Flip continued to ignore his wife, and before Ginger smacked him again, Skye hurriedly said, “I can wait until the commercial.”
“Okay.” Ginger seemed to remember her manners. “Can I get you something? Beer, wine, or I could whip us up some margaritas.”
“A glass of water would be great.” It was hot in the room, and Skye’s mouth was dry. “With ice, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“No problem. We got a new fridge with an ice maker in the door. It’ll just take a second.” Ginger turned to leave but pointed over her shoulder. “There are photo albums on the shelf there if you want to take a look at some of the work Flip’s done.”
Once Ginger disappeared into the kitchen, Skye looked around. The furniture was mostly Early American, with braided rugs scattered over the scuffed hardwood floors. Hanging over the center of the room was a chandelier made of deer antlers. It rotated slowly, as if to silent music. The walls were covered with stuffed animal heads, bows, arrows, and a variety of guns, and every flat surface was plastered with pictures of Ginger and Flip’s three children—Bert, Dwayne, and Iris.
Skye guessed this was Flip’s kingdom. It had probably been decorated when the family had moved in fifteen years ago and not touched since.
Ginger returned just as the volume of the TV increased, indicating that the program had gone to a commercial. She shouted over the frenetic music, “Turn that thing down and talk to Skye. She has a job for you.” Ginger handed Skye the glass of ice water, grabbed the remote from her husband, and muted the set. “Men.”
“Son of a b—” Flip appeared to see Skye for the first time and interrupted himself. “Oh. Hi.”
“Hi.” Skye snuck a peek at her watch. She needed to get going soon. “I’m hoping you can turn one of my spare bedrooms into an office. You know, with bookshelves and a built-in desk?”
“I can do that.” Flip leaned back and folded his hands across his stomach. “Want me to come over Monday afternoon and take a look?”
“That would be great.” Skye nodded. “I usually get home about four.” This was her opening, and she laid her trap. “I wasn’t sure if you were finished with the job at Tales and Treats. I thought they might have some repairs for you to do after the break-in.”
“Hell, no!” Flip smacked the arm of his recliner, causing the can of beer in the built-in holder to tremble. “I wouldn’t work for that woman again if she paid double, triple, golden overtime.”
“Risé was hard to work for?” Skye asked innocently, not letting on how much she knew. “I’m surprised her husband didn’t handle the remodeling.”
“He never showed his face. I guess he was too busy baking. And she was a bitch on wheels.” Flip banged down the footrest of his chair. “Then after all the crap I took from her, she tried to stiff me.”
“She wouldn’t pay?”
“She wanted me to take a personal check.” Flip was a big, hulking man, and when he marched over to the coffee table where Ginger had tossed the remote control, the floor shook. “But I told her if it’s not from a local bank, I need cash.”
He resembled the massive stuffed bear that guarded a corner of the family room, and Skye stared at his hands as he fondled the remote. “Did she agree?” Skye asked. His fingers were as large as full-size Snickers bars.
“No. She got all snippy, and I had to tell her I wouldn’t sign off for the building inspection without my money.” Flip stomped back to his La-Z-Boy.
“What happened?” Skye wondered whether Risé thought Flip wouldn’t accept her check because he was planning to cheat on his taxes. The bookstore owner struck her as someone who wouldn’t put up with someone defrauding the government.
“She told me to come back the next morning, which I did, and she had the dough.” He flopped down on the recliner, chugged the rest of his beer, crushed the can when he finished, then turned the TV’s sound back on.
“So you were paid?”
“Yeah. We’re square.”
“That’s good.” Phew! As long as he got his money, Flip didn’t have much of a motive to want Risé dead. It wasn’t as if he had to work for her ever again. He wasn’t a complex enough person to hold that kind of grudge. Now all she needed was his alibi.
“Ginger”—Skye turned to her cousin—“your mom said you and Flip went to a big party Saturday night.” She decided to try a variation of the same ruse that had worked with Kevin. “Did you have a good time?”
“It was all right for a class reunion.” Ginger tucked a strand of baby-fine dishwater blond hair behind her ear. “You know how those are. Heck, we see the people we like all the time, and no one from out of town ever shows up, even though this was our big one-five.”
“Yeah. That’s a shame.” Skye hadn’t attended her ten-year reunion, and her class hadn’t had another one. “Where was it held?”
“The Brown Bag.” Ginger picked up an emery board and started filing her nails. “It would have been more fun at the rec club. We could have built a big bonfire and brought our own booze, which would have been a whole lot cheaper, but the committee wouldn’t listen to me. They wanted it all fancy, but Jess kicked us out at two.”
Jess Larson owned the Brown Bag Liquor Store, Bar, and Banquet Hall.
“Two a.m.?”
“Uh-huh.” Ginger nodded. “He said something about not being able to serve drinks after that.”
“And Flip was with you the whole time?”
“Yeah.” Ginger scowled. “Believe me, with all those divorcées on the prowl, I never let him out of my sight.”
Once she knew Flip had an alibi, Skye made her excuses and rushed to the skating rink. It was a few minutes after seven when she arrived, and Wally was already there. He flashed his lights to show her where he was parked, and she pulled into the spot next to him. The lot was packed, and she wondered how he’d saved the space. If he’d been driving one of the police cruisers, she could understand no one wanting to be beside him, but he had his blue Thunderbird—a fortieth birthday present from his father.
Wally and Skye met in front of their vehicles, and he held her at arm’s length, then gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Spiffy outfit.”
“Swell.” Skye grinned. The skating rink must have brought the fifties to both their minds. “You know I always think you look hot.”
“Why, thank you, darlin’.” Wally steered them through the lot and onto the sidewalk. “I ran home and changed clothes after the commissioners’ meeting. If we take a tumble while we’re skating, I didn’t think it would look too good to do it in uniform.”
“True.” Skye smiled. “But we’re not going to fall.” Wally didn’t know she’d been roller-skating champion of her eighth-grade class.
The exterior of the skate center looked different at night. The last time Skye had seen the rink, she’d wondered whether it was about to be torn down. Now shadows hid the peeling paint and hinted at what the building could look like if Milton was able to restore it fully. A shaft of light from the fixture above the front door illuminated the entrance.
Leaves blew over the sidewalk, making it slippery, and Wally steadied Skye as her foot slid. “Did you talk to everyone who was mad at Risé?” Wally held one of the double glass doors open.
“All except Hugo.” Skye stepped into the foyer. “Charlie, Tomi, Kevin, and Flip all have alibis.”
“Martinez isn’t finished with the background check on Risé, but so far she’s clean as a whistle. The woman hasn’t even had a parking ticket.”
“Did Officer Martinez find anything on Kayla?” Skye asked.
“Nothing we didn’t already know.” Wally shrugged. “She’s exactly what you’d expect of a small-town good girl. No one had anything bad to say about her, and the dean at the Chicago School of Film and Photography spoke highly of her. He said she’d already won a couple of competitions.”
“I wonder if the other students were jealous.” They stopped at the entrance to the rink.
“Martinez is going up there t
omorrow to check that out.”
Skye nodded, then looked around. Milton had refinished the floor, laid new carpet, put in a drop ceiling, and installed nightclub lighting. Tables and chairs were positioned behind the rail, and a snack bar was located in the rear.
“If you two are through making your grand entrance, maybe you could get the hell out of the way so someone else could get in.”
“What’s your rush?” Wally’s voice was genial, but he gripped Skye’s arm and didn’t move.
Skye turned and saw that the person trying to get around them was—speak of the devil—her cousin Hugo. He held his wife’s hand tightly, and Victoria didn’t seem happy.
“Some of us have other places to be tonight and need to keep moving,” Hugo sneered. “Unlike the police, we don’t get a salary if we don’t hustle.”
Wally patted his flat stomach. “That’s right. They pay me to sit around and eat donuts.” After making sure Hugo got the message, he drew Skye aside and made a sweeping gesture. “Be my guest.”
Victoria muttered as she went past. “Some of us don’t need to make a big deal in order to draw all eyes to us.”
Huh? Skye had no idea where that had that come from. Victoria had almost sounded jealous, but that couldn’t be it. She looked like a goddess. Smooth blond hair fell straight to the middle of her back, blue eyes shone from a sun-kissed complexion, and the short indigo halter dress she wore molded to her slim, toned body.
Once Hugo and his wife were out of earshot, Skye said to Wally, “I used to feel sorry for Victoria—Hugo’s one of the most insufferable men I know. But she just lost a lot of my sympathy.”
“Don’t be too hard on her.” Wally took Skye’s hand and ran his fingers over her inner wrist. “It’s hard for someone like her, who has always gotten along on her looks, to realize that sometimes that’s not enough.”
“What do you mean?”
“Victoria doesn’t think you’re as beautiful as she is, but you get in the paper all the time, and now that you’re engaged, that’s all anyone can talk about.”
“Not really.”
“Yes, really.” Wally kissed her palm.
“You know, Hugo didn’t seem quite like himself tonight.” Skye frowned.
“Yeah.” Wally’s grin was sharklike. “I noticed the improvement right away.”
“I’m not kidding.” Skye bit her lip. “He’s usually a lot . . . uh . . . smoother, more unctuous. I wonder what brought about the change.”
“Maybe you can find out when you talk to him tomorrow.” Wally placed his palm on the small of her back. “Shall we?”
They entered the outer rink area, and Skye recognized most of the group milling around. Everyone who was anyone in town was present.
“Why are all these people here?” Skye wrinkled her brow and whispered to Wally. “Most of them seem to be doing more talking than skating.”
“Same reason we are.” Wally cupped her elbow, and they moved toward a man standing behind a counter. “To show support for a new business in town.”
“Funny they didn’t do that for Tales and Treats,” Skye muttered.
“Milton’s lived in Scumble River for the past seventeen years.” Wally raised an eyebrow. “You know how things work around here.”
Milton Leigh had short brown hair that resembled the growth on a Chia Pet. He was long and lean, with full lips framed by wrinkles. Skye couldn’t tell whether he was forty or fifty or maybe even older.
Wally shook hands with the skate center owner and said, “Milton, I don’t think you know my fiancée, Skye Denison. Skye, this is my old friend Milton Leigh.”
Skye shook hands and said, “The rink looks wonderful, Mr. Leigh.”
“Call me Milton.” His gray eyes were shrewd. “You must be the mayor’s niece.”
“Yes.” Skye stopped herself from making a face. “I must be.”
Milton was dressed in jeans and a cotton plaid shirt with pearl snaps. He reminded Skye of a 1960s Grand Ole Opry star, and she wondered whether he could sing.
He looked her over and said to Wally, “Big improvement over the last filly you hooked up with.”
Skye narrowed her eyes. She really didn’t like being compared to livestock, even if she was being awarded a blue ribbon.
“No offense intended.” Milton grinned at her sour expression. “You have to excuse an old cowboy.”
“Of course.” Skye changed the subject. “You’ve got a big crowd tonight.”
“Yep.” Milton nodded. “But these people aren’t my bread and butter. I bet you none of them will even lace on a pair of skates.”
“Oh? It’s nice that they’re here to support you, though, right?”
“Only a few, like your fella, are here for me.” Milton caressed his big silver belt buckle. “Most are like Hugo over there. He needs to keep his finger stirring the pot and riling everyone up. He’s really got a bee in his bonnet this time.” Milton shook his head. “Now, are you two going to skate or what?”
“Do you think he meant Hugo’s problem with Risé?” Skye asked Wally as they put on the roller skates Milton had handed them.
“Maybe.” Wally took Skye’s hand, and they glided into the rink. “Guess you better come up with a good reason to talk to Hugo tomorrow, because it’s a sure thing I wouldn’t get anywhere questioning him. He’d just call his daddy and complain about police harassment.”
CHAPTER 18
The Invisible Man
It was already nine thirty Thursday morning when Skye and Caroline Greer, the elementary school principal, walked into the main office. The Pupil Personnel Service meeting had gone more than an hour longer than usual because twin six-year-old boys with special needs had moved into the district the day before, and the staff had to hurry to prepare for their intake conferences.
Caroline and Skye were engrossed in discussing the complicated case when Fern Otte, the school secretary, thrust Skye aside and screeched, “Arnold Underwood is gone!”
“When was he last seen?” Caroline, a tiny woman with a cloud of white hair, was known for her unruffled demeanor and ability to keep her staff calm.
“When his class went to gym at eight forty.” Fern wrung her hands. She was extremely petite, and her affinity for brown clothing made her look like a wren. True to form, today she wore a taupe sweater and pants.
“PE class is only half an hour.” Caroline frowned. “Why didn’t you come and get me when his teacher first reported him missing?”
“She just this minute told me,” Fern mewled. “She didn’t realize Arnold was gone until the speech therapist came to get him for his session.”
“I see.” Caroline nodded, then directed, “Put out a PA announcement that any staff member who is not with children must report to the office immediately. As they come in, assign them to halls A and C, then the playground and parking lot, in that order. His room is in hallway B. I’ll be checking that corridor.” Next she focused on Skye. “You look in the gymnasium, kitchen, and stage.”
“Okay.” Skye headed out of the office but stopped to ask the principal, “Are you calling the police?”
“Not until we’ve conducted a thorough search.” Caroline’s tone was intractable.
“How about the boy’s parents?” Skye persisted.
“No need to worry them until we’re sure he’s really missing, and not just hiding somewhere. You know how ten-year-olds can be.”
Skye wasn’t sure what Caroline meant by that. Did she think all ten-year-olds were prone to disappearing? However, Skye was willing to follow the principal’s orders, at least until they’d searched the building and grounds. After that, if he was still unaccounted for, she would call 911 with or without the older woman’s blessing.
When Skye got to the gym, she found it empty except for an old-fashioned physician’s scale, a long Formica-topped table, and a chair. All three were positioned in the exact middle of the wooden floor. Except for those three items, the cavernous space was completely open, with no
where for anyone to hide.
The elementary school didn’t have locker rooms, so after a quick glance around, Skye moved on to the storage area under the stage, which was padlocked. Making a mental note to get a key, Skye walked the perimeter of the empty platform. Once she was sure there were no hiding places, she parted the velvet curtains at the back and went through them. This spot had been converted to an office for the PE teacher.
There wasn’t anyone around, so Skye called out, “Yoo-hoo, anybody here?”
A soft rustle came from behind the stacks of athletic equipment, and Todd Grind, the gym teacher, poked his head around a tower of boxes. “Hey, Skye. What’s up? Another one of your SpEd kids needs babying?”
Skye fought to keep her expression neutral as she registered Todd’s use of the derogatory label. She reminded herself that he was as prickly as his brush-cut hairstyle. Still, she couldn’t allow a remark like that to go unchallenged. “Todd, the students receiving special education services are everyone’s responsibility.” Hoping to win him with an athletic metaphor, she said, “You know, a team effort.”
“A team effort is everyone doing what I tell them to.” Todd stuck his hands in the pockets of his warm-up jacket and shot Skye a cocky grin.
“Which is why I hate sports,” Skye muttered under her breath, then gave up trying to reform the PE teacher and explained about the missing boy. When she finished she asked, “Have you seen Arnold since that time?”
“What are you talking about?” Todd asked, then walked to his desk, flipped open an attendance book, and ran his finger down the page. “Porky wasn’t in class today.”
Skye started to remind him that she had asked the faculty not to call Arnold by that nickname and to discourage its use among his classmates, but she knew she’d be wasting her breath. Todd was surrounded by the Bozone—a substance that encircled clowns like him, stopping any intelligent suggestions from penetrating.
However, she would speak to Caroline once the boy was found. As far as she knew, everyone on the staff except Todd had complied with her request to use Arnold’s given name. But if the PE teacher didn’t stop, neither would the other kids, and Skye did not want the awful nickname following the poor kid to the junior high. If she didn’t nip it in the bud now, he’d be Porky for the rest of his life.
Murder of a Bookstore Babe Page 17
