Seconds later Charlie, Bunny, and Jed came back into the parlor and she repeated what she had told Buck and Wally about what had happened. After extensive reassurances that she was fine, Skye persuaded them all to leave.
Charlie and Jed had come together, May had driven her own car, and Bunny had come with Simon. This left Charlie giving Bunny a ride home, and Jed driving May’s Oldsmo-bile.
As Jed backed up and turned the car around, May shouted out the passenger window, “I’ll have your bed at home ready in case you change your mind and decide to stay with us. Even if it’s late, just use your key and come on in.”
“Thanks, everyone.” Skye waved her parents off and went inside.
For a minute she leaned against the closed door; then she made her way to the back of the house where, at some point, a sunroom had been added. This was the only place, besides her bedroom, where she felt she could relax — she really missed her homey little cottage. The parlor and dining room were too formal, and with the renovations, the kitchen was a mess.
A space heater provided the only warmth, so a couple days ago Skye had brought out an old afghan. She snuggled under it as she nestled into the cozy cushions on the wicker furniture. Like everything else, they were threadbare, but she didn’t care how they looked as long as they were comfy.
With a sigh of relief, she relaxed.
She must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew the doorbell was ringing and she had a crick in her neck from lying on the too-short settee.
She considered ignoring the bell, but it was probably her mom or Uncle Charlie, either of whom would assume she was dead if she didn’t respond.
Reluctantly, Skye stood up, but kept the afghan draped around her as she trudged through the kitchen and hall to the foyer. When she looked through the peephole, her heart skipped a beat and she felt light-headed again.
She fumbled to unlock the door. As soon as she got it open Wally stepped inside and wordlessly swept her into his arms.
Skye squinted, peering over his shoulder. Was that a car pulling out of her driveway? Before she could decide, Wally gently cupped her chin with his right hand, turned her head to face him, and claimed her lips.
As the afghan fell to the floor, Skye realized that the decision as to whether she should give up on men, or at least not start dating someone new so soon, was being taken out of her hands. Wally had plainly decided that he’d waited long enough.
Six of One, Half a Dozen
of the Other
Wally’s mouth covered Skye’s hungrily, and she returned his kiss with a reckless abandon that surprised her. Even as he roused her passion, it was clear that his own was growing stronger, too. He gathered her more closely, her soft curves molding to the contours of his lean body.
Blood pounded in her brain and her knees trembled. She had never felt this way before.
As Skye’s world spun out of control, a thunderous whooshing sound exploded around them.
“What the hell?” Wally lifted his head.
The first noise was followed almost immediately by a loud pop.
Wally froze, but kept Skye protectively in his arms.
A booming whistle like Old Faithful erupting caused Skye to break out of Wally’s embrace and dart toward the kitchen. He followed immediately at her heels. As she skidded to a stop on the wet linoleum, Wally barreled into her and they both went down in a heap.
Skye was already fighting her way out from under him when he levered himself upright and demanded, “Where’s your main water shutoff valve?”
“The basement.” Skye pointed to a door at the back of the kitchen. “Bottom of the stairs near the water heater.” Wally nodded as he wrenched open the door, pulled the string to turn on the light, and disappeared down the rickety wooden stairs.
Skye scrambled up, staring in dismay as water shot upward from where her kitchen faucet had been. A few minutes later it stopped and she hurried forward, flinging open the cabinet door beneath the sink and twisting both of the sink’s shutoff valves. She yelled down the basement stairs to Wally that he could turn the main valve back on.
When Wally reappeared, Skye was already mopping up the water. He shrugged off his leather jacket and placed it on the back of the one chair that had remained dry, then joined her in cleaning up the mess.
“Do you have any idea what caused your faucet to erupt?” Wally asked as he wrung out a sopping wet rag into the sink.
“It could be anything.” Skye shrugged. “Beau has been promising to get his plumber in here for a month. Maybe Mom did something earlier this evening when she was trying to make me some tea.”
Wally paused and took a tiny notebook from his shirt pocket. After jotting down a few words, he replaced the pad and went back to work.
A half hour later the kitchen floor was dry, as were the table, chairs, and counters that had also been soaked. Skye and Wally stood in the small downstairs bathroom sharing the last clean towel to wipe off their hands and faces. Their clothes had remained surprisingly dry.
When Wally took a corner of the towel and dabbed at Skye’s cheek, following up that gesture with a light kiss on her lips, she suddenly felt shy. She knew it was silly after their earlier uninhibited embrace, but her mind had had a chance to click back on, and now she chided herself. Where was my self-control? It’s too soon after Simon for this.
She had been caught off guard by Wally’s sudden appearance; still, there was no excuse for throwing herself at him. Feeling self-conscious, she eased out of his reach and stepped out of the bathroom. He followed her into the foyer, a puzzled expression on his handsome face.
When he tried to take her hand, she turned away and attempted to divert his attention by posing the question she should have asked when he first arrived. “So, what are you doing here? I wasn’t expecting you to come back.” He gave her a faintly amused look before answering, “I wanted to make sure you were really okay.”
“Oh. I’m fine.” Skye looked at her wrist. “What time is it, anyway?” Her watch had not survived her earlier swim.
“Nearly midnight.”
Skye backed a little farther away. “Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thank you.”
“How about something to eat?”
“No.”
It appeared that Wally planned on staying a while, so she picked up the afghan she had dropped earlier and started to lead him into the parlor.
He stopped her by placing his hands on her shoulders and turning her around. “Where do you sit when you don’t have company? Somewhere comfortable.”
She took a quick peek at him, then looked back down at her fingers, which were nervously playing cat’s cradle with the yarn of the afghan. “In here.” She led him into the sunroom, aware of both its shabbiness and its intimacy.
Skye watched warily as Wally unbuckled his leather utility belt and placed it on the wicker coffee table. Next he loosened his collar and took off his tie.
Oh, my God! Is he undressing? Skye held her breath, not sure if she was dismayed or excited by the possibility.
When he made no move to remove anything further and had settled on the settee, she told herself she felt relieved and attempted to edge past him to the armchair. But he captured her hand and pulled her down next to him, nestling her against his side.
Confused, Skye wasn’t sure what to do or even what she wanted to do. Sitting this close to him set her pulse racing, but she wasn’t used to his forceful approach. Simon had always let her take the lead and stepped back if she was un-easy.
As Wally started to free her curls from their French braid, Skye tried to mask her inner turmoil by asking, “So, what’s happened since you left here?”
A suggestion of annoyance flickered in Wally’s eyes, but he shrugged and continued to unbraid her hair, massaging her scalp as he proceeded. “Not much.”
“Could I have done anything differently to save Beau?” Skye asked the question that had been gnawing at her since she heard
the contractor had died.
“No. Beau was declared dead once he reached the hospital. The EMTs said he never had a chance. He was shot at close range in the back of the head. There was too much brain damage and blood loss for him to survive.” Skye slumped. All her efforts had been for nothing. “I thought if a person was shot in the head they died instantly.”
“Only on TV. A person can live for hours or even days. It depends on the injury.”
Skye was silent for a moment, then asked, “Have you found out anything else? Any idea who murdered him?”
“Nothing much. We notified his sister and she formally identified the body. His mother’s dead, and the sister told us they don’t know the whereabouts of his father.”
“Shoot. I forgot about Beau’s sister. She’s the high school art teacher. I’ll have to go see her. I only hope she doesn’t blame me for Beau’s death.” Skye paused, abruptly recalling what Alana had said earlier that day. After a moment she asked, “Did you have any trouble finding her? Alana told me she and her boyfriend were going into Chicago for the evening.”
“No. She mentioned they’d had to cancel their plans due to some business emergency her boyfriend had to deal with.
He’s some big shot.”
“Right.” Skye nodded. “I met him when school started.
He’s really classy. Even his name makes you think of money. Neville Jeffreys — doesn’t that remind you of yachts and mansions?”
Wally gave a noncommittal shrug.
Suddenly, Skye felt close to tears. “I feel so sorry for poor Alana. She must be completely alone now, with both her parents and brother gone.” Skye tried to smile, but without success. “At least her boyfriend is visiting so she has someone to help her through this awful time. He flew in a few weeks ago from New York. He has some kind of important deal going on in Chicago and he’s been staying with Alana.”
Wally had finished freeing Skye’s hair and started to rub her shoulders, but he stopped and said, “She didn’t have much to say tonight, but we’ll be talking to her again tomorrow, so don’t go over there until Sunday. We don’t want Peterson accusing you of trying to influence her.”
“Okay.” Skye was both confused by and grateful for Wally’s attitude — grateful that he believed she was innocent, but confused because he hadn’t ordered her to keep her nose out of the investigation.
“Good.” Wally relaxed and started massaging her neck.
“Your fingerprints will be all over the boat, and we don’t want him to have any more ammo against you.” Skye, having started to relax under Wally’s ministrations, stiffened at his last comment. “Sheriff Peterson really does want to pin Beau’s murder on me, doesn’t he?”
“Let’s just say he wants the case solved, and he wants to be the one to do it. He doesn’t care who he puts in jail. To him a scapegoat is almost as good as a solution.”
“So, if we give him someone else . . .” Skye trailed off, inviting Wally’s response.
“Peterson won’t care, as long as he gets credit.” Wally bent his head to nibble at her earlobe.
“Then we need to find the sheriff some other suspects.” Skye tried to stifle the dizzying current racing through her.
“Do you have any idea who might have had it in for Beau?”
“No. Only thing I heard was that he’s popular with the ladies.” Wally’s lips seared a path down her neck as he peeled off the jacket of her sweat suit and pushed away her T-shirt to gain access to her shoulder.
For a long moment she felt as if she were floating, then she wrenched her thoughts back to the problem at hand.
“How about his business practice? He was sure doing a lousy job for me.”
“Can’t we talk about this later?”
“No. How can I think of anything else when the sheriff wants to put my butt in the electric chair?” He sighed, then kissed the tip of her nose. “Okay, there is some rumbling around town that Hamilton’s customers haven’t all been happy with his work, but so far no one has made a formal complaint.”
“That’s odd. Everyone I talked to gave him a good reference.” Skye drummed her fingers on Wally’s thigh. “Why would they lie?”
“Good question.” Wally stretched his legs and put his arms behind his head. They sat in silence for a few seconds, neither one having an answer or able to think of anything else they knew about Beau.
Skye picked up a yellow fuzzy mouse and absently tossed it from hand to hand.
Wally watched her play with the cat toy, then asked, “So, how did Bingo get lost?”
“Beau let him get out.” Skye’s expression clouded with anger. “When I got home from work Wednesday afternoon, he was gone.”
Wally put his arm around her shoulders and gave a sympathetic squeeze.
“I looked all over for him. I called animal control and put up posters around town, but it’s so deserted out here I’m afraid a coyote got him.”
“Has he ever been out before?” Wally put his other arm around her and held her.
“Only that time when Grandma was murdered.” Skye snuggled in Wally’s embrace. “I’m really careful not to let him out. His front paws are declawed so he has no de-fenses.”
“How did it happen that Hamilton let him out?”
“That’s the weird part. I had closed Bingo in my bedroom with his food, water, and litter box. Beau was not supposed to be doing anything in that part of the house. He had no reason to open my bedroom door. Yet when I got home, Bingo was gone.”
“What did Hamilton say?” Wally pushed a curl behind Skye’s ear and kissed her cheek.
“He claimed he didn’t do it, and that none of his crew did either.”
“But you didn’t believe him?”
“No. Unless I have a ghost or Bingo grew opposable thumbs and can turn a doorknob, it had to be Beau or one of his guys.”
Wally stiffened. “Have you mentioned to anyone that you blame Hamilton for Bingo’s disappearance?”
“No. Why?”
“Don’t. This would be exactly the kind of motive Peterson would love to get ahold of.”
Wally was right; Skye’s expression was sober. “Okay, but I’ll still keep searching for Bingo.”
“That’s fine. Just don’t say anything about Beau being the one who let him out.”
“I won’t.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “You know, when Grandma Leofanti died, everyone wanted her possessions, but I knew that of everything she had, she loved her cat best, so I wanted him. He’s the last living connection I have with her.”
“I’ll tell my officers to keep an eye out for him, too.” Wally brushed his thumb under her eye, wiping away the half-formed tear there.
“Thank you.” She leaned back into Wally’s arms, but returned to the question of who could have murdered Beau Hamilton. “Let’s see, we know Beau was a ladies’ man, which can certainly get a guy killed. People aren’t happy with his work, but no one says anything. And he’s a liar.
Anything else?” Skye closed her eyes and thought, then answered herself. “The other day I heard him on his cell phone arguing with a supplier about overdue payments.”
“That sounds like plenty to work on.” Wally stretched back out, drawing Skye partially on top of him. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” Skye agreed, suddenly tired of waiting for precisely the right time. She had wanted to make love to Wally for eighteen years. By now the prolonged anticipation was almost unbearable. She’d probably regret this later, but she was sick of always being a good girl.
She half turned so she could look into Wally’s eyes, then ran her fingers through the silver strands at his temples. She liked the way the silver emphasized the midnight blackness of the rest of his hair. Next she traced the smooth olive skin that stretched over his high cheekbones.
Wally’s brown eyes went from the color of milk chocolate to dark chocolate with each of her caresses. Finally, he captured her right hand and brought it to his lips, kissing and nibbling his w
ay to her wrist.
She shivered as he nuzzled the sensitive skin there. She responded by burrowing her left hand under his shirt and kneading the muscles of his broad shoulders while kissing the strong column of his throat.
His hands moved under her T-shirt, skimming her waist and ribs as he eased the garment over her head.
She had started on the buttons of his shirt when the radio clipped to his utility belt squawked to life.
At first he ignored it, intent on the clasp of her bra, but Skye felt him stiffen when the words “Beau Hamilton” crackled from the little box.
Skye and Wally exchanged one long look, and then he gently moved her off his lap and onto the settee cushion before leaning forward and grabbing the radio. He pushed the button and said to the dispatcher, “Call me on my cell phone.”
“Negative on that, Chief. You must be in a dead zone. All I get is your voice mail.”
“Call me at this number.” Wally recited the seven digits of Skye’s phone, then turned to her. “Where’s your phone?” She finished putting her T-shirt back on, pointed him to the parlor, and trailed behind him, pondering the fact that Wally had her number memorized. The phone was ringing when they stepped through the archway. Skye listened as Wally talked.
When he hung up, he said to her, “Officer Quirk found Beau’s truck at the Recreational Club. Someone tried to drive it into one of the lakes, but the one they picked was too shallow, and the truck was stuck half in and half out of the water.”
“I’ll bet the murderer arrived here in the boat that I found Beau’s body in, and he must have left by stealing Beau’s truck.” Skye had been trying to figure out why there was no extra vehicle in her driveway.
“That’s what I think, too, which is why I had Quirk call the county crime techs. They’ll meet me at the truck. I want them to go over it with a fine-tooth comb.” Wally suddenly frowned. “You’ve never been in Beau’s pickup, right?” Skye thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Nope. Never even touched the door. He usually rode his motorcycle here.”
Murder of a Real Bad Boy Page 5
