and scratched the bald spot he revealed. “Whatcha think it was, one of my kids?” He hooted at his own wit, making a sound that was a cross between an owl in heat and a whooping police siren.