“I couldn’t let such a big day go by without wishing you the best,” Skye managed to say with false sincerity before putting her hands on her hips and staring at Pru. “But why would I be on a diet?”
Skye was well aware that ever since she’d decided she wasn’t willing to eat fewer than eight hundred calories a day in order to stay a size six, a lot of people thought she was too fat. But she didn’t allow veiled insults to go unchallenged. If someone had something to say about her weight, let them come right out and say it.
“It’s just that most brides-to-be want to look extra-good for their wedding pictures,” Pru said, then ruined it by adding, “And you have such a pretty face.”
“For someone who needs to lose a few pounds?” Skye wasn’t about to let the older woman off the hook that easily.
“Of course not.” Pru’s tone was completely insincere as she added, “I’m sorry if you took what I said the wrong way. I certainly never meant to offend you.”
“Hmm.” Skye held her tongue. “Anyway, since we haven’t even set a date yet, I’m not worried about the photos.”
In fact, unbeknownst to anyone beyond Skye’s immediate family, the wedding was on indefinite hold. Knowing how much it meant to Skye to be married in the Catholic Church, Wally had agreed to apply for an annulment from his first wife, from whom he’d been divorced for several years. Father Burns said it might take twelve to fourteen months before the official paperwork was completed, which left them waiting on a process they had little control over.
Pru raised an overplucked brow, but before she could probe further, Skye said, “Anyway, happy birthday.”
Pru nodded regally. “Thank you.”
Skye felt like a bunny caught nibbling a gardener’s prizewinning petunias, and she hadn’t even had a bite of the darn cake. In her heart, she knew she should go ahead, cut a slice, and eat it, but she just couldn’t. Not with Pru staring at her. It was one thing to stand up for herself when someone made a nasty remark, quite another to chow down in front of that same someone, who obviously disapproved of her.
While Skye tried to think of a graceful way to escape, her gaze flitted from the avocado-colored refrigerator set against the back wall to the big black trash can next to the counter, then on to the sink full of used coffee mugs. Finally, she said, “Well, I should probably get back to work.”
“Don’t hurry away on my account.” Pru smiled meanly.
“Of course not.” Skye resigned herself to forfeiting her treat and searched for a good departure line. She glanced at the old library cart holding a huge brown microwave oven, circa 1980. “But I do have reports to write, so I’ll just heat up some water for a cup of tea and be on my way.”
The microwave’s stained exterior was gross, but using the appliance had several advantages. She could turn her back on Pru, thus avoiding further conversation, and when the timer dinged, it would clearly indicate that it was time to depart.
But Pru ruined Skye’s scheme by saying, “Since it’s my planning period, and you can always write reports at home, I’d like to talk to you about something.”
“Oh.” Skye cringed inwardly. Pru had an ongoing vendetta against the student newspaper that Skye and her friend Trixie Frayne cosponsored. Many of the kids who had been on the English teacher’s debate team had switched to the Scoop’s staff because Skye and Trixie treated them fairly. The front page got the top story, not the one written by the teenager who kissed up to them the most. Pru, on the other hand, was known for letting her pets have all the best debate topics, and the students had finally rebelled.
“What’s up?” Skye asked.
“I’m concerned about that new bookstore in town.” Pru ran her fingers through her greasy dun-colored hair, pulling out strands from the bun on top of her head. “I hear it will be selling romance and science fiction.”
Skye bit her tongue to stop from blurting out “And your point is . . . ?” Pru was the leader of the school’s old guard. No need to antagonize her further. Instead Skye said, “Romance outsells all the other genres, and a lot of the most popular YA novels are sci-fi. If those books are readily available, it might encourage kids to read more.”
“Those bodice rippers are nothing but pornography.” Pru’s watery blue eyes scrunched into slits, and her pointy nose twitched, making her look like a nearsighted possum.
“That isn’t true. They’re full of love and hope and happy endings.”
“Nonsense. They’re obscene.” Pru’s lips drew together. “And I have it on good authority that those young adult books you’re referring to are anti-Christian. They encourage the occult and demonic activity.”
Skye clamped her mouth shut, chanting silently, Don’t, don’t, don’t. It would be so easy to make a smart-alecky comeback, but she finally managed to swallow her retort and said, “I’m sure that’s not true either.”
“I’m surprised that you, a psychologist”—Pru’s face had her tsk-tsk look on it—“aren’t aware of the danger posed by those kinds of books.”
“‘Danger?’” The word slipped out. Skye did not like where this conversation was going, and she shouldn’t have allowed herself to be sucked in.
Pru’s tongue snaked out as if she was about to sample a tasty morsel. “I heard that over in Clay Center some boy bit his mother in the neck and tried to suck her blood out after reading some of those vampire books.”
“Really?” If that had actually happened, Skye was sure she would have heard about it. After all, she was the police department’s psychological consultant, and her mother was a police dispatcher. “Who told you that?”
Pru puffed out her cheeks. “I don’t remember.” Her irritation with Skye for daring to question her was obvious. “What does it matter?”
“Rumors can be so harmful,” Skye said evenly. “I just like to make sure my source is reliable before I believe what I hear.”
“Well”—Pru sent a quelling look in Skye’s direction—“I also heard that a girl in Brooklyn sacrificed her baby after reading some book that glorified witchcraft.”
“Now, that’s totally unbelievable.” Skye shook her head. “Surely that would have made the paper, not to mention the TV news.”
Pru leaned forward and whispered, “I hear it was hushed up.”
“By whom?”
“I’m sure I couldn’t say.” Pru got up from the sofa. “Everyone knows I never gossip.”
Skye nearly choked on a suppressed “Ha!” but managed to keep her expression neutral.
“Anyway, I’ve started a petition,” Pru went on, “and I expect you to sign it.” She paused. “Unless, of course, you don’t care about our kids.”
Skye refused to be cornered. “This weekend, I’ll talk to the owners and find out what kinds of books they’ll be selling and to what age groups. I’ll let you know Monday after school what I find out.”
“Now”—Pru glanced pointedly at Skye—“unlike you, I have to get back to my classroom. The bell is about to ring, and the little darlings might burn down the building if they’re left unattended.”
Skye stared at the door after Pru Cormorant’s departure, then turned and cut an extra-big slice of birthday cake. After what she’d just been through, she deserved it. Besides, if Pru planned to stir up trouble for the new bookstore, Skye would need all her strength to make sure the school’s queen bee didn’t sic her swarm of drones on the defenseless owners before they even had a chance to open for business.
CHAPTER 2
The Sound and the Fury
Skye watched as her cousin Hugo Leofanti, owner of Better Than New Autos, stood in his showroom extolling the virtues of a 1999 Ford Escort to Xenia Craughwell. Xenia and her mother had moved to town a little more than two years ago, after the teenager had been kicked out of several suburban schools. Much to Skye’s relief, despite a rocky start, which included kidnapping a cheerleader and involving the school newspaper in a lawsuit, Xenia had managed to graduate from Scumble River High last fall.
&nb
sp; Although Xenia had written for the Scoop, and Skye supervised the student paper, they had not been close. Xenia had rebuffed Skye’s attempts to build a relationship and had used her incredibly high IQ to keep all the adults in the school at arm’s length. Even Trixie, the paper’s beloved coadviser, hadn’t been able to break through the girl’s defenses.
Which was why Skye had been so surprised when Xenia showed up in her office that afternoon and asked for assistance in buying a car. Skye had hesitated, wondering what Xenia was up to, but the knowledge that Xenia’s father was dead and her mom acted more like a girlfriend than a parent had compelled Skye to accompany the teen. Now that she was here, Skye wasn’t exactly sure what her role was supposed to be. Xenia wasn’t one to take advice or need help in making a decision.
Skye had been able to convince Hugo to show them around personally, rather than handing them over to a member of his sales staff, but already she was regretting that impulse. She had forgotten how ruthless and underhanded her cousin could be, and she was afraid he’d take advantage of Xenia’s youth and inexperience.
Flashing deep dimples, Hugo said to Xenia as he led her and Skye out of the building, “Let’s get you into a car.”
The early-September sun beat down on the windshields of vehicles parked along Basin Street, Scumble River’s main drag. Other than the empty road, there wasn’t much else to see. Ye Olde Junque Emporium was the only other business open within a two- or three-block radius.
Hugo directed them to a space a few doors down containing a small rusty hatchback with yellow block letters spelling out EZ TERMS on a side window. Skye frowned but kept silent. She’d decided to intervene only if Xenia requested her opinion, and that was about as likely as the government truly reducing taxes or really fixing the health care system.
Xenia walked around the Ford. “How many miles does this . . . this thing have on it?”
“This luxury automobile only has a hundred and ten thousand,” Hugo answered smoothly, then added, “You mentioned that you’re attending film school in Chicago and need transportation for the commute. This baby has a spacious interior and gets incredible mileage. And I can let you have her for only four thousand dollars. Let me tell you about the previous owner.”
Skye studied Hugo as he talked. Her cousin had been fortunate when he took a dip in the gene pool. He had gotten a long, lean body from his mother’s side of the family and a thick black mane and the Leofanti eyes from his father’s. If it had been the other way around, he would have ended up short, with thinning dishwater blond hair. His dad, Skye’s uncle Dante, looked a lot liked a penguin; Hugo would have probably resembled a bowling pin.
Skye had the Leofanti emerald eyes, too, but that was where the similarity ended. While Skye’s shone with genuineness, Hugo’s glittered with insincerity. Although he oozed charm, he was good at masking his true thoughts. This was an advantage in his chosen profession, but it did not make him trustworthy.
Xenia broke in on Hugo’s sales spiel. “Seriously, dude, fuel economy may be important, but I’m carpooling with another girl from town, so it’s not totally the deciding factor. There’s also acceleration and quality of the ride.” She angled her pierced brow contemptuously. “By the way, FYI, four thousand is double what this piece of crap is worth, and even at a quarter of the price it would probably come back and bite me.”
Hugo’s expression subtly changed, and Skye felt her lips twitch. Clearly, he had looked at Xenia, outfitted in her usual Goth-punk sex-kitten attire, and thought she was an airhead on whom he could pull a fast one. He was wising up quickly.
Skye could understand her cousin’s misconception. Today Xenia had on a short ruffled skirt, leggings that ended midcalf, and a pair of Doc Martens. She had layered several ripped T-shirts, all of which exposed the gold ring in her navel. A multitude of bangle bracelets worn on top of fishnet gloves on both arms completed her fashion statement. White skin and the fuchsia stripe in her hair at the temple were the only contrasts to the unrelieved black of her clothing.
“What else do you have?” Xenia shaded her eyes and looked down the line of vehicles parked on either side of the dealership. “You gotta turn it up a notch from this.” She thumped the Escort’s trunk. “I want something sick.”
Hugo glanced questioningly at Skye, who mouthed the word cool.
Hugo recovered quickly. “I know just the car for you. A Volkswagen Beetle. It’s hip and gets great mileage.” He guided Xenia and Skye by their elbows. “I was saving this for Dr. Zello’s daughter—she’s turning sixteen next month—but since you’re a friend of my cousin, I’ll let you have first crack at it.”
“Awesome.” Xenia rolled her eyes at Skye but allowed herself to be propelled across the road to a line of vehicles parked along the curb.
“What do you think?” Hugo stopped beside a tiny yellow car that looked like an upside-down coffee cup. The lettering on its windshield read, SUPER DEAL. “She even has a cute little flower holder near the driver’s seat.”
“Dude, do I look like a flower kinda girl to you?” Xenia shook her head but inspected every inch of the finish, then repeated the process with the interior. Finally she asked, “What year is it?”
“Two thousand three.” Hugo’s smile displayed impossibly straight white teeth against his deeply tanned skin. “And she only has seventy-three thousand miles on her.”
As he pointed out the car’s features, Skye noticed they were in front of the new bookstore. The display window was still covered on the inside with brown paper, but the words Tales and Treats were painted in gold across the glass. Rumor had it that the owners had purchased the entire building and were living above the shop.
As Skye examined the second floor for signs of occupancy, the front door slammed open, and a petite woman dressed in faded jeans and a T-shirt with NEVER JUDGE A BOOK BY ITS MOVIE ~ J. W. EAGAN printed on the front came running out. “Mr. Leofanti, a word please.”
“Mrs. Erwin, as you can see, I’m busy right now.” Hugo hid his scowl and said, “Perhaps we can talk when I have more time. Why don’t you send your husband over later?”
“It’s Ms. Vaughn or Risé, as I’ve told you before.” In an aside to Skye and Xenia she explained, “I kept my maiden name when I got married, which seems to confuse Mr. Leofanti to no end.” Turning her attention back to Hugo, she said, “And for the tenth time, you need to deal with me, not Orlando, on this matter.”
“Well, Miz Vaughn.” Hugo grabbed Xenia’s elbow and tried to steer her away from the woman. “I’ll speak to you later.”
“Back off! You’re bruising my aura.” Xenia shook off Hugo’s hand, crossed her arms, and refused to budge. “I’m not in a hurry. Go ahead and talk to Ms. Vaughn.”
Xenia’s expression suggested that Hugo was rapidly losing any credibility he’d had with her. If Skye had liked her cousin, she would have told him that the teen was a feminist and his condescending attitude toward the bookstore woman would not improve his chances of selling Xenia a car.
“No. Ms. Vaughn can wait.” Hugo made another attempt to move Xenia away. “I know just what you want.”
“Oh, yeah?” Xenia snorted. “Yet, despite the look on my face, you’re still talking.”
Hugo’s ears turned red, and he snapped, “Young lady, you have an attitude problem.”
“No, I don’t.” Xenia smiled, clearly pleased she’d provoked him into losing his cool. “You have a perception problem.” She patted the laptop case that hung from her shoulder. “Now that we have that settled, I need to check the Internet about this car.” She turned to Risé. “You got Wi-Fi?”
“Yes.” The bookstore owner nodded to the door behind her. “Help yourself.”
“Phenomenal.” Xenia fluttered her fingers at Hugo, and said, “Later.”
Skye was torn. Should she go with Xenia or stay here? Since Skye was technology challenged and would be of no help with the computer, she remained where she was.
“Yes?” Hugo heaved a put-upon sigh
and turned back to Risé. “What now?”
“Our grand opening is tomorrow, and you still haven’t moved your automobiles.” Risé gestured to the half dozen vehicles parked in front of her store, all with various messages in yellow lettering on their windows. “I asked you a week ago to put them somewhere else.”
When Hugo had bought Scumble River’s old hardware store a couple of years ago and turned it into a used-car dealership, the buildings surrounding it had been vacant, which meant he’d been able to use all the parking spaces on the block to stow his inventory. The bookstore was the first business to move in since then.
“And I told you when you asked me the first time, these spots are public property.” Hugo’s smile was smug. “You don’t own them.”
“True.” Risé reached into the pocket of her blue jeans and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “But I’ve been doing a little research.”
“Good for you.” Hugo leaned back on the hood of a blue Dodge Charger with ONE OWNER written across its windshield.
Skye’s attention was riveted to the drama playing out in front of her.
Risé grabbed center stage by shoving the paper into Hugo’s hand and saying, “According to the town statutes, no vehicle may remain parked in the same space for more than twelve consecutive hours.”
“So?” Hugo’s shoulders stayed relaxed under his gray pin-striped suit jacket. “Who’s to say my cars haven’t been moved around?”
Skye watched Risé’s hands tighten into fists. Should she call the police now or wait for the woman to punch out Hugo’s lights? One thing was for sure—this wasn’t her fight, and she wasn’t getting involved. Taking a step backward, Skye put a white Mercury Sable whose sign read LOW MILEAGE between her and the possible combatants.
Risé noted Skye’s movement and shook her head, causing her long brown ponytail to sway back and forth. “I’m not going to hit him,” she said. “Except in his wallet.”
“What do you mean by that?” Hugo sputtered.
Murder of a Bookstore Babe Page 2
