Murder of a Cranky Catnapper

by Denise Swanson

  Hurrying down the stairs, she paused to grab her purse from the foyer table and yelled toward the sunroom, “I’m leaving for Mass.”

  Her husband’s voice floated down the hallway. “Say a prayer for me.”

  Wally had jumped through all the hoops in order to obtain an annulment so that he and Skye could get married in the Catholic Church, and they’d talked about him converting to Catholicism, but he hadn’t made a decision yet. Although he usually attended services with her, yesterday he’d wrenched his back helping one of his officers subdue an unruly suspect and had decided to skip the agony of sitting for over an hour on the hard wooden benches.

  As Skye drove to town, she worried about his injury, but was distracted when she turned into the church parking lot. Although Mass didn’t start until nine, and it was only eight forty-five, there wasn’t one empty space.

  Skye was angry at herself for arriving so late. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know that in Scumble River, people showed up early to stake their claim for the prime spots. Fuming at her tardiness, she squeezed the Bel Air into an opening on the street and hiked the two blocks to the church.

  She was already sweating by the time she pushed through the frosted glass doors and climbed the stairs. When she dipped her fingers into the cool holy water to bless herself, she was tempted to splash her face. But the thought of having to confess that particular transgression helped stifle her impulse.

  She reminded herself that the water was there for purification before approaching the presence of God, not to take a sponge bath, and she dutifully made the sign of the cross before scanning the pews for an open seat. Seeing that all the good places were taken and the only ones left were in the front, Skye groaned.

  If she’d made it at her usual time, she could have nabbed a spot in the rear. But in order to do that, she would have had to get there at least twenty minutes earlier, and making Wally breakfast had put her behind schedule.

  He’d been so upset about his injury she’d wanted to cheer him up. It bothered her that he was so down. He’d mentioned more than once his concern about being an “older” father. Hurting his back seemed to heighten his anxiety, and nothing Skye had said had helped.

  At forty-four, Wally was eight years her senior. While the age difference had been a sore point with Skye’s mother, it had never been a concern for her or Wally. At least until Skye had gotten pregnant. Now Wally was intent on staying strong and fit. She only hoped it didn’t turn into an obsession. And if it did, she prayed he wouldn’t expect her to join his strenuous workout routine.

  Resolving to take her husband’s mind off his perceived weakness once she got home, Skye marched down the entire length of the aisle searching for an open seat. She could feel the congregation’s eyes following her every step, like her cat Bingo watching her open his can of Fancy Feast and scoop it into his dish.

  Skye preferred to be one of the observers rather than one of the observed, and for some reason this felt a lot like a walk of shame. In Scumble River, folks attended Mass for several reasons—many to worship God, but others to exchange the latest gossip. Skye was afraid that today the latter group’s focus was on her. Especially now that she had officially begun to wear maternity clothes.

  It was bad enough that she was somehow related to half the people in town, but both her jobs put her in the public eye. Not only was she the local school psychologist, but she also consulted for the police department. And as the psych consultant, she was often involved in high-profile crimes.

  Add to that her ex-boyfriend’s outlandish attempt to change her mind about marrying Wally, as well as her pregnancy coming so soon after her marriage, and Skye was Scumble River’s version of one of The Real Housewives of Orange County. Not a role she enjoyed.

  Skye breathed a sigh of relief when she finally found an empty spot and was able to slide into a pew, but her reprieve was short-lived when she saw that her seatmate was Palmer Lynch. She had never seen the school board member at Mass before. Was he even Catholic?

  Keeping her expression neutral, Skye nodded at Lynch, who ignored her. When they stood for the processional, he whispered something to the man beside him and they traded places. What was that all about? Did he think she had cooties? Or maybe he was afraid she had a dog or a cat hidden in her purse.

  As usual, Mass was both soothing and uplifting, and Skye felt herself unwind. Father Burns achieved a perfect balance between showing concern for the community and radiating confidence that good would triumph over evil. He didn’t shy away from controversial world matters, but he always managed to present both sides of the issues, offering hope and forgiveness for all parties.

  When the Mass ended, the priest said, “Let us all be vigilant. Following the path of least resistance is fine for rivers and streams, but it makes many people and organizations crooked.”

  Father Burns generally ended the service with a veiled message related to whatever was currently the community’s hot topic of conversation. Most of the time, Skye could guess where his words were aimed, but not today. Who or what was he talking about? Could it be Palmer’s campaign for the school board’s presidency?

  As the recessional played, Skye watched Palmer Lynch make his way down the aisle. Time after time, he stopped to shake someone’s hand and whisper in their ear. She noticed that while most nodded and smiled, some shook their heads and turned away from him.

  Skye waited until Palmer walked out the door before leaving her pew. She didn’t want to be forced to exchange any kind of pleasantries with the obnoxious man. A few minutes with him, and she was afraid that all the serenity that she’d gained from the service would evaporate.

  When she finally reached the rear of the church, she overheard a group of men discussing the upcoming school board meeting. She recognized Tony Zello, a local doctor, and Nate Turner, the owner of a successful landscaping company, but while she knew the other guy was one of the deacons who often assisted at Mass, she couldn’t recall his name.

  While listening to the men’s conversation, Skye pretended to be fascinated by a notice tacked to the bulletin board that read, A BEAN SUPPER WILL BE HELD ON FRIDAY IN THE CHURCH HALL. MUSIC WILL FOLLOW. Skye stifled a giggle and glanced at the trio behind her.

  Nate folded his arms across his enormous stomach and said, “Lynch guaranteed the athletic department’s budget would be restored.”

  Dr. Zello frowned. “He told me they were going to hire another science and math teacher to strengthen the college prep track.”

  Skye’s lips twitched. Clearly, Lynch had underestimated the Scumble River grapevine. Did he really think he could promise everything to everybody and no one would notice the discrepancies?

  The third man patted his hair, which was teased and sprayed into the shape of a helmet, and said, “As long as Lynch brings the district back to good Christian values, I don’t care which group he funds. I’m not as judgmental as you two self-righteous, holier-than-thou jerks.”

  “Don’t be an idiot, Joel.” Nate lowered his head, causing his double chin to have a double chin and emphasizing his resemblance to Jabba the Hut. “In towns like ours, sports are the most important thing. Do you want Brooklyn’s teams to beat us?”

  Skye blinked. Seriously? A football or basketball victory was the community’s greatest concern? After her recent involvement with a fanatical volleyball coach, she should be surprised, but she wasn’t.

  “The tasks ahead of us are nothing without the power behind us.” Joel aka Helmet Head poked Dr. Zello’s side with his elbow. “You think morals are more important than home runs, right, Doc?”

  “Well.” Dr. Zello ran his fingers through his thin mouse-colored hair. “I see your point, Joel, but our tax dollars should be spent to produce students prepared to enter top universities. The U.S. is way behind other nations in science and math. Do you want your only choice to be a foreign doctor?”

  “As lo
ng as they can speak English, I don’t give a rat’s ass where they were born.” Nate shot Dr. Zello a dirty look. “You afraid of the competition?”

  “Right,” Dr. Zello drawled. “Because you’re so accepting of other cultures and diversity.” He shot Nate a malicious glare of his own. “Or maybe you are, since you depend on folks coming across the Mexican border to work cheap cutting grass and shoveling snow for your business.”

  “Now, brothers.” Joel spread his arms as if to embrace the two men and they flinched. “We’re losing sight of the real issue here.”

  “Which is?” Nate dug a white hanky from the pocket of his shiny polyester pants.

  Sweat was pouring off the large man and Skye wondered if he was okay. With the church now nearly empty, the air-conditioning had lowered the building’s temperature to an almost uncomfortable coolness.

  “The fact that Palmer seems to have guaranteed each of us something different,” Dr. Zello chimed in. “And I doubt the school board has the resources to provide all of them.”

  Voices rose as the three men offered opinions on the feasibility of Lynch’s promises and Skye strolled away. The dialogue about Lynch had been enlightening, but she was fairly sure she had heard everything that threesome had to offer. Maybe some of the others chatting in front of the church would have more information she could share with Uncle Charlie.

  As Skye walked down the steps and out the double doors, she spotted Pru Cormorant and Shamus Wraige chatting on the lawn. The high school English teacher and the school superintendent appeared way too chummy for Skye’s peace of mind. Neither individual was much of a fan of hers or Charlie’s, and the feeling was mutual.

  Skye stopped near them, hidden by a large evergreen. In case anyone spotted her and wondered why she was standing there, she pulled her cell phone from her purse and made believe that she was texting.

  From Skye’s very first encounter with Pru Cormorant, the woman had been a pain in her posterior. The teacher’s voice was as irritating as the whine of an electric pencil sharpener and the words that came out of her thin-lipped mouth were usually pointier than the lead tip.

  Pru regularly sent parents insulting notes—a recent one had included the unforgettable line: You might want to consider spending your money on plastic surgery for your daughter rather than tutoring because there is no way she’s making it into college. Her only hope is to snag a rich husband.

  The English teacher had also flat out refused to have children with special needs in her classes. She was the speech and debate team sponsor and preferred to deal with only the intellectually gifted and extremely motivated pupils. At the first sign of a behavior issue, she complained until the principal removed the student.

  As Skye listened, Pru said, “Did I tell you what one of my little darlings said?” When the superintendent raised a questioning brow, she continued, “We were getting ready for a debate on different religions and the boy you insisted I allow on the team stated that a Muslim wears a turban on his head because he wants to make a profit.”

  “Did you correct him?” Dr. Wraige asked, chuckling.

  “No.” Pru giggled. “I figured he deserved the tongue-lashing he was going to get during the event.”

  “Didn’t you feel the least bit guilty?”

  “Not even an iota.” Pru lifted her chin. “I’ve accepted my inner sociopath.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Speaking of lunatics, I certainly hope you’ve taken care of the problem we were discussing earlier.” Pru narrowed her watery blue eyes. “Lynch is a loose cannon and we can’t trust him.”

  “Palmer has assured me that he has everything under control.”

  Shamus Wraige had been the superintendent of schools for the past decade. He’d made it clear that he was unhappy that he’d been forced to hire Skye, and she couldn’t totally blame him. Her employment had been heavily influenced by Charlie’s position as school board president.

  Then again, it wasn’t entirely nepotism on the part of her godfather. There hadn’t been, and still weren’t, any other applicants for the psychologist job. And in Skye’s seven years working for the Scumble River school district, there hadn’t been anyone interested in the social worker contract either. At least no one sane.

  “Lynch has been assuring a lot of people a lot of things.” Pru folded her stick-like arms. “How do we know he’d follow through on his promises?”

  “It’s one of those handshake deals,” Wraige stated. “Men understand.”

  “Nonsense.”

  For once, Skye agreed with Pru. A large part of the reason Skye and the superintendent hadn’t hit it off was his good-old-boy attitude. The way he treated women, especially his wife, got on her last nerve. In Skye’s view, cheaters were among the worst villains.

  “I’ll keep an eye on him until the election.” Wraige patted the teacher’s shoulder. “Let me worry about Palmer, Prudence. You’ll just give yourself one of your migraines if you don’t relax.”

  Skye was shocked to hear the genuine caring in Wraige’s tone. Surely, he wasn’t having an affair with the unappealing woman? He was already sleeping with his much more attractive secretary.

  Unless Karolyn had finally wised up. Or maybe her husband had caught on and put a stop to her extracurricular activities. Or, Skye wrinkled her brow, what had Charlie said a while back? Hadn’t he mentioned that he had to take Karolyn out because of a favor?

  “You’re right, Shamus.” Pru squeezed the superintendent’s hand. “With all the end-of-the-year activities, I can’t afford to be sick.”

  Skye decided it was time to leave. If she stuck around much longer, someone was sure to notice and say something. Besides, it seemed that she’d missed whatever problem Pru and Shamus were discussing about Lynch. It was a shame that the important part of the conversation had taken place before Skye had started to eavesdrop.

  * * *

  When Skye arrived home, she found her husband snoozing in the sunroom on his recliner with Bingo on his lap. Although the cat swished his tail, when Skye greeted them, Wally didn’t stir, so she went into the kitchen, grabbed the gallon of milk from the fridge and a package of cookies from the cupboard, and called Charlie.

  She really wanted coffee or tea, but her obstetrician had instructed her to drink twenty-four ounces of nonfat milk a day and she tried to get it down as soon as possible so she could enjoy her preferred beverages without guilt. At least the Oreos helped. Although, according to her OB-GYN, she really shouldn’t be eating the added calories. She cringed at the thought of stepping on the scale at her upcoming appointment.

  When Charlie picked up the phone, between sips and bites, Skye quickly brought him up-to-date on what she’d heard about Lynch at church, then asked, “So any idea what kind of problem Dr. Wraige and Pru could have with Palmer?”

  “Not a clue.” Charlie’s voice rumbled out of the receiver. “But I’ll get my spies working on it and I’ll probably have the answer by this afternoon. Tomorrow at the absolute latest.” His voice didn’t sound as confident as usual and Skye could hear him blowing smoke from his cigar before he said, “You did real good, kid. Anything from the teachers’ lounges to report?”

  “Nothing.” Skye swallowed the final bite of her cookie. “It’s only been six days since you told me to keep my ears open at school, and everyone is too preoccupied with the end-of-the-year stuff to worry much about the school board right now.” She chugged the last of her milk and rinsed the glass in the sink. “Either that, or they don’t talk around me because they know I’m your goddaughter.”

  “Maybe we should recruit Trixie.” Charlie grunted. “If they’re secretive around her, she’s small enough to hide in one of the cabinets.”

  “Are you calling me fat?” Skye teased. Then before he could answer, she said, “Gotta go. The veterinarian clinic is on the other line and I need to see why they’re phoning me
on a Sunday. Bye.”

  Wrinkling her brow, Skye clicked, holding her breath and hoping she didn’t cut off the other call. She was still getting used to the call waiting and caller identification features that Wally had insisted on adding after they were married.

  Tentatively, she said, “This is Skye.” And blew out a relieved breath when she heard someone respond.

  A clearly distraught Dr. Quillen said, “I wanted to let you know as soon as possible that I won’t be able to conduct the pet therapy session tomorrow.”

  “That’s fine,” Skye assured him then asked, “Are you or the animals ill?”

  Instead of answering her, the veterinarian said, “Hold on a minute.”

  As she waited for him to get back on the line, Skye fingered her dress. She and Wally had plans to go to brunch at Café des Architectes, but with his bad back, she wasn’t sure if he’d be up to the long drive to Chicago. Should she cancel the reservations, change clothes, and start thinking about what she could cook?

  Finally after several long minutes, Dr. Quillen returned to the line and said, “Sorry, the police just got here and I have to go. Someone broke into my clinic and stole Princess Honey Bluebell.”

  “Your therapy cat?” Skye confirmed. The vet had introduced the feline to the boys in the group as Belle, but she recalled the cat’s full name from the article she’d read in the local paper.

  “Yes,” Dr. Quillen said hurriedly. “That’s why I have to cancel. Her partner is distraught, and at present, I don’t have any other trained animals.”

  Before she could respond, the vet said good-bye and hung up. As Skye walked out of the kitchen, she wondered, Who in the world would steal a cat?

  CHAPTER 5

  Those who’ll play with cats must expect to be scratched.