Murder of a Stacked Librarian (4 page)

By the time Skye was done, she had half an hour to change clothes and load the car. Wally was meeting her at her folks’ since he had to work until six. Normally, he’d have been off at four, but the officer taking the afternoon shift had begged to come in a couple hours late because it was his daughter’s birthday.

When Skye pulled into her parents’ driveway, the outdoor display took her breath away. Despite the triple threat of the wedding, Loretta’s pregnancy, and the holidays, May had still gone all out with decorations. Skye’d been avoiding her mother as much as possible—talking on the phone rather than visiting—so she hadn’t been to the house since Thanksgiving. Now she stared in awe.

Her father had made a full-scale plywood sleigh and reindeers for the front lawn. In the driver’s seat a life-size Santa held the reins. Mountains of brightly wrapped boxes filled the rear of the sled, and elves clambered over the piles. Wreaths and candles lit all the windows, and the garage doors were covered in green and red to look like giant packages.

Of course, May’s concrete goose had gotten a new outfit. It wore a red dress, white apron, and fur cape with a red-and-white bonnet. Skye patted the bird’s head as she walked past. One good thing about the holidays was that her mother’s fowl wasn’t wearing clothes that were a thinly veiled message to Skye.

The inside of the house was as festooned as the outside, with a tree in every room—sometimes more than one. As Skye entered the utility room, she saw that the washer and dryer tops were filled with coats and purses, and footwear littered the floor. With cream-color carpeting in the rest of the house, May didn’t allow anyone past the dinette with his or her shoes on.

After slipping off her own ankle-high boots, Skye padded into the kitchen. Several of Skye’s aunts and female cousins were busy preparing the meal, and she called quick greetings as she eased through the congestion to put her gifts under the huge fresh pine in the living room.

The men were gathered around the television watching
Lethal Weapon
or
Die Hard
or
Batman Returns
. Skye wasn’t sure which, but it was one of those movies set during Christmastime where things were blown up and people were shot. Her uncle Dante, the town’s mayor, was screaming at the hero, “Kill ’em all!” and Skye tapped him on the shoulder.

When Dante grunted his acknowledgment of her presence, Skye said, “If I were you, I wouldn’t talk to the characters on the screen.” She winked at him. “Tests have proven they can’t hear you.”

He rolled his eyes, snorted, and turned his attention back to the show. Skye sighed and returned to the kitchen to help with the food. She’d given up on ever achieving equality of the sexes at these gatherings. There was no use mentioning that the women were doing all the work while the men sat around and drank beer. As her dad would say, it was what it was.

More and more of the family arrived, and Skye began to watch the clock. Why wasn’t Wally here? Had something happened to him? She chewed her lip. Should she call him? Resolving to give him a few more minutes, she went back to her assigned task—putting ice cubes in the plastic glasses next to the cans of soda lined up on the counter.

Finally, at six thirty, May pulled Skye partway down the hallway and whispered, “Where’s Wally?”

Skye mentally squirmed under her mother’s stare, but answered in a nonchalant voice, “Don’t get your tinsel in a tangle, Mom. He probably went home to change clothes. He’ll be here any minute.”

“People are getting hungry.” May gestured toward the living room.

“Go ahead and let them start eating. Wally won’t mind.”

“Well . . .” May trailed off as the phone rang. She took a step back toward the kitchen and snatched the receiver from the base. After she exchanged pleasantries, she listened for a few minutes, then hung up and said to Skye, “That was Sylvia at the PD.” May worked as a dispatcher at the Scumble River Police Department, so she knew all the other women who manned the police, fire, and emergency desk. “There’s been a fatal accident and Wally was called to the scene.”

“Did she say who was killed?”

“No. They don’t have an ID.” May shook her head.

“How awful.”

“Yes.” May frowned. “I just hope it’s not someone we know.” She shrugged, then added, “Wally told Sylvia to tell you he’ll call when he has a chance. I guess that means he won’t make it to the party. His first Christmas Eve with the family. I’m sorry, honey.”

Skye nodded, then pasted a smile on her face. “That’s okay. It’s not his fault.”

May put her arm around her daughter and they walked back to tell the others the news. Everyone was sympathetic, and Skye knew that Wally would be there if he were able, but she couldn’t help wondering if this was what it would be like being the wife of a police officer. More to the point, was she prepared for all the missed holidays and lonely nights?

CHAPTER 4

Read Something into It

B
ecause many of Skye’s relatives wanted to go to Midnight Mass—which was strangely scheduled at eleven o’clock—the Christmas Eve party wound down early. After everyone left, May refused Skye’s offer to help clean up and sent her away with a plate of food for Wally.

Fog started to roll in during Skye’s short drive home, and she was relieved to pull into her garage. Juggling a box of gifts, the covered dish of leftovers, and her purse, she made her way carefully into the dark house.

It was almost as cold inside as outside. Her thermostat was programmed to set the furnace to sixty-five degrees at ten p.m.—her usual bedtime—and as soon as she deposited her load on the hall bench, she hurried to turn up the heat. While she poked the little button repeatedly, Bingo wound his way around her ankles, purring loudly.

Once the temperature was set to a toasty seventy and the leftovers were in the refrigerator, Skye grabbed the phone and called Wally’s cell. When it went straight to voice mail, she left a message that she was home and for him to come over no matter the time. She wanted to spend a part of Christmas Eve with him, even if it meant a very late night.

Determined to stay up until Wally arrived, Skye changed into her flannel pajamas and settled on the white wicker love seat in the sunroom. Bingo was in his usual position on the matching chair’s floral cushion. She shook her head at the black cat. He was an expert at the law of energy conservation. Apparently his knowledge of the first law of thermodynamics—energy can’t be created or destroyed—led him to the conclusion that he should use as little of it as possible.

Skye patted Bingo’s rump, then leaned back to watch
It’s a Wonderful Life
for the eight hundredth time. Just as Clarence earned his wings, she heard the front door open. Clicking off the TV, Skye sprang to her feet and ran to greet Wally. He was shrugging off his duty jacket as she skidded into the foyer, and when he saw her, he tossed the coat on the bench and opened his arms.

Skye flew into his embrace and snuggled against his muscular chest. He smelled of hard work and Stetson aftershave. That, and the chiseled planes of his handsome face, indicating that he was a little on edge, made him even sexier than usual.

For a long minute, Wally held her close without speaking; then he turned up her chin and said, “I’m really sorry I missed your family’s Christmas Eve party. Was your mom mad? Did she give you a hard time?”

His warm brown eyes held a look of concern. May had not been in favor of Skye marrying Wally. She had disapproved of his age, his religion, and his divorced status. Only after he had obtained an annulment and promised to consider converting to Catholicism had May relented and given them her blessing. As to her final objection, the age issue, she had finally admitted that a lot of men older than Wally fathered children.

“No, Mom was fine,” Skye assured him. “In fact, she sent you supper if you’re hungry.”

“I’m starved.” He released Skye. “I haven’t had anything to eat since noon.” He loosened his tie. “Not only did it take the tow truck operator forever to drag the car out of the river, but we had to wait for the coroner, too. Reid was in the city, and with traffic it took him a good ninety minutes to get back.”

“I can imagine.” Skye’s ex-boyfriend Simon Reid was both the coroner and the owner of the local funeral home. He and Wally had settled into a polite professional relationship, but neither exactly liked the other.

“And after all that, we had trouble locating the next of kin. We finally called the number on a business card we found in the accident victim’s wallet. And—”

“If the car was in the water,” Skye interrupted him, “I’m surprised it was dry enough to read.”

“It was one of those laminated ones with a magnetic backing.”

“Ah.” Skye nodded. “How did you decide that card had a personal connection to the woman?”

“The company it was advertising had the same last name as the victim,” Wally explained, then continued his original thought. “The number on the card was answered by the victim’s ex-husband’s partner, and he gave us the ex’s home phone number. The holidays complicate everything.”

“Tell me about it.” Skye’s voice was tinged with sarcasm. “Remember? I’m the one trying to deal with our wedding details while everyone else only wants to think about Christmas.” She nudged Wally toward the stairs. “Why don’t you go take a hot shower and change into your sweats while I heat up dinner for you?”

“That would be great.” Wally ran a hand over the stubble on his chin. “This was not how I planned to spend the evening, and I’m just plain tuckered out.” He wrinkled his forehead. “Maybe I’m getting too old for police work.”

“Hardly.” Skye shook her head. Wally would be forty-four in February, and the slight gray at his temples only made him more attractive. “Anyone would be tired if they pulled a double shift and spent the last six or so hours out in the cold and wind on an empty stomach.”

He shrugged, then trudged up the steps. Fifteen minutes later, they were seated at the kitchen table and Skye watched him inhale his dinner.

When Wally paused to take a swig of Sam Adams, she said, “Was the accident victim someone local?”

“Yes and no.” Wally buttered one of the Parker House rolls that Skye had snagged and hidden away for him. May had used her mother-in-law’s famous recipe, and the crusty brown buns had disappeared faster than a magician could palm a quarter.

“Which is it?” Skye frowned. “Yes or no?”

“Well, she’s been living in Scumble River for the past six months, but she wasn’t from here and she was moving away in a couple of weeks.”

“Oh.” Skye racked her brain for anyone she knew who fit that criteria, but when she came up empty, she asked, “So who was it?”

“Yvonne Osborn.” Wally pushed back his empty plate and drained the last of his beer.

“Oh, my gosh!” Skye felt her chest tighten. “I was just talking to her yesterday.”

“At the library?”

“Uh-huh. I was there working on my vows when that jerk who owns the new health club asked her out. And when Yvonne said no, he got really mad and grabbed her. I thought for a minute I’d have to run down to the PD and get one of your officers.” Skye wrinkled her forehead. “If she hadn’t Tasered him, I don’t know what would have happened.”

“Yvonne used a stun gun on someone Saturday morning?” Wally’s expression was thoughtful.

“Uh-huh.”

“Did the guy leave after that?”

“Grudgingly. He said something like ‘You’ll be sorry’ and called her a bad name.” Skye bit her lip. “He’s a big guy, so it was sort of scary.”

“Interesting.” Wally narrowed his eyes.

“Why?”

“Well . . .” Wally shook his head. “I better not speculate.”

“Come on.” Skye punched him lightly on the arm. “It’s not like I’m going to quote you to a reporter or take an ad out in the
Star
.”

“Okay, but don’t mention anything to Trixie,” Wally cautioned.

“I promise.” Skye’s best friend and her matron of honor, Trixie Frayne, was writing a mystery, which meant that she considered any crime that took place in Scumble River fodder for her plot.

“The thing is that something about the accident scene seemed hinky to me.”

“How so?”

“That’s the problem.” Wally got up and put his plate in the sink. “I can’t put my finger on it, but something just doesn’t seem right.”

“Hmm.” Skye could sympathize. As a school psych, there were times when her gut told her there was a problem that her psychological tests were not detecting. Unfortunately, like Wally, she needed proof in order to do anything about it.

Wally opened the refrigerator and peered inside.

“Are you still hungry?” Skye asked as he stared at the contents.

“Sort of.” Wally snagged the Tupperware container that held the remaining zuppa Inglese and pried off the cover. “What’s this?”

“It’s a dessert.” Skye joined him. “The Italian version of a trifle, only more fattening. Want to try it?”

“Sure.” Wally got a spoon from the drawer and sat back down.

“I’m going to make some hot chocolate.” Skye grabbed the milk carton from the fridge and turned the flame on under the teakettle. “Would you like some?”

“No, thanks.”

While Skye measured unsweetened cocoa powder, sugar, and a pinch of salt into a saucepan, she considered what Wally had told her about the accident, then asked, “Where did the car go off the road?”

“That one-lane bridge, where Kinsman crosses over the river.”

“The same spot I went off when that lunatic was trying to kill me?” Skye felt her stomach clench at the memory of the day she’d been forced to drive her car over the side of the bridge in order to save herself from a murderer.

“Almost exactly.” Wally ate a spoonful of dessert. “I keep telling the mayor the city needs to widen that bridge or at least pave it.”

The surface of the bridge consisted of narrow planks of wood that vehicles were supposed to position their tires on in order to cross safely.

“I agree, but Uncle Dante will never spend the money on it.” Skye paused, recalling something that the librarian had mentioned in passing. “In fact, Yvonne said that Dante is going around saying the police department is useless.”