“I want to tell everyone what happened when we’re all together.” Skye figured none of her rescuers would go home without hearing her story.
“After everything you’ve put me through, you’re going to make me wait?” May’s face turned red and she stamped her foot. “Someday you’ll be sorry you treated me like this.
I won’t live forever, you know.”
May had been threatening her early demise for as long as Skye could remember, and Skye was firmly convinced her mother would outlive them all. “Sorry, Mom, but I’m just too exhausted to say it over and over again.” Skye gave a convincing cough and weakly reached for the drain plug — the water was getting cold, and it was time to face the music.
“Could you get me some clothes?” she asked meekly, knowing the best way to keep her mother happy was to give her something to do.
May harrumphed, but left and returned several minutes later with fresh underwear, a black jogging suit, and a hot pink T-shirt. Skye had used the time to scrape her unruly curls into a French braid.
As Skye started to dress, May said, “I’ll go down and make you some hot tea.” She turned to leave, then stepped back and rested her hand on Skye’s upper right arm near the site of a bullet wound Skye had sustained in August. The scar was still red and shiny. “Why can’t you act like a normal daughter?”
“Mom, normal is a setting on the washing machine.” May was not amused by Skye’s attempt to divert her.
“Why do you keep getting mixed up in this kind of stuff?” May did not like commotion, and saw life as something to hide from.
Skye was silent, not knowing how to answer her mother.
When she had first returned to Scumble River after being gone for twelve years, she had tried to keep to herself and not become involved with the local people or their troubles.
Her plan had been to keep her head down, do her job, save some money, and leave town before most of its citizens had noticed she’d been back.
But what they say about the best-laid plans is true. Skye hadn’t been home a week before she discovered a dead body and became deeply involved in the subsequent murder investigation. After solving that mystery, Skye had attempted to get back on track and to return to her solitary life, but then she met a man — make that two — was co-opted by a couple of teenagers, and was pressed into service by several more people who needed her help. Her plans for a hermitlike existence had fizzled like a mosquito in an electric bug zapper.
Still, she didn’t know why she did what she did. The best reason she could come up with was something her Grandma Denison had said, and now Skye repeated it to her mother.
“I think I just have a strong streak of justice running through me. I want things to be right, and people to get what they deserve. I hate seeing someone hurt someone else, and I hate seeing them get away with it even more. When that happens, I feel compelled to get involved.”
May shook her head and declared on her way out the door, “You don’t get that from my side of the family.” Skye smiled and followed her mother into the hallway.
May’s view of life and her own were as far apart as a Frank Capra movie was from a Francis Ford Coppola flick.
May continued down the stairs while Skye ducked into her room to finish dressing. When Skye had moved into the house, she had been reluctant to use Mrs. Griggs’s bedroom, but now she felt a sense of rightness about being there and had even taken to having conversations with the deceased woman. This worried Skye a little, but since she didn’t hear Mrs. Griggs answering back, she figured she was still on the safe side of sanity.
Tonight, sitting in front of the vanity, tying her tennis shoes, she said out loud, “What I have gotten myself into this time?”
To her semirelief, there was no answer. She took a peek in the mirror and shuddered. Her normally chestnut hair was dark and oily-looking from her swim, her skin was dead white, and there were deep circles under her eyes.
This wasn’t exactly the appearance she wanted to present when she spoke to her ex-boyfriend for the first time since their breakup fight. As a bonus, a man she was really attracted to would also be in the room.
Skye considered putting on makeup but realized no amount of Estée Lauder could help her at this stage. She was only postponing the inevitable. She had to go down and face them all.
As she descended the stairs, she heard raised voices and paused to see if she could figure out who was speaking and what they were arguing about.
At first she couldn’t make out enough to know who or what, but then a voice she couldn’t quite identify boomed loud and clear: “This is my jurisdiction and you’re not stealing another case from me.”
Skye recognized Wally’s voice when he thundered,
“That’s bullshit. Half of that dock is in Scumble River, which is my jurisdiction. How do you know whatever happened didn’t happen on my half?”
Shit! Shit! Shit! She had briefly forgotten that her house was not within the city limits and the county sheriff would have authority out here. But who had notified him? It definitely hadn’t been Wally.
Skye felt her stomach knot. Sheriff Peterson was an incompetent good old boy, and he hated Skye and her family.
Peterson’s snarl snapped Skye’s attention back to what was being said. “My techs are sweeping the woods, the shore, the boat, and what’s left of the dock with a fine-tooth comb even as we speak. And if they can pin down exactly where the incident occurred, and it’s in my half, you’re off the case.”
Even filtered through a wall, the loathing in Peterson’s voice was evident. Skye hugged herself. If the sheriff handled the investigation alone, he would make the situation a hundred times worse and enjoy himself in the process. The sheriff had made his feelings clear many times in the past. If he was in charge of the world, he’d not only keep the death penalty, he’d add an express lane.
Taking the Fifth
When Skye reached the bottom of the staircase, she saw through the archway that everyone was gathered in the parlor. She quietly entered and glanced around, immediately noting her mother’s absence and chalking it up to May’s declaration that she was going to make tea.
The picture of her mother trying to bring order to the chaos currently occupying the kitchen brought a grin to Skye’s face. Simply figuring out how to turn on the faucet —
it required a wrench, a hammer, and a goodly amount of determination — might take May the rest of the evening.
Skye noticed that Simon was also gone, which was a relief. She wasn’t sure why he had shown up to begin with.
His refusal to explain his behavior undeniably proved he no longer cared for her.
Too bad Simon hadn’t taken his mother with him. Skye liked the older woman, but too often Bunny wasn’t smelling what the rest of the world was cooking.
Right now she was clinging to Charlie like the paper liner on a cupcake, and that could only mean one thing: trouble.
Their on-again, off-again relationship worried both Skye and her mother. Charlie seemed to lose all common sense around the redhead.
Frannie and Justin were whispering in the far corner, un-doubtedly hoping the adults would forget they were there.
Skye caught their attention and gave them a look that informed them she was well aware of their presence. Frannie giggled, not the least bit intimidated by Skye’s message.
Justin pushed up his glasses and sighed loudly, indicating his opinion of the whole matter.
Turning slightly, Skye spotted her father sitting in a lounge chair, one of the few pieces of furniture she had brought over from her cottage. It seemed out of place among Mrs. Griggs’s delicate antiques, but Jed looked right at home stretched out with his feet up. His mild brown eyes met Skye’s and he raised an eyebrow. She nodded that she was fine, and he went back to observing the others.
In the center of the small room, Wally Boyd and Buck Peterson stood nose to nose, snarls on both their faces.
Sheriff Peterson was the first to notice S
kye. “So the princess has finally decided to make an appearance,” he snapped.
Skye didn’t respond. Suddenly she felt dizzy again, and the situation took on a surreal quality.
“Are you okay?” Wally pushed past the sheriff and put an arm around her. His warm brown eyes studied her for a long moment. “Your mother said you refused to go to the hospital or see a doctor.”
“I’m fine.” She fought the urge to collapse against him and let him take care of her. “Just cold and tired and confused.” She reluctantly eased out of his embrace. “How’s Beau?”
“Dead.” Peterson cut off Wally’s attempt to speak. “The hospital called for Reid while you were getting all prettied up.”
Skye took a step backward, her hand going to her throat.
“Dead,” she repeated dully. Even though the news of his death numbed her, her mind continued to process mundane information: So that’s why Simon’s gone. He’d been called away because of his duties as the Stanley County coroner.
“Don’t act so surprised.” Without warning, Peterson stepped close to Skye and thrust his face into hers. “Why’d you shoot him?”
As she was battered by shock after shock, Skye kept on having tangential thoughts. So Beau was shot. Damn, I was really hoping it was an accident, that he fell and hit the back of his head.
Before she could speak, Wally swept past her, grabbed the other lawman by the front of his jacket, and growled,
“That’s not how this is going to go. Right?” Wally had a couple of inches on the sheriff, and a lot more muscles, not to mention the little matter of being twenty years younger. “Fine, fine.” Buck Peterson immediately backpedaled. “Didn’t mean to step on any toes.” Wally released him. “So we agree to let Skye tell us what happened before jumping to any more conclusions.” When the sheriff didn’t answer, Wally demanded, “Right, Peterson?”
“Right.” Buck nodded, but his gray eyes were flat and hard — a snake ready to strike.
Wally turned to the others and announced, “You’ll all have to step out of the room. We’ll call you back in if we need you.”
Charlie, leaning against a wall, narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He motioned to the sheriff.
“I’ve known Bucky here since he used to steal penny candy from the dime store. His mind’s as narrow as a possum’s tail and he’s about half as trustworthy.” Bunny hung on to Charlie’s arm and nodded vigorously.
Wally’s face remained expressionless as he strode over to Charlie and whispered something in his ear.
The older man thought for a moment, then straightened and said, “Okay, but it’s on your shoulders if anything happens to her.” He patted Bunny’s hand. “Come on, my dear, let’s see what’s taking May so long in the kitchen.” After Charlie and Bunny left, Wally turned to the teenagers. “Time to go home. It’s nearly curfew.” They got reluctantly to their feet.
Frannie frowned. “What time is it?” Neither teen wore a watch.
Wally looked at his wrist. “Eight forty-five.”
“I thought curfew was ten o’clock,” Justin objected.
“It was changed when school started. It’s nine on week-days now.”
Skye wondered if she had missed that news, or if Wally was stretching the truth.
Justin and Frannie shuffled toward the parlor’s archway, but Justin turned before leaving and said, “Ms. D, you really okay?”
“I’m fine.” Skye waved. “I’ll talk to you two tomorrow.
Congratulations on winning the newspaper prize.” That left only Jed. He had straightened the back of his chair and put down the footrest, but not gotten up.
Wally said to him, “You’ll need to leave, too.” Skye’s father nodded, but took his time standing. As he walked toward the door, he stopped near Skye and advised,
“Remember what I told you when you started to date.” Before she could respond, he was gone. What had her dad told her eighteen years ago? Skye wrinkled her forehead trying to remember. Something about boys being like weath-ermen. What they promise and what actually happens are two different things, and if you depend on their promises you could get seriously hurt.
Skye smiled to herself. Jed had nothing to worry about.
Considering her recent dealings with ex-boyfriends and contractors, her trust quotient was at an all-time low.
“Is that it?” the sheriff growled after Jed’s exit. “Can we get on with this?”
Wally ignored him and guided Skye to a delicate Queen Anne armchair. “Tell me what happened when you got home from work.” He squatted in front of her, keeping his body between her and Peterson. “Be as detailed as you can.” Skye took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to remember everything. After a moment she began to speak.
“The first thing I noticed after I parked my car in the garage and started to walk toward the house was that no work had been done.”
Peterson ran a hand over his bald head. “I’ll bet that made you madder than a wet hen.”
Skye chose her next words carefully, knowing that her problems with the contractor might make her look guilty. “I was definitely displeased, but it certainly didn’t make me want to kill Beau.”
Wally shot the sheriff an irritated glance, then took her hand and squeezed. “Keep going. What happened next?” Skye described searching, then hearing the noise and thinking it might be her lost cat. In conclusion she said, “So I followed the sound into the trees.” Peterson snorted. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would you go into the woods alone in the dark? If you really thought it might be your cat, why didn’t you call for help?” Skye knew the sheriff would never understand her need for independence, but she tried to explain anyway. “Because I didn’t need any help. Bingo is my pet and I can take care of him.”
Wally scooted closer. “Then what?”
“Then I saw the boat tied to my dock.” She continued describing her actions after discovering Beau injured in the bottom of the vessel and the boat breaking free.
“How did you manage to get the boat back? The current is pretty strong along this part of the river and the water’s mighty cold to be swimming in.” The sheriff’s tone was skeptical.
“I don’t know.” Skye’s voice quivered. Recent events were all starting to crash down on her and she felt herself unraveling at the edges. “I knew Beau needed help, and there wasn’t much chance of anyone else being on the river this time of year, so I just did it.” She pressed a knuckle to her eye to stem the threatening tears. “But it didn’t do any good, did it? He died anyway, didn’t he?” There was a moment’s silence; then Buck Peterson started to applaud. “That was a mighty fine performance, girl. You even had me going for a minute there.” He hitched up his pants and moved closer. “I might even buy your story, if there wasn’t a dead body hanging around every time I see you. Not to mention I find it mighty odd that you’re now living in a deceased woman’s house.”
“You know I didn’t kill Mrs. Griggs. The guilty party confessed.” Skye sagged against the chair’s back, too tired to fight.
“With a little help from you.”
Wally stood and faced the sheriff. “She’s told us what happened, and she’s obviously exhausted, so unless you have another relevant question, I suggest we let Skye get some rest and finish this in the morning.” Peterson didn’t blink. “Was there anyone else here when you got home?”
Skye shook her head.
“Did you see any vehicles on the road while you were driving home?”
“No, the road was deserted.”
“How convenient.” Peterson’s grin was derisive. “No witnesses.”
As he took a step closer to Skye and Wally, a voice exploded from the doorway. “Buck Peterson, you stop right there!” May bustled into the room. “If you don’t want to have all your dispatchers call in sick tomorrow, you better back off and think about what you’re doing.” The sheriff froze and without turning around said, “Now, May, you know you can’t do that. You’re
a city dispatcher, not a county one.”
May darted up to the sheriff. He had ten inches on her, but she had the righteousness of a mother protecting her young. She poked him in the bicep with her index finger and demanded, “Care to try me? Betty and I formed all the dispatchers in the surrounding area into a little union.” Skye caught Wally’s eye and tilted her head questioningly. Betty was the head county dispatcher.
Wally shrugged, but he was grinning.
Buck hadn’t answered May’s original question, so she went on, “You might also want to consider the election coming up. Do you have any idea how many friends and relatives I have in Stanley County?”
The sheriff took a step back and met May’s eyes. “I don’t know why you’re so riled up, May. I’m not accusing Skye of nothing.”
“Right.” May looked him up and down. “And I’m not saying that if brains were water, you wouldn’t have enough to baptize a flea.”
Skye watched as Buck slowly processed the insult, and a scowl formed on his face as he realized what May had said.
Skye closed her eyes for a moment. She knew her mother had only been trying to help, but calling the sheriff a nitwit was not the way to win his cooperation and goodwill.
“Son of a bitch!” Buck’s bellow made the glass knick-knacks in the étagère rattle. He turned on Wally. “You have her in my office tomorrow at nine a.m. sharp, or I’ll put out an APB.”
Wally’s expression was implacable. “No. Skye will be at the Scumble River police station tomorrow at nine. I’ll be happy to have you sit in when she makes her statement.” Buck’s face turned the color of a ripe eggplant. He sputtered, grabbed his hat, and flung open the front door. “This ain’t over, not by a long shot.” He stomped out, slamming the door behind him.
May turned to Wally and nodded. “That was good. But you remember, if you hurt my daughter, you’ll be without dispatchers, too.” With that, she turned on her heel and marched out of the room.
Wally said goodbye to Skye and followed May out. There was a low conversation on the front porch that Skye couldn’t quite hear; then a car drove away.
Murder of a Real Bad Boy Page 4
