Murder of a Real Bad Boy

by Denise Swanson

  He listened, then replied, “I don’t know the address.

  Look it up. Priscilla Van Horn. If she tries to leave the city limits after getting home, bring her into the station and hold her for questioning.”

  Wally clicked off his cell and smiled at Skye. “I sure hope I don’t have to arrest her, since she was the only one betting on me to win your heart.”

  Skye giggled. She never knew Wally had such a quirky sense of humor. She could feel the tension in her neck and shoulders easing.

  The waitress was hovering, waiting to serve their main course, and Wally nodded at her. She hurried over and placed Skye’s duck à l’orange in front of her.

  As she centered Wally’s filet mignon between his silverware, she said, “The owner sends his apologies for that woman bothering you, Chief Boyd. Next time we’ll try to arrange for more privacy.”

  “She certainly isn’t any fault of the restaurant’s, but thank you.”

  After the server withdrew, Skye said, “They seem to know you well. Do you come here often?”

  “Not really, maybe half a dozen times a year, but I wanted everything to be perfect tonight, so this afternoon I came over and arranged things in person.”

  “Impressive.” Skye tilted her head. “You keep surprising me.”

  “Then my plan is working.” Wally sliced off a bite of steak and raised it to his mouth. “Any luck finding Bingo?” Skye felt her chest tighten. She fought not to sound teary when she spoke. “No, I was out looking for him again today and there wasn’t any sign of him.”

  “He really seems to have disappeared. Usually if we get a lost pet report, either the animal is found sitting on the owner’s doorstep, someone nearby sees a flyer and recognizes the cat or dog that’s been hanging around their backyard, or sadly, we find them run over.”

  “I need to know what happened to him.”

  “Don’t give up yet,” Wally encouraged. “He may still turn up okay.”

  Skye nodded and tucked her worry for Bingo away. She certainly wasn’t about to stop looking for him this quickly.

  They finished their entrées and were looking at dessert menus when something popped into Skye’s head. “Oh, I did find one odd thing while I was out looking for Bingo.”

  “What?”

  “A library book that had been thrown away.”

  “Some kid must have lost it on the way home from school or something.” Wally’s attention was focused on his choice. He laid the menu down and said, “Key lime pie for me. What are you having?”

  “I’m stuffed. I’ll just have a decaf cappuccino, if they have that.”

  After they ordered and were served, Skye said, “You must have an amazing metabolism to eat all that and still be in such great shape.”

  Wally quirked an eyebrow and grinned. “You think I’m in great shape?”

  The color rose in her cheeks. When would she learn to keep her mouth shut?

  “I like your shape, too.” Wally appeared to notice her embarrassment and his grin widened.

  “But I’m not, I mean I don’t . . .” Her face felt like it was on fire. “I don’t look like a Victoria’s Secret ad,” she finally managed to say.

  “No, you don’t.” Wally scooted his chair closer and put his arm around Skye. He lowered his voice. “You were cute when you were sixteen, and back then you had a body straight out of the swimsuit edition of Sports Illustrated, but when you came back here three summers ago, you took my breath away.”

  “Really?”

  “You’re soft and curvy and you feel like heaven in my arms.”

  “Wow.” Skye was shocked and somewhat skeptical. “But the magazine pictures look better, right?”

  “To some men. To me they look like boys who have had boob jobs.”

  Skye hooted. “You are too much, Chief.”

  “And you are exactly enough, sugar.” Wally’s kiss was sweet, with just a hint of passion.

  They lingered over their coffees, then moved to the bar and talked for another half hour. Wally had a glass of port and Skye had a grasshopper. As they walked to the car and drove home, she wondered if the glow she felt was from the alcohol or Wally.

  When he parked in front of her house, Skye turned and said, “It’s been a fabulous evening.”

  “That sounds like goodbye.”

  “It is, for now.”

  Wally was silent for a moment, then asked, “But you’ll go out with me again?”

  “Definitely.”

  Wally got out of the car and walked around the hood. He opened the passenger door and helped Skye out. As they climbed the steps to the porch, he paused by the front door.

  “I won’t always give in this easily.”

  “I know. And I won’t always want to say goodbye this early. But we need to take this slow and be sure. We’ve both made some mistakes in the past.”

  Wally cupped her chin in his hand and kissed her until they both were breathless. “This doesn’t feel like one of those mistakes.”

  “You’re right. It doesn’t.” She unlocked the door and stepped inside. “But the best reason to do the right thing today is tomorrow.”

  “In that case, I’ll call you tomorrow, after I question Priscilla Van Horn.”

  “I won’t be home until the afternoon. I’ll be at church in the morning, then I want to talk to my brother.”

  “Something up with Vince?”

  “Probably not. But Mom’s in a tizzy and I hope I can smooth things over.”

  “Okay.” Wally went back down the steps. “Good night.” Skye watched until he started to back the car away, and then she reluctantly closed the door. She looked at her watch. It was a few minutes before eleven, but it felt as if she had only been gone a couple of seconds. Being with Wally made her feel like time stood still.

  She went into the parlor, intent on listening to the phone messages she had ignored earlier that day, but before she could even push the PLAY button, the doorbell rang. Half smiling, but determined not to let Wally in even though she wanted to, Skye flung open the door.

  The figure on her porch wore a black skirt ripped from the hem nearly to the waistband, a red blouse half untucked, and black slides with one of the heels broken. She swayed, almost collapsing, and cried out, “Help me.”

  Twelve O’Clock High

  “Oh, my God.” Skye put her arm around the woman and drew her inside.

  By far, Alana Lowe was not the first unexpected visitor to show up at Skye’s front door; in fact, Alana wasn’t even the most surprising — Simon’s mother, who at the time was supposed to have been dead for twenty years, got that trophy — but Alana did win the prize for arriving in the most shocking condition.

  “What happened to you?” Skye led her to the parlor and seated her on the sofa.

  Alana didn’t answer and Skye was afraid the woman was in shock. Beyond a few superficial scratches, there didn’t seem to be anything physically wrong with her — no bleeding, nothing broken, and she didn’t appear to be in pain —

  but mentally Alana had withdrawn.

  Skye kneeled beside the settee and tried to make eye contact. “Alana, it’s me, Skye. You’re safe now. Tell me what happened to you.”

  Alana continued to stare past Skye’s shoulder. Every once in a while she jumped as if she had been slapped, but she never uttered a word.

  Skye wasn’t sure what to do. She knew that Alana had always been emotionally fragile, but something had evidently pushed her over the edge.

  She bit her lip. Who to call: the sheriff or Wally? Con-ceivably, since this was Beau’s sister, there was a good chance that whatever had happened to her was connected to her brother’s murder. Wally was investigating Beau’s murder just as much as the sheriff was. She would call Wally.

  Should she call the ambulance, too?

  Rising to her feet, she walked over to the end table, picked up the receiver, and dialed the police department.

  Too bad she didn’t know Wally’s cell phone number. She n
eeded to remember to get that from him. It would save a lot of time if she didn’t have to go through the dispatcher.

  After six rings, someone finally picked up and Skye said,

  “Hi, this is Skye Denison. Is Chief Boyd there?” She guessed he would probably check in at the station after dropping her off and before going home. “He is? Great.

  Could I speak to him please?”

  Skye watched Alana closely as she waited. So far the woman hadn’t moved, not even to look around.

  When Wally answered, Skye told him what had happened and asked, “Do you think we need an ambulance? I’m afraid she may have been raped.”

  “I’ll be there in less than five minutes. We can decide then.”

  They hung up and Skye tried once again to get Alana to talk. She sat beside the woman and took her hand. “Okay, the police are on their way. Everything will fine.” When Skye said “police,” Alana jerked her hand from Skye’s, drew up her legs, and wrapped her arms around them, moaning, “No. No. No.”

  Skye wrinkled her brow. What in the heck had happened?

  “Alana, did the police do this to you?” Skye knew it couldn’t have been Wally, and Officer Quirk was by the book, so who did that leave?

  Buck Peterson! That man was as far from regulation as a corked baseball bat. Skye cupped Alana’s chin and turned the other woman’s face so they were eye to eye. “Did Sheriff Peterson hurt you?”

  Alana let out a single scream and stood up. After a few seconds she blinked, focused on Skye who had followed her off the couch, and begged, “Please help me.” Then she sank back down and sobbed.

  Skye patted Alana’s back as the woman cried, knowing that it was the only thing she could do for her at the present.

  But her mind raced, imagining what Peterson had done to this fragile woman.

  When the doorbell rang, Skye handed Alana a box of Kleenex and rushed to answer it.

  Wally strode in, gave Skye a quick hug, and asked, “Has she said anything?”

  Skye described what had happened since her call to him, then pulled him as far away from the parlor entrance as the foyer allowed and lowered her voice. “Do you know Alana at all?”

  “No, I’ve seen her around town, but the first time I really talked to her was about her brother.”

  “That’s what I figured.” Skye struggled to explain the art teacher to Wally. “I met Alana when I first started working at the high school. The more I got to know her, the more I didn’t know her, if you get what I mean.”

  “Sort of. From our conversation this morning I gathered she’s an odd duck.”

  “That’s one way to put it. In the past three years of working with her, I’ve found her to be a bizarre combination of sophistication and vulnerability. She dresses like a New York socialite, but is almost as naïve as my mother. She motivates her students to produce amazing works of art, but goes to pieces if one of the kids talks back to her.” Wally ran his fingers through his hair. “Not your usual Scumble River teacher?”

  “Exactly. She asks for my help a lot at school, with everything from dealing with difficult students to looking at drawings she’s afraid are the work of psychopaths.”

  “Not the most stable teacup on the shelf?”

  “Right.” Skye nodded, then continued to explain, “What I’m trying to say is that it would be easy for someone to tip her over the edge, but you can believe what she tells you.

  She doesn’t have any problem distinguishing reality from fantasy.”

  “Okay. I get it.” Wally started to go into the parlor, then turned back. “You do know that if Peterson did something to her, I won’t look the other way out of misguided loyalty to a brother officer, don’t you?”

  “I know, but I had to make sure.”

  Alana had made a remarkable recovery in the few minutes she had been alone. She had tucked in her blouse, smoothed her long, black hair back into a chignon, and was sitting primly on a Queen Anne chair holding her torn skirt closed when Skye and Wally entered the parlor.

  Wally immediately pulled another chair up to her and said, “Ms. Lowe, I understand you need some help. What can we do for you?”

  Alana shot Skye a fearful glance and seemed reassured by her nod. “It all started this afternoon. I was doing my nails. My boyfriend, Neville, had to go into the city for a while, and you had told me there wasn’t anything I could do about poor Beau’s services yet.”

  Wally looked at Skye, who shrugged. She had forgotten to mention that with Alana there was no short version.

  “Anyway, I had just put on the top coat of polish when I heard knocking on the door. I was a little slow to answer because I didn’t want to ruin my manicure, and when I did, it was Sheriff Peterson and one of his deputies. They slammed open the door and made me come with them right away. I couldn’t call anyone or leave a note or anything.” Skye patted her hand. “They did the same thing to me last month.” She said to Wally, “It sounds like they’re getting out of control over there.”

  Alana nodded, then continued, “Sheriff Peterson made me wait in the car with him while his deputy searched my house. He had a warrant and said I couldn’t stop him.” It was Wally’s turn to nod before asking, “What happened next?”

  “They took me to the sheriff’s office in Laurel, and the sheriff made me go into a room with him. At first I thought we were alone, but there was a woman who sat in the corner and took notes.”

  Skye encouraged her. “Go ahead, Alana. You’ll feel better once you get it all out.”

  “He said a lot of awful things, but finally he said that Beau had been a drug lord, and that one of his dealers had been arrested and confessed to shooting him, and that they thought I was involved in the drug business, too.” Skye blinked, but managed to suppress a gasp. She asked Wally, “Did you know anything about this?”

  “No,” Wally gritted between closed teeth. “That son of a bitch Peterson did this all behind my back.”

  “What happened after that?” Skye asked Alana, seeing that Wally was clearly too angry to speak.

  “He kept badgering me to admit Beau and I were part of some huge Chicago drug gang, but we weren’t and I wasn’t about to say we were.” Alana straightened in her chair.

  “People kept coming in and out, and then the sheriff would leave me by myself for what seemed like hours at a time.”

  “What a jerk,” Skye muttered.

  “He kept giving me coffee, and then he wouldn’t let me go to the bathroom. He thought he could break me down, but I’ve been a teacher for nearly fifteen years and I often don’t get a potty break for the whole school day. He didn’t know who he was dealing with.”

  “Good for you.” Skye squeezed Alana’s hand.

  “Finally, a deputy came in and whispered something to the sheriff. Peterson turned red and threw a chair against the wall and left the room. But this time, only a few minutes went by and the police matron who had been taking notes came back and told me I could go.”

  “Do you know why they let you leave?” Wally asked.

  “I heard them saying they couldn’t find drugs or any evidence of a drug operation at my house.”

  “How long did they have you there?” Skye asked.

  “A long time. It wasn’t even noon when they picked me up, and it was past seven thirty when I walked in my front door.”

  “So, did this happen when they drove you back?” Skye indicated Alana’s state of disarray.

  “No. Once I got home, I took a shower and ate something, but I couldn’t rest. Neville was still gone and I had to talk to someone so I drove out here.”

  “Are you and Skye good friends?” Wally frowned, and it was evident to Skye he thought Skye had kept something important from him.

  “We’re school friends,” Alana explained. “We’re not real-life friends, like Skye and Trixie are, but Skye’s always been nice to me, and helped me when I had problems with the students or administration, and I couldn’t think of anyone else to talk to.” She paused
, then gave Skye a little smile. “Besides, you’ve figured out all those other murders, so I wanted to ask you to look into my brother’s. He was not a drug dealer.”

  Skye made a noncommittal noise.

  Alana continued, “You weren’t home, but I decided to wait a while. I was sitting on your swing and I must have nodded off, because suddenly someone pulled some kind of bag over my head, tied up my hands, and picked me up.”

  “Oh, my God!” Skye’s heart skipped a beat. “You poor thing.”

  “Whoever it was carried me around the house and into the woods out back. I have a good sense of direction so I was able to tell where he was taking me. He tied me to a tree and left me there. I eventually managed to get free and find my way back to your front door.”

  Wally was already reaching for the phone. He punched in the number and ordered, “Get me Quirk.” A minute or two went by as he paced impatiently. Finally he said, “Quirk, get hold of someone at the sheriff’s office and find out what the hell is going on.” After explaining about Alana’s attack and the drug dealer being arrested for Beau’s murder, he continued, “Before you do that, though, contact all off-duty officers and have them come over to the old Griggs house on Brook Lane. Tell them to search every inch of the property.” He barked a few more orders, then hung up and turned to Alana. “Do you want to go to the hospital?”

  “No. I’m okay. Whoever grabbed me didn’t hurt me.

  Could I call my boyfriend to come over, though?”

  “Certainly. But I do have a few more questions, if you’re up to it.”

  “Sure. Is it okay if I use the restroom first?” Alana looked from Wally to Skye.

  “Definitely. It’s right this way. There’s some safety pins in the medicine cabinet if you want to fasten your skirt.” Skye guided Alana out of the parlor and down the hallway.

  “Would you like something to drink? Coffee, tea, soda, maybe some wine?”

  “I’d love some wine. Thank you.”

  After Alana called her boyfriend, and Wally’s men had arrived and been instructed where to search, Skye, Alana, and Wally gathered back in the parlor and Wally said, “I made a quick check of the house just now and found a couple of interesting things.” He paused to take a gulp of the coffee Skye had brought him. “There are marks on your new front lock, indicating someone tried to jimmy it, and the plastic covering one of the window holes in the back has been slit.”