As planned, Skye had called Wally’s cell as soon as she got in the house. When he didn’t pick up, she’d left another message, then tried calling the hospital, but they wouldn’t give her any information about Alana’s condition.
She was washing her hands when she heard knocking.
She took a second to comb her hair, then ran downstairs. She looked through the peephole and wasn’t surprised to see Wally standing on her front porch.
Tonight he had changed out of his uniform and wore black jeans and a crisp white polo shirt. His hair was damp and he was freshly shaved. He held out a takeout bag.
She smiled to herself, wondering if Wally was afraid he wouldn’t be welcome without food. “Come on in.” She could smell the aroma of fried chicken and corn fritters.
“You went all the way to White Fence Farm?” The restaurant was in Lemont, a good forty-five or fifty-minute drive.
“I had business up that way.” He started down the hall, asking over his shoulder, “Sunroom?”
“Sure. Beer?”
He nodded and Skye followed him, detouring into the kitchen for plates, napkins, etc. As she assembled the tray, she realized his visits were becoming a habit.
Entering the sunroom, she still hadn’t decided if that was a good thing or not. When she saw he was once again sprawled on the wicker settee, this time watching an old Marx Brothers’ movie, she was ready to vote not.
She hated the Marx Brothers. Their brand of humor left her cold. She narrowed her eyes. Simon liked the Marx Brothers, too. Was this some sort of sign, that Wally wasn’t right for her either?
As soon as Wally spotted her, he turned off the TV and gave her a dazzling smile. “I could get used to seeing you across the dinner table every night.” Skye’s worries about Wally’s taste in comedy vanished.
He really was a sweet, handsome, thoughtful guy. And the fact that he was incredibly sexy didn’t hurt either.
“You might change your mind if you tasted my cooking,” she teased.
“Not a problem. I love to cook.”
Skye smiled, but thought to herself, How could I not know that?
Before going on, Wally put the white cardboard box of chicken in the middle of the table. “Besides, it’s not as if I ever thought you were the housewife type.”
“That’s a relief,” Skye said, then frowned. What did he mean by that? Her house was clean — well, as clean as possible considering the circumstances. And in reality she could cook — not as well as her mother, but pretty well. She made a face at herself. What was the matter with her? Was she trying to find something wrong with the guy?
“I got your message, but decided to come over rather than return your call.”
“Oh.” Skye pried the plastic lid from the round Styro-foam containers of mashed potatoes, gravy, and coleslaw. “I wanted to know if you’d heard how Alana’s doing. Has she regained consciousness yet?”
“No. I checked with Quirk and she was still out, but the docs say they can’t figure out why. The tests show that everything is fine.”
“Mmm.” Skye thought about what she knew about the art teacher, and wondered if her comalike state was more psychological than physical. Another good reason to go see her tomorrow.
“Quirk said her boyfriend hasn’t left the building. When he’s not allowed to be with her, he sits and watches her door.”
“Now that’s devotion.” Skye squeezed the lime wedge into her Diet Coke. “The other reason I called is to ask if you know about Beau’s storage building.”
“No. There’s no record of one.”
“My new contractor figured out he had one when she was looking for the windows for my house. I didn’t realize until today that you might not know about it.” Wally leaned forward. “What happened today?” Skye told Wally about the Doozier Dozer and McCabe’s statement that the sheriff wasn’t aware of the building. She finished her tale with, “So, do you think it’s important? Are you going to search it?”
“It might be. Legally, the building probably belongs to Alana, so that might make getting a warrant trickier.” Skye nodded, glad he hadn’t mentioned the fact that Dulci probably shouldn’t have retrieved Skye’s windows from the building without Alana’s permission. She decided to change the subject before he thought of it. “So, why were you up north?”
“After your question last night, I decided to do a little investigation into Raette Craughwell’s past, and the last address she gave us was in Lemont.” Wally opened the paper bag holding the fritters and popped one into his mouth.
“Find anything out?” Skye carefully selected a chicken breast, then filled her plate from the rest of the cartons.
“Plenty, but I doubt it’s anything you don’t already know.” Wally looked intently at Skye.
“Maybe.” She bit into a fritter. As she crunched through the outer layer she tasted the sweetness of the powdered sugar, then the fluffy cornmeal center. “Hey, these are still warm.”
“I stopped at my house to change clothes before coming here, and I put everything into the oven while I showered.”
“How sweet.” He really was a nice guy, much more so than she would have guessed. So, why was she so attracted to him if she hadn’t previously thought he was considerate?
Wally looked at her, waiting for her to say more, and when she didn’t he continued. “Anyway, when I went over my notes, I realized that even in this mobile society, Raette moved around a lot.” He took a swig of beer, swallowed, then said, “I’m sure you already know why she moves so much, and it’s what you couldn’t share with me the other night.”
“Probably,” Skye answered tentatively, not wanting to let anything slip before she was sure Wally had found out about Raette’s daughter on his own.
“The police in Lemont were happy to tell me the story of Xenia Craughwell and how she corrupted the town daughters.” Wally finished a chicken leg and wiped his fingers on a napkin. “They also revealed that this wasn’t the first time the girl had been in trouble, just the most serious incident.”
“So you see why I was concerned that Raette and Xenia might be a part of the whole Beau situation.”
“Do you think the girl might have killed Beau?” Wally didn’t beat around the bush.
Skye pushed her half-finished plate away. She had lost her appetite. “I hope not.” The idea of a teenager as the murderer made her nauseous. “I met her today, and even though she has a great deal of anger bottled up inside, there’s a hint of something that makes me think maybe she could still be okay if the adults around her do the right thing.” Wally nodded, then said, “Anyway, what motive would she have for killing him? Do you think he came on to her?
There’s no history of him going after girls that young.” Skye debated with herself. Very little had changed. Wally might know about Xenia’s father fixation, but he had no idea that Beau might be her father, and Skye still didn’t feel she could tell him. Skye knew she was walking a tight line ethically, and prayed she was making the right decision.
“No. I don’t think he’d come on to her.”
“Was she defending her mother?”
“I doubt it.”
“Then what?” It was apparent that Wally’s patience was wearing thin.
“All I can say is that if I were you, I would look into Beau’s past. Maybe his and the Craughwells’ intersected at some point.”
“You can’t just tell me?”
“Honestly, I don’t know anything.” Skye started to clean up their mess. “I have some guesses, but I truly don’t know anything.”
Catch—22
Skye climbed into bed alone, stretched out between the cool crisp sheets, and stared into the darkness.
It had been a close call tonight. She didn’t know if she would have had the willpower to push Wally out the door instead of inviting him upstairs, if fate hadn’t intervened once again. Either his charm was getting stronger or her resolve was getting weaker. Lucky for her — at least she guessed it was a good thi
ng — once more the house itself had forced them apart.
They had been close to the point of no return when the space heater in the sunroom exploded as if someone had dropped it into a bucket of water. Sparks flew and flames shot upward.
Wally and Skye sprang apart. He grabbed the afghan from the back of the settee and tried to smother the blaze.
She ran to the kitchen, grabbed the fire extinguisher she kept underneath the sink, raced back, and sprayed the heater until the extinguisher ran dry.
By the time they’d checked to make sure there were no other embers ready to ignite in another part of the room and cleaned up the mess, the mood had been shattered. Wally had given her a rueful kiss good-bye and gone home.
Now, as Skye tried to fall asleep, her thoughts seesawed between her growing feelings for Wally and Beau Hamilton’s murder. She knew she was overlooking something in both situations, but what?
She idly reached out to stroke Bingo. As her fingers encountered thin air, his absence hit her once again and she swallowed a tear. Was it stupid to believe he was still alive?
He’d been gone for over a week.
If Beau had kidnapped him, where was he now? The police hadn’t seen any evidence of an animal in Beau’s apartment. He wouldn’t have dared keep the cat in his truck, for fear someone would spot it and recognize it as the feline whose picture was on all the missing-pet posters around town.
Beau didn’t have an office, so where else would he stash the cat? While she tried to think, Skye let her gaze wander around the room. The newly replaced window caught her attention and she wrinkled her brow.
Hadn’t Dulci said they would install all the downstairs windows first? Why had she done the one in the bedroom?
Skye gave a mental shrug. It was an odd size, so maybe it had been in front at the storage building.
Dulci had mentioned that the building had been stuffed with construction materials and machinery. She had told Skye that if her windows hadn’t been right at the door they would never have been able to find them.
Skye sat straight up in bed. The storage building! That was where Beau had put Bingo. Dulci and her crew wouldn’t have seen him among all the clutter, and it hadn’t been searched, since at the time of Beau’s death the author-ities didn’t even know the building existed.
It had been nearly five days since Beau’s murder, which meant the cat hadn’t been fed in all that time. As Skye threw on jeans, sweatshirt, and sneakers, she hoped that Bingo had been able to catch some mice.
She was halfway down the stairs when it dawned on her that perhaps rushing alone into a deserted building in the dark was not the best decision she had ever made.
Skye sank down onto the step. She couldn’t leave Bingo hungry, thirsty, and terrified for another night, so what were her other options?
Wally? No, he had said he would need a search warrant, and if he did agree to go and they were discovered, it could ruin his career. She couldn’t put him in that position.
Trixie would go in a flash, but Owen wouldn’t like it, and their relationship was only now getting back to being good after a major bad patch. Skye couldn’t ask her friend to risk her marriage.
She could no longer turn to Simon, and her parents were certainly out of the question. She wasn’t speaking to her mother, and her father was in the same spot Trixie was, only recently getting back into his spouse’s good graces.
That left Uncle Charlie or Vince. The choice was plain.
She couldn’t see dragging a seventy-four-year-old man out in the middle of the night and asking him to climb over who knew what.
Vince it was. He owed her, and he was used to existing on very little sleep. After all, a drummer in a rock band didn’t exactly go to bed at ten o’clock every night.
Having made her choice, she ran down the rest of the stairs, stopping briefly in the foyer to get a backpack from the hall closet. Then she went into the kitchen and loaded the pack with a flashlight and a box of dry cat food. She grabbed her car keys from their hook, then raced to the garage.
The Bel Air’s engine roared to life and its tires sent up a shower of pebbles as Skye stomped down on the accelerator. Five minutes later she pulled into the parking lot of Vince’s apartment building. The halogen light was out, and the moon was under a cloud. She could barely make out the shadows of the other cars. A good night for breaking and entering.
Thumbing on her flashlight, she walked up to Vince’s door, thankful that he lived in a ground-floor unit. She rang the bell and waited. Nothing. Maybe he wasn’t home. She rang again, this time leaning on the bell.
A few seconds later the door was yanked open and her usually mild-mannered brother, dressed only in a pair of plaid boxer shorts, bellowed, “There better be a fire, or I’m going to rip you a new one!”
Skye stifled a smile. Vince’s hair was standing on end, one side of his face was creased from being pressed into a pillow, and his eyes were bloodshot. She had never seen him look this bad before. She always thought he woke up looking as gorgeous as he did all day.
“Skye?” He squinted. “What are you doing here at two in the morning?”
“I’ve figured out where Bingo is, and I need you to help me go find him.”
“Now?” Vince shoved a hand through his hair, not improving its appearance.
“Now. He’s been without food or water for days and days.” Skye’s voice broke as she explained how she had deduced Bingo’s whereabouts.
“Okay.” Vince scrubbed his eyes with his fists. “Uh, let me throw on some clothes.”
He started to close the door, but Skye asked, “Can’t I wait inside?”
“Uh.” Vince glanced behind him. “It’s, uh, you know, I have to get dressed and this is a studio and all.”
“Forgetting the fact that I’m your sister, can’t you change in the bathroom?”
“Uh . . . it’s just that the place is such a mess.”
“Yeah, like I’m the housekeeping police.” While Vince struggled to explain himself, Skye pushed past him and strode over the threshold toward the light coming from the lamp on an end table.
She took two steps, then turned to see why Vince wasn’t following. He was staring over her head at the center of the room, a look of consternation and helplessness on his handsome features.
Following his gaze, which was fastened on the unfolded sleeper sofa, Skye noticed a distinct lump under the covers.
Suddenly she understood her brother’s reticence. This must be his new girlfriend — the one who was such a big secret he had denied her very existence.
Skye put a hand to her mouth and started to back out of the apartment, but before she completed her first reverse step, she noticed a leg sticking out of the sheets. She stopped her retreat and studied the appendage. Not only was it the color of rich, dark chocolate, but the thin gold chain encircling the shapely ankle looked mighty familiar.
Moving closer, she focused on the charm attached to the bracelet. Yes, as she suspected, it was a tiny scale of justice.
So that’s how Loretta had known about Beau’s murder. She must have spent Friday night at Vince’s and heard the news on the local radio station.
Vince had come out of his trance and moved between Skye and the bed. He reached down and pulled the sheet over the object of her attention, then said, “Okay, you caught me with a lady friend. Now, will you wait outside?” Skye debated with herself. Should she pretend she didn’t know who was in Vince’s bed, or bring it all out into the open?
“Please just wait in the car.” Vince eyed her warily.
Skye could tell he was trying to gauge whether she knew his bedmate’s identity. Abruptly, she came to a decision. It was silly to pretend ignorance. In a small town like Scumble River, Vince couldn’t keep his affair quiet for long, so he might as well get used to people knowing. She knew what he was afraid of, but if this relationship was his choice, he had to stand behind it.
“I’ll only be a couple of minutes, then we can go find Bing
o,” Vince cajoled.
“Great.” Skye stood her ground. “Go get dressed while Loretta and I chat.”
Vince groaned, but picked up a pair of jeans that had been flung over the back of a chair and a shirt draped across his drum set, and trudged into the bathroom.
When the latch clicked closed, Skye’s dear friend and sorority sister Loretta Steiner sat up, clutching the blanket to her breasts. “Nancy Drew, I presume?” Loretta snapped.
“You really should get a job on that TV show Unsolved Mysteries.”
“What?” Why was her friend so mad? It wasn’t as if Skye had lain in wait and sprung a trap on her.
“I knew you’d never be happy until you figured out who your brother was dating.”
Skye moved a lacy red bra from the seat of the chair and sat down. “I had no idea anyone was here with Vince. The only reason I came is to ask for his help in finding Bingo.” This was incredibly awkward, and Loretta’s ill-concealed anger wasn’t helping matters.
“Sure!” Loretta glared at her. “Then you’re not going to tell anyone?”
“No, I won’t. But there’s only so long until the gossip mill gets ahold of the news.”
“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Loretta pounded the mattress. “I hate small towns.”
“I don’t understand why your relationship is such a big secret, anyway.”
“Oh, please. Here’s a little tip for you, Ms. Psychologist.
When you’re at a loss for the right word — try silence.”
“Huh?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, your little community isn’t exactly diversified. In fact, I’m pretty sure that Scumble Rathole is lily-white.”
Skye opened her mouth to defend her town, but Loretta was right; there were very few shades of Jesse Jackson’s Rainbow Coalition in Scumble River.
Loretta wrapped her arms around her bent legs and laid her head on top of her knees. “I told Vince this would never work out.”
Skye moved over to the bed and put her arm around her friend’s shoulder. “Give us a chance. We might not exactly be a model town for the NAACP, but I really don’t think many people will have a problem with you and Vince dating.” Except maybe my parents— but Skye kept that thought to herself.
Murder of a Real Bad Boy Page 21
