Murder of a Sweet Old Lady (23 page)

“Another thing, when they pumped her stomach, could they tell if she had swallowed the pills whole, or were they added to something she ate or drank?” Skye paused and thought. “Too bad all the dishes will have been washed or disposed of since yesterday.”

“Okay, I’ll check into it, but I can’t afford to have someone guard her door until we have more evidence.” Wally wrote in his own notebook. “The best I can do is let the hospital know to keep an eye out.”

Skye stopped herself from making a sarcastic comment about closing the barn door when it was too late to do any good. “One more thing.”

He was already walking down the hall.

“Could you make sure the hospital doesn’t let anyone visit her unaccompanied?” Skye yelled.

His voice floated back. “Yeah, fine, okay.”

Skye turned to her mom. “Do you still want me to quit bothering everyone with my questions?” When May didn’t answer, Skye added, “If the murderer isn’t found soon, he may go after Aunt Minnie again.”

“Maybe, but I’m worried that if you keep poking your nose in where it doesn’t belong, you might be next.”

 

Looking around at the chaos inside her cottage Skye could almost believe it had been vandalized again, except she knew she had done it all herself. Bingo didn’t seem to care. He was nestled among the dirty clothes spilling from the overfull hamper.

After changing to old jean shorts and a ragged T-shirt, Skye started in on the mess. First, she stripped the bed and dumped the sheets in the washer. Remaking the bed with fresh linens was a challenge due to Bingo’s desire to play hide-and-seek among the covers.

Next, she sorted laundry and cleaned the bathrooms. Bingo followed her every move, appearing to think she was a giant mouse he was stalking.

Since Skye rarely cooked, the kitchen took only a few minutes to wipe down. This left the great room. She was looking for the furniture polish when the doorbell rang.

Bingo beat her to the entry and was pacing impatiently when she arrived. Peeking through the side window, Skye groaned.

She reluctantly opened the door. “Hi, Simon. Sorry I’m such a mess. I was just cleaning. You look awfully spiffy for a Thursday afternoon.”

“Thanks, I’ve got a funeral at one. I thought maybe you’d be free for lunch now that school’s out.” Simon walked into the foyer.

“Gee, I’d love to but, as I said, I’m hardly dressed to go out.” Skye led the way into the great room.

“Well, I’m sure no one at McDonald’s would mind how you’re dressed.” Simon sat beside her on the couch.

“How about I make us salad and soup right here?”

“I’d really like to take you out, but if that’s your best offer, I accept.” Simon loosened his tie, took off his suit jacket, and scooted closer to her.

“Ah, good, just let me wash up a little, and I’ll get started on lunch.” Skye retreated into her bedroom and firmly closed the door.

She reemerged in ten minutes, having washed her face, changed tops, and combed her hair. Simon was in the kitchen, looking into an open cupboard. Bingo was twining around his legs, meowing.

“Looks like it’s time for a visit to the Super Value.” Simon gestured to the empty shelves.

“Yeah, I’ve gotten a little behind with my housekeeping chores.” She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bag of salad and a bottle of dressing. “Do you see any soup?”

Simon showed her two cans. “Tomato or chicken noodle?”

“You choose. The saucepans are to the left of the stove on the bottom.” Skye grabbed bowls, napkins, and flatware. “I hear the final tox screen came in on Grandma. What was used to poison her?”

“You know I can’t tell you that. How did you know about it anyway?”

She mimicked him: “You know I can’t tell you that.”

“Look, let’s have a nice lunch without talking about murder.” Simon rummaged among the shelves until he found a tray.

“Fine.” Skye watched Simon load the tray with their bowls. She added glasses of soda, then led the way to the patio.

They’d finished eating and were laughing about their latest attempt to teach another couple to play bridge when the doorbell rang.

“Were you expecting anyone?”

She shook her head and made her way through the house to the foyer. The chief of police stood in a halo of sunlight on her front steps. The early afternoon sun glinted on his gold badge.

Skye wondered briefly if he was the angel of death. “Come on in, Wally. Nothing wrong I hope.”

“No, just thought I’d drop by and talk to you about our conversation this morning. Maybe over lunch, if you haven’t eaten.”

Before Skye could respond, Simon walked in off the patio.

“What brings you here, Chief?” He casually draped his arm around Skye’s shoulders.

“Following up a lead Skye and I came up with this morning.”

“Oh?” Simon narrowed his eyes.

“Yep.” Wally smiled slightly.

Both men turned to Skye, who frantically searched her mind for something to say.

“Gee, Wally, Simon and I just had lunch, and he has to get going.” She glanced at her watch. “Oh, my, it’s already twelve-thirty and I know you like to be there to let the family in early.”

Simon glowered as he shrugged into his jacket and straightened his tie. “I’ll call you tonight after the services.” He kissed her cheek and left.

“He didn’t seem happy to see me here,” Wally said.

“Probably just in a hurry.” With a sense of déjà vu, Skye led the way into the great room and sat down.

Wally joined her couch and opened up his notebook. “The hospital has agreed to limit visitors to your aunt.”

“But no guard, right?” When he nodded she continued, “So anyone could still sneak in and kill her.”

“It’s the best I can do without some proof.” Wally’s eyes never left Skye’s face. “At least the psych ward is a lot more secure than the others.”

Skye forced herself not to resort to sarcasm. This wasn’t Wally’s fault. “Did you find out about her stomach contents?”

“No pill fragments. They were probably crushed into some food or drink.”

“And that isn’t enough proof for you?” she asked.

“No. If she was as antimedication as you say, it’s possible that was the only way she could force herself to take them.”

“Or, more likely, the only way someone could slip them to her.”

“I did go around and stop the trash from being removed from the church hall. Since you used mostly paper plates and cups, we might still find something. I sent it all to the lab.”

“If I had to guess, I’d pick the foam cups to test first. Aunt Minnie drinks lots of coffee with milk and sugar. That would be a good place to put the crushed pills.”

“I’ll let them know that.” He made a note. “Anything else?”

“Well, since you didn’t find a container, would it prove anything to you to test the inside of Aunt Minnie’s purse for residue?”

“You mean, would the absence of residue prove she didn’t take the pills?”

Skye nodded.

“No, negative evidence isn’t considered compelling.”

“Oh.” Skye turned and sat on one leg so she could face him. “Thanks for telling me all this.”

The tips of his ears turned red. “Just because I don’t have enough proof doesn’t mean your thinking wasn’t helpful.”

“Thanks.” Skye gulped. “What a sweet thing to say. I’m so glad you don’t think I’m interfering.”

“Not as long as you come to me and don’t try to investigate on your own.” Wally took her hands. “I don’t want you to put yourself in danger.”

A shiver went down the back of her neck at his touch. His fingers were warm and slightly calloused. She tried to draw away but he tightened his grip.

When she spoke her voice sounded as if she had just finished jogging. “Would it be possible for me to see my grandmother’s reports?”

He chuckled deep in his chest. “That might be arranged.”

She tried to find something to say, but her focus shifted to his lips, which were moving toward her. This time when she tried to free her hands he let them go, only to wrap his arms around her a moment later.

He smelled like cinnamon and the last thing she noticed before he closed the slight distance between them were his eyes. Usually a warm milk chocolate, they had darkened until they were almost black.

Wally’s mouth settled gently on hers, then increased its pressure. At first she nestled closer, allowing her fingertips to explore his jaw and wander into the thick, blunt texture of his hair.

But as he began to deepen the kiss, a tiny part of her common sense pushed its way forward. She levered herself from the circle of his arms.

Skye could barely get enough breath to speak. “This isn’t a good idea.”

“Why?” A line appeared between his eyebrows. “Are you saying you don’t feel anything for me?”

Skye backed toward the foyer. “No. I mean yes. I mean, I do feel something for you. I always have, but this is way too soon. Darleen could still decide to come back.”

Wally opened his mouth, then closed it without speaking. He looked at her with troubled eyes, picked up his notebook and tucked it into his shirt pocket before walking to the door. “This isn’t the end of it, you know.”

Skye nodded and whispered to his back as he walked toward his squad car, “I know.”

She sighed and started in on the remaining chores. She finally understood what the song, “Torn Between Two Lovers” meant. Hustling Simon out so quickly had been a bad idea. But having both men in the same room was far too uncomfortable. She needed to make some decisions pretty darn soon.

The afternoon stretched ahead of her and the cottage felt empty. Skye finished cleaning about three and, after taking a shower, sat down to read. But for once the printed page couldn’t hold her attention. Something she had seen or heard was teasing the edge of her unconscious. She knew the only way to lure the bit of information to the surface was to totally ignore it and do something else. It was time to visit the survivalists.

Sing for Your Supper

Skye had considered asking Wally to go with her to the survivalist camp, but having the chief of police along did not go with her cover story. She was stopping by to see how Perry Underwood was doing after his problem at school. In fact, if she didn’t go alone, her explanation of why she was there wouldn’t hold up. She had to be there as Ms. Denison, school psychologist. And Ms. Denison would not have an escort.

If a pickup had not been pulling out as she drove up the road, Skye would have missed the entrance to the camp entirely. A camouflaged gate guarded the entry and there was little evidence on the ground that vehicles regularly went in and out.

She stopped her car and got out. How did the gate open? She put her fingers through the leaf-covered wire mesh and tugged. It slid smoothly to the right on well-oiled tracks. Thank goodness it wasn’t locked.

As Skye guided the Buick down the tightly packed dirt lane, she wondered how the heck she was going to locate the Underwoods. Then she realized she could work the circumstances in her favor. She had an excuse to stop and talk to other people as she tried to find them.

Trailers and tents of every description were set up along the hills and lakes. All were heavily screened by dense foliage. This area had been one of the many coal mines, and the unique landscaping was the result.

When the mining companies abandoned Scumble River thirty years ago, the huge holes in the ground and equally large slag heaps next to them were eyesores and dangerous nuisances. After a while, though, some of Scumble River’s citizens figured out how to make the mines into money-earning recreational areas. They hauled sand in to line the shallowest of the coal pits and put fish in the deeper holes. While they were getting the beaches and fishing ponds ready, grass and trees were planted everywhere else. Now, people from the city spent their summer weekends paying dearly to swim in an old coal pit.

Skye wondered how the survivalists had been able to afford to buy such a huge tract of recreational-quality land. Either they purchased it before prices rose or someone in their group had a lot of money to throw around.

After what seemed forever, Skye spotted a log cabin to her left. It was bigger and more permanent than any other dwelling she’d seen so far. Perhaps it was the camp’s head-quarters. She parked her car between a pickup and a Suburban with a red cross painted on the side, and walked up to the porch.

The memory of Simon’s telling her about the shooting out here suddenly popped into her mind. She looked around nervously. Was there a gun pointed at her this very minute? No, she was being silly. He had said it was an accident, hadn’t he?

She took a deep breath and knocked on the screen door, smoothing her khaki pants and black polo shirt as she waited. This had been another tough wardrobe decision. What does one wear to infiltrate a survivalist camp? Unfortunately, her camouflage suit was at the cleaners.

Abruptly a huge man filled the doorway and growled, “Yeah, what do you want?”

“I’m Ms. Denison from Scumble River Elementary School. Could you direct me to the Underwoods?” Skye forced her voice not to quaver.

“They went back to Michigan.” He turned to go.

“Wait. Ah, as long as I’m here, could I talk to you for a minute?”

“About what? I ain’t got no kids.”

“But you are the leader out here, right?” She took a wild guess.

He narrowed his eyes. “Why do you say that?”

“Well, it’s obvious that you would be the top guy.” Skye stole a peek at his face and laid the flattery on thicker. “Your bearing, your aura of authority, your size, they all scream commander.”

“Yeah?” He straightened his back and squared his shoulders. “I suppose you’re right. The major don’t live out here and I’m in charge when he’s not in camp.” He stuck out a hand bigger than Skye’s purse. “I’m Sarge.”