Murder of a Real Bad Boy

by Denise Swanson

  “Nope.” Skye squirmed a little, uncomfortable talking about her ex. “Simon didn’t like the Mansion. He preferred more modern places in the city. He liked to try new things.” Skye gave a sardonic laugh. “Especially girlfriends, as I found out.”

  “His loss, my gain.” Wally trailed his fingers down her cheek, then shifted the car into REVERSE and turned it toward the road.

  Skye buckled her seat belt as he zoomed out onto Brook Lane. She could feel her tension dissolving as they drove.

  She was silent until Wally merged onto I-55; then she said,

  “Thank you for the plumber.”

  “Did he get your faucet fixed?”

  “Yes. It was really sweet of you to send him to me.” Wally gave her a crooked smile. “I figure any guy can send flowers, but how many have a plumber on call?”

  “I’m guessing that would be zero.” Skye relaxed, then straightened. “Did you get my message about someone being in my house while I was at the police station this morning?”

  “Yes.” Wally smoothly shifted gears. “I passed the info on to the sheriff. Have you arranged to have the locks changed yet?”

  “Sort of.” Skye described her encounter with Dulci Smallwood and concluded with, “Have you heard of her? Is she on the ten most wanted list or anything?”

  “No, and it’s an unusual enough name that it would stick in my mind.”

  “I wonder what she did.” Skye turned slightly and gazed at Wally’s handsome profile.

  “Well, even though Loretta and I are usually on opposite sides of the interrogation table, I like her, and I’m sure she’d never do anything to hurt you. Whatever Dulci’s legal problems are, they probably don’t have anything to do with her contracting business.”

  “That’s my guess, too.” Skye was silent for a while. She appreciated the fact that Wally didn’t immediately tell her she shouldn’t hire Dulci. She also found his open-mindedness regarding both Loretta and Dulci refreshing. Simon would probably have told her to hire someone else, saying that while there might not be anything against Dulci, why take the chance when there were safer routes to follow. That was the difference between the two men. Simon meant safety and stability, and Wally offered a chance to stretch her wings and try new things.

  Wally plucked a CD from the holder attached to his sun visor and slid it into the car’s player. Immediately Gary Lewis started to sing “Save Your Heart For Me.” Wally took Skye’s hand. “I hope you like oldies.”

  “Oldies, country, some jazz, a little classical, pretty much anything but acid rock and rap.”

  “My favorites are the forties through the seventies. They lost me at disco.”

  Skye bit her lip, but a small bubble of laughter escaped anyway.

  “What?” Wally asked in a mock angry tone.

  “I’m imagining you in a white suit dancing under one of those big mirrored balls to ‘Saturday Night Fever.’ ”

  “Never happened.” Wally parked the T-bird in the Mansion’s parking lot and got out to open Skye’s door.

  “Never?” she teased.

  “Maybe once.” He laughed. “But there were no pictures taken.”

  “That’s what they all say.” She took his arm and they walked across the gravel to the long sweep of concrete stairs.

  When Wally pushed open the double glass doors, the white lace curtains on the inside rippled in the breeze. Skye stepped over the threshold and scanned the enclosed porch.

  People waiting to be shown to their tables sat on white wicker sofas and chairs.

  Wally guided her through another set of doors, then went to speak to the hostess. While he checked on their reservation, Skye examined her surroundings. To her left was a beautiful wooden staircase. Against its railing was a half oval antique china cabinet and an old oak icebox.

  Skye studied the stemmed green crystal glasses on the glass-enclosed shelves that hung on the opposite wall. She had noticed similar ones in the china cabinet at Mrs.

  Griggs’s. She should ask someone here if they were valuable.

  Before she could find anyone to question, Wally took her arm and said, “Our table’s ready.”

  An enticing aroma of cinnamon and freshly baked bread surrounded them as they passed the bakery and walked down a narrow hall. The Mansion was famous for its pas-tries.

  “This way, please.” The hostess led them into a large room filled with diners. She indicated a corner table partially shielded by a folding screen on one side and a large floral arrangement on the other, and asked, “Is this what you wanted, Chief Boyd?”

  “Perfect.”

  Wally helped Skye into her chair, then sat next to her with his back to the wall, moving the silverware and napkin to ac-commodate his seating choice. Skye tried to hide her giggle by putting the menu in front of her face, but Wally asked,

  “Now what’s so funny?”

  “Why did you pick that chair?”

  “It was the one next to you.”

  “So was the one on my other side, and the place setting was over there.”

  “Then I don’t know.” Red climbed up Wally’s tan neck and cheeks. “What’s the big deal?”

  “It’s just that I do that, too,” Skye hastened to explain. “I like to sit with my back to the wall. My Grandma Leofanti used to say it was an Italian thing. It’s actually pretty funny at family gatherings with everyone fighting for the wall seats.”

  “It’s also a cop thing. You should see the maneuvering at the annual law enforcement luncheon. It looks like we’re playing musical chairs.”

  Skye smiled and slipped her hand into Wally’s. She liked the way he could laugh at himself and take a bit of teasing.

  The waitress approached carrying a silver wine bucket on a floor stand and said, “Hello, my name is Rhea Ann and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. When would you like the champagne you ordered, Chief?”

  Wally looked at Skye. “Would you like it now, or would you prefer it later, with dessert?” There was a devilish glint in his eye.

  “Let’s have it now. Dessert is so far away,” Skye answered with an equally mischievous grin.

  Wally nodded to the waitress, who began the ritual of un-corking.

  When the server left with their appetizer orders, Wally raised his glass. “To the girl I’ve been waiting for all my life.”

  Skye started to reply in kind, but put on the mental brakes. If this relationship was going to slow down, she would have to be the one to set the tone. Instead she said,

  “To our first date.”

  There was a brief, awkward silence. Skye had a lot to ask and tell Wally, but all of it pertained to the murder and she didn’t know how he’d react to that topic. Simon hated it when she talked “business” at the table, and she didn’t want to annoy Wally if he felt the same way.

  Finally she asked, “How was your day?”

  At the same time Wally said, “I hear you were out at the Rec Club this morning.”

  They both started to answer at once, but Wally insisted Skye go first.

  “That’s right. I wanted to see the spot where Beau’s truck was found. There wasn’t any police tape or anything. Wasn’t I supposed to be there?”

  “The county techs were finished with it, so being there was fine.” Wally buttered a roll. “But I wondered why you didn’t tell me you were going.”

  “I didn’t think it was important enough to mention.” As Skye sipped her champagne, a question popped into her head. “Who squealed on me?”

  “The caretaker. We asked him to keep a list of any odd people he noticed.”

  “Odd?” Skye choked on a bubble and put down the glass.

  “He thought I was odd?”

  “Odd that you’d be at the lake with no boat or fishing gear.”

  Their waitress served their appetizers, took the order for their entrée, and refilled their champagne glasses before leaving.

  Skye plucked a homemade toast point from those arranged around a small oval casserole d
ish, scooped a bit of the artichoke and crab dip onto it, and took a careful bite. All she needed was to have the appetizer spill down the front of her cream turtleneck and have to wear a food-spattered garment for the rest of the evening.

  Wally followed suit with the dip, then asked, “Did you find anything out there we missed?” Skye swallowed. “No, but a couple of questions did occur to me.”

  “Oh?” Wally popped the crab-topped triangle of toast in his mouth.

  “Like, how did the person driving the truck get into the club?”

  “Beau was a member. The perp probably used Beau’s key to get in.” Wally swallowed and added, “Since his key ring is missing, we don’t know for sure.”

  “What’s the theory as to why the killer chose that lake rather than a deeper, more remote one?”

  “Impulse, poor judgment, didn’t know the territory.” Wally shrugged. “We have no idea. Pick one.”

  “Any sign of how the killer got home after ditching the truck?”

  “Not so far. The techs are examining footsteps and tire tracks as we speak.”

  Skye sagged back. “So, no progress at all. At this rate Sheriff Peterson will be sending someone out to measure me for my prison jumpsuit.”

  Before Wally could answer, their salads were served.

  Wally ate a forkful, then said, “Don’t worry. I had some good interviews today with his friends and associates, and I’ll keep at it tomorrow.”

  “How about the two guys who worked for Beau? Where were they? They should have been working on my house, but it looked as if they hadn’t been there all day.”

  “Quirk talked to them this afternoon. Both said Hamilton called that morning and told them not to show up for work, so they hired on with a different contractor for the day. They were with that crew over in Laurel from nine a.m. to five p.m., so they both have an alibi.”

  “Darn.” Skye took a sip of water.

  “Something will turn up.” Wally patted her hand. “I talked to Hamilton’s sister again.”

  “Did she have anything useful to say?”

  “She claimed everyone loved her brother, but Alana’s boyfriend gave me a few names of Beau’s ex-girlfriends while Alana was out of the room.”

  “Who did he say Beau had dated?”

  “Yolanda Doozier, Raette Craughwell, and Nikki Price.

  I’m guessing they all have been around. Do you know any of them?”

  “I went to school with Yolanda, and Nikki is my mom’s exercise instructor, and if you mean ‘been around’ as in ‘previously enjoyed companion,’ then yes, that would fit them both. But the other name doesn’t seem familiar.”

  “Rae —” Wally started to say as a buxom redhead scuttled around the floral arrangement secluding their table from the rest of the restaurant.

  She slid to a stop, and screeched, “I knew it! I just knew it! One second.” She dug in her cavernous purse, pulled out a disposable camera, and ordered them to smile. Before Skye or Wally could react, she aimed and pressed the button.

  “You two didn’t think you could get away with it forever, did you? There’s no wiggling out of it. I have proof.”

  Eleventh Hour

  “Proof of what?” Skye asked the woman, then looked questioningly at Wally. Was their intruder a wacko?

  She seemed familiar, but Skye couldn’t quite place her. She met hundreds of parents each school year, but usually only for one conference. While they remembered her as the person diagnosing their child, she couldn’t always match names and faces outside of school.

  Wally gave a tiny shrug and a small shake of his head, indicating he didn’t know who the woman was either. He also moved closer to Skye, and she could see he was tensed to leap into action if the woman’s behavior changed from nutty to threatening.

  “I told my husband it was you two, but he wouldn’t believe me.” The redhead looked expectantly at Skye.

  Skye thought it best to go along with the woman, in case she really was a lunatic, so she said, “It’s us all right.”

  “Everyone else thought you were engaged to that nice funeral home director. I mean, after your awful experience with that horrible high school English teacher, they were pretty sure that’s what had happened, but I noticed lately we weren’t seeing you with him as much.” The redhead put her hand to her chest. “Don’t tell me the funeral home guy was sleeping with young girls, too?”

  Skye winced at hearing her past love life summed up so starkly, but the woman was oblivious and kept talking. “So, when did you and the chief get together? I started noticing the looks and the touches during the Route Yard Sale.” The redhead’s high-pitched, affected drawl and breathless chatter were beginning to ring a bell in Skye’s memory — not the pleasant tinkling silver variety, but the annoying Salvation Army Santa kind, the ones they ring continually from the day after Thanksgiving until Christmas Eve.

  Skye scrunched up her face and ventured a guess. “Mrs.

  Van Horn?”

  “Why yes, dear, but call me Priscilla. Don’t tell me you didn’t remember me after I helped you figure out who killed poor Lorelei Ingels.”

  “Of course I remember you.” Skye thought quickly. “It’s just that you’ve lost weight.”

  “You think so?” Priscilla preened.

  Skye nodded and asked, “How is Zoë doing?” Skye had met Priscilla Van Horn and her daughter a year and a half ago, when Zoë’s best friend, Lorelei Ingels, was found dead on the stage of Scumble River High School.

  “She’s downtown at Columbia in their theater program.” Priscilla once again dug through her huge purse, this time producing a bundle of pictures, which she shoved at Skye.

  “Now that Zoë’s out of Lorelei’s shadow, she’s getting lead roles.” Zoë had played second fiddle to her friend for years, and Lorelei’s death had given Zoë her big chance. “She’s barely a sophomore and already the head of the acting department has taken a personal interest in her. He’s giving her private tutoring.”

  Skye started to say something about an older man and a vulnerable girl, but thought twice. The Zoë she remembered could take care of herself.

  Priscilla Van Horn was visibly waiting for Skye’s admiration, so Skye said, “That’s terrific. What a wonderful opportunity.” Skye made a show of looking through the photos and oohing and ahing before silently passing them to Wally.

  Then she asked carefully, not knowing what to expect, “Uh, Mrs. Van Horn, I mean, Priscilla, you still haven’t told us why you took our picture or what you have proof of.”

  “Oh, the picture is for my bunco club.” For the first time since she had appeared, Priscilla looked a little uncomfortable. “All the members are women with children at your schools, and we sort of took an interest in you after you solved the Ingels case.”

  “An interest in me, why?”

  “Well, mostly in who you’re dating.” Priscilla smiled ingratiatingly. “You know Scumble River is pretty dull and we sort of thought it would be fun to see if we could predict who you would date, who you would end up marrying, and when those things would happen. Then someone thought it would make it even more interesting if we placed bets on it.”

  Wally snorted, and Skye shot him a dirty look before turning back to the redhead. “You mean your bunco club is running a betting pool on my love life?”

  “I wouldn’t put it that way exactly.”

  “Then how would you put it?” Skye’s voice was rising and she was fighting to hold on to her temper.

  Priscilla waved her hand as if she were chasing away a fly. “Don’t worry about it, dear.” She glanced coyly at Wally. “It looks like it will all be over soon.” She pulled out a vacant chair, sat down, and lowered her voice. “While I have you two alone, did I hear Beau Hamilton was murdered and you found him, Skye?”

  Wally cut in smoothly before Skye could respond. “Yes, Mrs. Van Horn, and I heard you were one of Beau’s less-than-satisfied customers.”

  Priscilla froze, then abruptly stood up,
her chair teetering.

  “I don’t know who told you that. He remodeled my master bathroom and it was fine.”

  Wally had been holding the snapshots of Zoë throughout Priscilla’s explanation of her club’s interest in Skye, but now he handed them back to Priscilla without having looked at them and said, “I’d like to talk to you about your relationship with Beau tomorrow. I’ll stop by your house at one.”

  “Relationship!” Priscilla squawked. “I didn’t have a relationship with Beau Hamilton.” She backed away from the table. “Anyway, I’m leaving to visit my mother in Texas tomorrow morning.”

  “What time?”

  “Nine.”

  “Fine. I’ll be there at eight.”

  Priscilla took another step backward, protesting, “But I’ll be busy packing.”

  “We can talk while you pack. It shouldn’t take long.” Wally’s face was expressionless.

  Skye could see the wheels turning in Priscilla’s head, and it was plain the gerbils running on them weren’t gaining any ground. Finally she let out a frustrated cry, stomped her foot, and whirled around. As she tried to flee, her high heel caught in the basket of flowers on the floor behind her. She tripped, falling to the ground in a shower of chrysanthemums, ferns, and cattails. A spider mum landed on top of her upswept hair.

  Before either Skye or Wally could move, Priscilla shot up and rushed out of the restaurant. The mum’s spiky petals covered her eyes like a veil, and a yellow ribbon from the arrangement wrapped around her ankle and trailed after her like the train on a wedding gown.

  Skye was the first to giggle, followed closely by Wally’s snickering. They looked at each other, and Wally started humming “Here Comes the Bride.” Immediately, they were both laughing uncontrollably as they stared at the fleeing woman scattering flower petals and florist ribbon in her wake.

  Finally, Skye stopped laughing and returned her gaze to Wally. “That should be quite a conversation you have with her tomorrow.”

  “What do you want to bet she won’t be there if I wait until tomorrow morning?” Wally reached into his pocket for his cell. He spoke quietly into the phone so he wouldn’t disturb the other diners. “Quirk, I want you to watch the Van Horn house tonight. She should be pulling into the driveway in about twenty minutes.”