“Shit!” Skye banged her cup into its saucer, wincing when it clanked. “Those windows being out make it almost impossible to secure the house.”
“Yeah. I should have thought of that after you told me about this afternoon’s break-in.” Wally scowled. “I’ll get someone out here first thing in the morning to board up the openings.”
“No! The plumber was enough,” Skye protested. She couldn’t let Wally start to take care of her. They needed to build their relationship on an equal footing.
Wally shrugged noncommittally, then turned to Alana.
“When you first arrived here this evening, were there any vehicles in the driveway?”
“No.”
Skye closed her eyes, trying to drag an elusive piece of information from her subconscious. She knew there was something she wanted to ask Alana, but couldn’t get it into words.
Before anything came to her, the doorbell rang and she ran to answer it. She opened the door to a dapper-looking man about fifty years old. He reminded her of a s movie star.
He held out his hand. “My name is Neville Jeffreys, I’m Alana’s friend.”
They had met briefly at school a couple of weeks ago, but Skye figured the man was too shaken up over his girlfriend’s assault to remember. “Skye Denison.” She shook his hand and stepped aside so he could enter. He was only a bit taller than she, with a slim build and a dancer’s grace. He had ebony hair worn slicked back, and dark, nearly black eyes.
“We’re in the parlor. It’s this way.” She pointed to her left, then followed him down the hall.
When they entered the room, Neville immediately went to Alana and took her into his arms. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to help you.”
“It was so awful. He could have killed me.” She broke down again, sobbing, and Neville patted her back and smoothed her hair.
Skye and Wally stepped into the hall to give the couple some privacy. “This all ties into Beau’s death somehow, doesn’t it?” she asked.
“That would be my guess.”
“Did Quirk get any info on the guy they arrested?” Wally nodded. “His name is Terry Edwards. He’s from Clay Center. He’s strictly small-time. He occasionally sells a little coke and meth to his buddies, but only enough to support his habit. He’s not a big-time dealer by any means.”
“You know him?”
“Everybody knows Terry. He’s an old hippie who likes to stay high and keep to himself.”
Skye sighed. “He didn’t kill Beau, did he?”
“Probably not.”
Skye sagged against the wall. For a fleeting second, it had been so nice to think that Beau’s murderer was behind bars and she was no longer a suspect. “So Sheriff Peterson is on the wrong track?”
“Probably.” Wally exhaled noisily. “And unfortunately, even if you’re on the right track, you’ll get run over if you just sit there. But Peterson doesn’t care. To him, the case is solved, and he can put a win in his column.”
“But at least if the sheriff thinks he has the killer, he no longer has any reason to suspect me. And won’t get in your way while you investigate.”
“My little Pollyanna,” Wally murmured as he leaned in to kiss Skye.
“What? You think I’m too optimistic?” She turned her head so his lips landed on her cheek. “How can Peterson still suspect me if he claims to have a confession from Terry Edwards? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Let’s just say that Peterson won’t take it well if he finds out I’m still investigating. Which means he’ll try and retali-ate. What do you think the best way to get at me would be?”
“Me?” Skye asked. “But how?”
“How about hassling you, like he did Alana, about being involved in Beau’s alleged drug ring?”
“Crap.”
“I could not investigate, and publicly agree that the sheriff is correct in his arrest.”
Skye felt a tug of temptation. “There’s no way I can let an innocent man go to prison simply to make things better for me, is there?”
“No.” Wally hugged her. “The Skye I know and love would last about an hour and a half before she had to make things right.”
“Wrong.” Skye poked him in the chest with her index finger. “I could last two hours, at the very least.” The grandfather clock in the foyer began to chime as they returned to the parlor. Skye had already counted the twelfth bong when it dawned on her that a moment ago Wally had said he loved her. Had his declaration been a figure of speech, or did he really mean it?
Lucky Thirteen
Neville and Alana were sitting side by side on the sofa when Skye and Wally entered the parlor. Neville whispered something in Alana’s ear that made her pale cheeks turn pink, but as soon as he spied Wally, he said, “Unquestionably there’s a madman out there. What are you going to do to protect Alana?”
Wally took his time answering. He waited for Skye to sit down, then leaned forward, hands gripping the back of her Queen Anne chair. “I’ve got my men searching the area right now. We’re hopeful that they’ll find something for us to go on.”
“That’s not good enough. She needs twenty-four-hour protection.”
“Mr. Jeffreys, we’re a small police department. I haven’t got that kind of manpower.” Wally straightened. “My officers are fully aware of what’s happened and will regularly patrol Ms. Lowe’s street, but she has to take reasonable pre-cautions, too. No more running around the countryside on her own.”
“If that’s the best you can do, I’d better hire a private bodyguard to ensure her safety.” Neville squeezed Alana’s shoulder. “What else can we do?”
Alana spoke hesitantly. “Chief Boyd, how about the sheriff? Should I get an attorney?”
Skye knew it would be difficult for Wally to be candid, so she answered for him. “If I were you, I’d line up a lawyer now, get someone on retainer, and if Sheriff Peterson comes to question you again, refuse to say anything until your attorney is present. Do you know any?” Neville broke in. “I know several lawyers in the city. I’ll make sure Alana has one at her disposal.”
“Good. Peterson may put you in a cell to wait for your lawyer, trying to get you to talk before he or she arrives.
Don’t give in. Tough it out.”
Alana nodded her understanding, but said, “I’m not too good at being strong.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll make sure everything is okay.” Neville stood up, drew Alana to her feet, and asked,
“Since it’s obvious there’s nothing you can do to help us, can we go now?”
Wally’s expression darkened with Neville’s insult, but he answered civilly, “Yes. I’ll be in touch to let you know what we find.”
Skye stood, and they walked the couple to the door.
As they turned to go, Alana said to Skye and Wally,
“Beau had a lot of faults, I know that even if I pretended not to, but he would never be involved in using or selling drugs.”
“Sometimes we don’t know our siblings as well as we think we do.” Wally stood holding the door. “Can you really make that statement?”
“Yes.” Alana took a deep breath. “It’s not information that I usually share with people, but our mother was shot by a drug addict. I was fifteen and in school when it happened, but Beau was only five and home for the afternoon from kindergarten.”
Neville put his arm around her and whispered, “You don’t have to do this.”
Alana swallowed a sob and continued. “My mother was an artist and we lived in a loft apartment in what they called a transition neighborhood of New York City. The addict shot her for seven dollars, a carton of cigarettes, and a bottle of wine.”
Skye murmured, “How awful.”
“When I came home from school that day, I found my mother dead and Beau hiding in the cupboard under the sink. He didn’t speak to anyone but me until he was nearly thirteen.” Alana shut her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, her voice was stead
y. “One thing I know for sure. If he didn’t get involved with drugs while we were in the foster care system, he never would.” Skye nodded. She had seen what the foster care system was like when she worked in New Orleans. It wasn’t that the people working for the organization didn’t try. It was that the task was too huge for the funding provided.
It had been the same in Illinois. The citizens didn’t want to admit they’d rather have throwaway children than pay higher taxes, while babies continued to be born to mothers who either didn’t want them or had no idea how to care for them.
Every time she had to deal with the Department of Children and Family Services, it left a bitter taste in her mouth because there was so little either she or they could do. Skye pushed those thoughts away and concentrated on the matter at hand by asking, “How about your father? Wasn’t he able to take care of you and Beau?”
“We had different fathers. Mine died in a Vietnam protest march, and no one knew how to contact my brother’s.” Alana wiped a tear from her cheek, then took Skye’s hands.
“Please help me find out who really killed Beau.” Skye promised, knowing as the words came out of her mouth that Wally wouldn’t be happy with her pledge.
“Alana, I believe that Beau wouldn’t sell drugs, and I won’t let Sheriff Peterson sweep his death under the rug and forget it. I’ll find out what really happened.”
“Thank you.”
Closing the door after Alana and Neville left, Skye braced herself for Wally’s anger, but he surprised her by saying, “Promises like that are tough to keep. I found that out the hard way when I was a rookie.”
Skye opened her mouth to retort, but Wally was right.
They were tough to keep, but not impossible. Instead she said, “You told me you thought the sheriff had the wrong man, and that you would keep investigating, didn’t you?”
“Yes, and I am. But investigating is one thing, getting results is another.”
“Do you think Alana’s in danger?”
“No, I think she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Wally leaned against the wall and folded his arms. “It seems fairly patent to me that whoever abducted her did it because she had him trapped in the house.”
“That’s what I figured, too.”
“Which means you’re the one in danger since all that’s between you and the outside world is a thin layer of plastic where your windows should be.”
Skye nodded. “I know.” She paused. “Unless he found whatever he was searching for. What do you think that was?”
“Evidence from Beau’s murder would be my best guess.” Wally straightened. “Maybe he stashed the murder weapon somewhere in here.”
Skye snorted. “Good luck to anyone trying to find it.
There’s so much junk packed in this house it would be like looking for a grain of salt in a shaker.”
“You shouldn’t stay here alone.”
“Well, I’m not moving back to my parents’.” Wally grinned. “You could come live with me.”
“Right.” Skye rolled her eyes. “That would go over oh-so-well with the folks in town, not to mention my mother, who would kill you.”
“I think I could take on a five-foot-two, hundred-and-thirty-pound middle-aged woman.”
“How much do you want to bet?” Skye took his hand and tugged him toward the door. “Anyway, I’ll be fine. It seems pretty clear that whoever is looking for something only comes around when I’m not here. And even though Alana surprised him, he didn’t hurt her, only got her out of his way.”
“He sure hurt Beau.” Wally reluctantly went out the door.
“I left my cell phone number on the side table in the parlor.
Call me tomorrow morning before you go to church.”
“Yes, sir!”
He kissed her, and as he walked away, raised his voice to say, “Anyway, you’d better sleep with your shotgun beside your bed tonight.”
“I always do.” When she had moved back to town, Skye’s father had given her a shotgun for protection. At first she didn’t want to take it, but she soon realized that being able to defend herself was necessary if she was going to live alone, far from neighbors and streetlights. Good thing she was an excellent shot, having hunted with her father and brother all through her adolescence.
Alana’s car! Where was Alana’s car? Skye’s hurried steps came to an abrupt stop as she rushed across the gravel driveway toward the garage the next morning. Hadn’t Alana said she had driven to Skye’s house last night? And Neville had come and taken her home, so where was the extra car?
Skye pivoted, scanning the surrounding area. Nothing.
Had Wally realized that the vehicle was missing? How about Alana? Surely she would have noticed — though maybe not.
She was extremely upset. She probably wouldn’t become aware of the car’s absence until she went to drive it.
Looking at her watch, Skye realized that she’d be late to church if she took time to return to the house and call Wally again to tell him about the missing vehicle. They had already touched base once that morning, but neither had anything new to report. Skye paused briefly, half turning to go back inside, but God won, and she continued on to the garage.
She slid behind the wheel of the Bel Air and promised herself she’d get in touch with Wally as soon as Mass was over and she could reach a telephone.
Reminding herself to call Wally made her remember her mother’s six a.m. wake-up call. May had phoned that morning wanting to know why Skye hadn’t returned May’s calls from the day before. Skye had been forced to fill her mother in on what had happened to Alana, and admit that after everyone left she had fallen into bed exhausted and never listened to the messages on her answering machine.
May’s anxious voice demanding that Skye move back home echoed in Skye’s head as she drove. It had taken her nearly half an hour to convince her mother that she was safe staying at the Griggs house.
The parking lot behind the church was packed when Skye arrived. She rarely attended the eleven thirty service, preferring the nine o’clock, and hadn’t realized the later Mass was so popular. She finally gave up and eased her car into a spot on the street, hoping her bumper wasn’t too close to the nearby fire hydrant.
As she entered the building, she scanned the congregation for her brother. Her mother had taken a moment from worrying about Skye’s safety to ask if she had talked to Vince about his mysterious behavior. May had been extremely displeased to learn that Skye hadn’t done so yet, and fully expressed her unhappiness. Skye was determined to draw a line through that chore on her to-do list and get her mother off her back as soon as church was over.
Skye spotted Vince in a pew toward the back, near a stained-glass window portraying the Crucifixion. She genuflected, then excused herself as she crawled across the couple occupying the aisle seats.
The woman sitting to Vince’s left frowned as Skye took the spot to his right and kissed him on the cheek. Skye was used to being the object of other women’s resentment when she was with her brother. He was extremely handsome, tall with finely carved features, and radiated charm.
Today he wore brown corduroy slacks with a golden yellow sweater that matched his hair. Like his mother and sister, he had the Leofanti eyes — a bright emerald green.
Vince greeted her with a smile that quickly turned suspicious. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “What are you doing here?”
“Attending Mass,” Skye answered. This wasn’t the time or place to explain.
“Why didn’t you go to the nine o’clock?”
“Come with me afterward for a cup of coffee and I’ll explain.”
He nodded agreeably, not one to fret for long, and they both stood as the processional started to play.
Skye tried to focus on the service, but her thoughts kept turning to what had happened in the last few days. First Bingo disappears, then Loretta turns up. Beau is murdered and another contractor appears out of nowhere. Vince pulls a disappearing act. Beau�
��s sister is threatened by the local sheriff, and attacked by some unknown assailant who it would seem wants something from my house, which is virtu-ally open to the public due to Beau’s incompetence. And to top it all off, Wally had started to pursue Skye at full force.
She sighed, and tried to concentrate. Father Burns had begun his sermon, and he almost always had something relevant to say. Today he was talking about trust, and all the examples in the Bible of man trusting God and things turning out okay. He concluded by saying, “You must not only trust in God, but in what God has put inside you. In trusting yourself, you demonstrate your trust in God.”
Skye pondered those words for the rest of the service. Interesting that trust had been on her mind so much lately, and that Father Burns should choose that message to impart to the congregation.
As they stood up for the recessional, Father Burns said,
“Remember, blessed are those who can laugh at themselves, for they shall never cease to be amused.” Skye smiled. The priest’s gentle wit was a shock to first-timers, but his long-standing parishioners looked forward to what he would come up with each Sunday.
She and Vince shuffled in step with the crowd down the aisle toward the exit, pausing to bless themselves from the holy water font. In front of them, shaking hands with Father Burns, was Bunny.
Skye moved behind Vince, hoping Simon’s mother wouldn’t see her. Although she was beginning to realize she needed to talk to Simon one more time, she still didn’t want to discuss their love life with his mother.
Even huddled behind Vince, Skye couldn’t help hearing what Bunny was saying to the priest as the older woman gripped his hand with both of hers. “Father, I was watching a movie sequel on TV yesterday and it got me thinking.”
Murder of a Real Bad Boy Page 11
