“Mr. and Mrs. Cooperson’s house to make sure no one entered it while they’ve been distracted,” Skye finished, smiling at the couple.
“The chief told me to stay here.” Quirk’s lips formed a stubborn line.
“I guess I could go with the Coopersons and check.” Skye raised a brow. “If you think Wally would be happier with that alternative.”
“No.” The sergeant frowned, clearly envisioning the chief’s reaction to his pregnant wife walking into an even remotely dangerous situation because Quirk refused to go.
“Look.” Skye gestured to the deserted street. “I’ll stop anyone from entering the crime scene while you ensure the Coopersons’ safety.”
“Fine,” Quirk growled. “Get your cell out and ready to call for help. If there’s a problem, lock yourself in the car.”
Once the sergeant disappeared into the Coopersons’ bungalow, Skye returned to the Caddy and sat sideways with her feet on the pavement. She’d wanted Quirk to help out the elderly couple so that they would see him as a man who had come to their rescue instead of one who had refused to answer their questions and barked orders at them.
Roy needed to learn the value of positive public relations. He was an excellent cop, but his reputation wasn’t as good as his abilities warranted. People saw him as a brusque control freak, and in today’s world, that image of a police officer didn’t cut it anymore.
Skye was toying with the idea of suggesting that she run a social skills group for Scumble River’s police officers when suddenly Dorothy screamed and clawed at the door handle, trying to get out of the car. Instinctively, Skye grabbed her and wrapped her arms around the woman. Her attempt to comfort Dorothy was futile. The woman continued to shriek and struggle to break free.
Scanning the area, Skye didn’t see anything or anyone that should have frightened Dorothy. After several seconds, the woman blinked, then collapsed, breathing heavily and clutching Skye’s biceps.
“What happened?” Skye asked, stroking Dorothy’s hair out of her eyes.
“I must have fallen asleep.” Dorothy straightened. “I dreamed that a man with a whip was chasing me around my bedroom telling me to beg for it.”
As Skye struggled to contain an inappropriate giggle, Wally came running around the house and rushed up to her. “Are you okay? What the hell happened?”
“Dorothy had a nightmare,” Skye said. “Did Simon figure out the time of death?”
“We’ll talk later,” Wally answered, glancing at Dorothy, then looked around and asked, “Where’s Quirk? I didn’t see him in the back.”
Skye explained the sergeant’s absence, then pointed over her husband’s shoulder. “There he is now.” When Wally turned to look, Skye gestured in the other direction. “And isn’t that the county’s crime tech van?”
“It’s about time.” Wally patted Skye’s cheek. “I’ll get the techs started, then come out and talk to Dorothy so you both can get out of here.”
After what seemed like another interminable wait, Wally reemerged from Lynch’s house and headed to the car. Skye got in the backseat of the Cadillac and Wally slid into the front next to Dorothy. As he took the woman through her arrival and discovery of the body again and again, Skye mentally composed a to-do list.
Missing a day of school meant rearranging all of her appointments and squeezing them into the rest of the week’s schedule. She still had a couple of re-evaluations to complete before the end of the year, and most of the rest of her hours were filled with annual reviews.
All children receiving special education had to have a mandated re-eval every three years. The purpose of the assessment was to determine whether there was a continuing need for special education and related services, as well as to figure out if any changes had to be made in the student’s Individualized Education Plan.
Annual reviews were formal meetings conducted by the school at least once a year to assess special education students’ progress and determine future requirements.
Both took up the majority of Skye’s time in April and May. And this year, she also needed to get things arranged for the intern who would be joining her after summer break. She would only have a couple of weeks in the fall before the baby was born and then she’d be on maternity leave.
Theoretically, during Skye’s absence a school psychologist from the county special education cooperative would supervise the intern. In reality, Skye knew that even if she had to guide the intern via telephone, she would end up with the brunt of the responsibility.
Lost in thought, Skye didn’t see the crime tech approach the car, and she let out a startled yelp when he tapped on the window.
Wally scowled at the man in the blue coveralls, opened the car door, and said, “What?”
“Do you want us to process the garage?”
“Hmm.” Wally pursed his lips then, plainly coming to a decision, nodded. “Probably better include it. Considering how the vic met his maker, God only knows what he might have stashed in his garage.”
The tech’s shrug conveyed that the crime scene hadn’t made the same impression on him that it had on Wally. Even though the tech’s unit covered the entire county, Skye wondered if the guy was just pretending to be so blasé or if he’d seen other criminal situations involving naked men or women tied to their beds.
She opened her mouth to ask, but before she could form the question, Wally said, “If the garage is locked, there’s a bunch of keys hanging from a hook in the kitchen. Otherwise, break a window.”
“Okay, Chief. When we’re done inside, we’ll get right on it.” The tech sketched a mock salute and hurried away.
Wally turned back to Dorothy and said, “I’ll get your statement typed up this afternoon, and you can come by the station tomorrow to sign it.”
“Can I leave?” Dorothy asked, slumped in her seat and clutching her purse.
“Yes.” As Wally exited the car, he added, “But stay in town.”
Dorothy paled and cringed at his words. She had aged ten years since Skye had seen her a few days ago. Leaning forward, she patted the woman’s shoulder and the housekeeper gripped Skye’s fingers.
“Do you want me to drive you home and stay with you?” Skye asked, easing her hand free.
“No.” Dorothy got out of the Catera’s passenger seat, walked around the hood, and slid behind the wheel. “I’ll call Tammy to come over.”
Tammy was Dorothy’s daughter. She was a year older than Skye, and because their parents had been friends, as children they’d been forced to hang out with each other. But when they hit adolescence, they’d gone their separate ways. And when Skye left for college, rarely returning to town for the next decade, she’d lost touch with Tammy.
Now that Skye had been back in Scumble River for seven years, she’d run into Dorothy’s daughter a few times. But other than a shared past and their mothers’ friendship, they didn’t have much in common.
“Terrific. Tammy will keep you company and she’ll make sure you don’t get into any more trouble.”
Skye scooted out of the Cadillac’s backseat and winked at Dorothy. She and May were a lot wilder than Skye and Tammy. When they were growing up, it had been a big joke that the girls had to keep their moms in line rather than the usual vice versa.
Dorothy smiled at Skye and waved good-bye to her. Dorothy waited while Quirk removed the squad car and barricade from her path, then backed down the driveway and sped off. Once the red Cadillac disappeared from sight, the sergeant replaced the barrier and returned to his discussion with Wally.
Curious, Skye joined the men. Wally absentmindedly slid his arm around her waist and she rested her head against his shoulder. It wasn’t even noon yet and she was exhausted. She should go to the grade school, do the observation she’d scheduled, and finish writing a report, but she could barely keep her eyes open.
Quirk spoke quickly, inform
ing Wally that the two mothers and the older couple hadn’t seen anything unusual at Lynch’s last night or this morning. He added that the other residents weren’t home.
“Call in Martinez to do a door-to-door along the road behind this one,” Wally ordered. “And when she is done with that, the folks around here should be back from work so she can do Center Street, too.”
Zelda Martinez was Scumble River’s newest police officer and the only woman on the force. Zelda had joined the department a little over a year and a half ago. She’d been hired fresh out of college and was still inexperienced in dealing with everyday issues not covered in the curriculum so Wally often assigned her the routine stuff.
“Should I call Anthony in to work with her?” Quirk asked. “He could use the practice and Martinez will have backup if things go south.”
“Good idea.” Wally nodded.
Anthony was a part-timer. He was also employed by his father, who owned an appliance repair business. Lucky for Wally, the young officer’s dad was willing to let his son off at a moment’s notice.
“I’m on it, Chief.” Quirk grabbed the radio on his shoulder.
“Use your cell,” Wally instructed. “Let’s keep this under wraps as long as possible. I need to get ahold of Lynch’s mother before someone tells her the cops are at her son’s house.”
“I think it might be too late.” Quirk pointed to a shiny silver Lincoln MKZ pulling to a stop in front of them.
A tall, thin woman in her early seventies exited the car and marched up to Wally. “What’s going on, Chief? The Coopersons called to tell me that the police had Palmer’s house surrounded. I’m his mother. Where is my son? Does he know you’re here? Has there been a burglary?”
“Ma’am,” Wally said. “How about if we sit in the squad car and I’ll explain.”
“I’d rather talk to Palmer.” Mrs. Lynch pulled her beige cardigan closed. “I called his home phone and his cell several times this morning, but he didn’t answer.”
“Mrs. Lynch.” Skye glanced at Wally and he nodded his permission. “I’m the police department psych consultant, Skye Denison-Boyd.”
“May’s daughter?”
“Yes.” Skye moved around the barricade and took the woman’s arm. “I really think it’s best if we sit down so we can tell you everything.”
Mrs. Lynch frowned and said, “I may be old, but you don’t have to coddle me.”
“Did Mom tell you that I’m expecting my first baby?” Skye asked stroking her stomach with her free hand. When Mrs. Lynch nodded, Skye said, “I’ve been on my feet all morning and could really use a rest.”
“Of course.” Mrs. Lynch glared at Wally and Quirk. “Men have no idea what it’s like to be pregnant. When I was carrying Palmer, my ankles used to swell up to the size of cantaloupes and Palmer Senior, may he rest in peace, would tell me walking would help.”
“Wally’s been trying to get me to go home and take it easy,” Skye defended her husband. “But I promised your friend Dorothy Snyder that I’d stick around until I was able to speak to you.” Skye patted the older woman’s shoulder. “Dorothy wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Something bad has happened to Palmer.” Mrs. Lynch’s face paled.
“I’m afraid so.” Skye tugged on the older woman’s hand. “Let’s sit down in your car and I’ll tell you what I can.”
Mrs. Lynch nodded, tears already seeping down her wrinkled cheeks.
Skye assisted the older woman onto the passenger seat of the Lincoln, but before she could close the door to walk around the car, the crime scene tech came running out of the detached garage. Blood was dripping from scratches on his face and arms and he yelled, “Someone needs to catch that damn cat or I’m going to shoot it.”
CHAPTER 8
You will be lucky if you know how to make friends with strange cats.
—COLONIAL PROVERB
Skye was torn. She couldn’t very well leave Mrs. Lynch crying in her car to see what was going on with the cat in Palmer’s garage. And since crime scene techs didn’t carry guns, she wasn’t too worried that the kitty was in any real danger from the guy. Then again, she was anxious to make sure the animal was captured safely.
As Skye vacillated, Wally sent Quirk off to stand guard in the backyard and motioned for her to return to his side of the barricade. She patted the older woman’s hand, promised to be right back, then walked over to her husband.
When she reached him, he said in a low voice, “Don’t share any details with the vic’s mother before I get back from dealing with the cat.”
“Not even that he’s dead?” Skye whispered. “I already inferred that.”
“Nothing.” Wally turned toward the detached garage, then paused and added, “On second thought, maybe you should come with me.”
“Why?” Skye’s chest heaved in indignation. “You don’t trust me?”
“That’s not it.” Wally wrapped an arm around her and smiled. “You have a way with cats. Maybe you can get him to come to you on his own. We can’t afford to let him get away. The murderer could have locked him in the garage after killing Lynch. The animal could have evidence caught in its claws or teeth or even clinging to its fur.”
“Since you put it that way, okay,” Skye conceded. She did seem to attract kids and animals. “What about Mrs. Lynch?” She glanced over her shoulder at the poor woman, who had risen and was standing at the barricade again. “I need to say something to her. I can’t just leave.”
“Give us a minute,” Wally called to the woman, then tried to lead Skye away, but she dug in her heels until he sighed, turned toward Mrs. Lynch, raised his voice, and said, “Skye and I will return shortly. I apologize for the delay, but this needs to be handled immediately.”
“Sorry,” Skye hollered as Wally tugged her toward the garage. “Hang in there.”
The tech was standing with his back to the pedestrian door holding on to the handle as if he thought the cat had grown opposable thumbs and could turn the knob. His skin was dead white and the red scratches stood out like a scene from a horror movie.
As Skye and Wally approached, he blurted out, “I found the key ring in the kitchen just like the chief said. It took me a few minutes to figure out the right one for this door, and when I opened it, some giant demon cat from hell jumped me from above. It was all I could do to get it off me and close it inside the garage.”
Skye and Wally glanced at each other. Wally’s gaze flitted to her stomach and he frowned, obviously having misgivings about involving his pregnant wife. He opened his mouth, but Skye scowled at him.
Evidently reconsidering what he’d been about to say to her, Wally exhaled and straightened his shoulders. Nodding as if accepting her silent reprimand, he motioned for the tech to move out of the way.
When the guy hesitated, Wally ordered, “Go into the house and see if you can find a can of cat food.”
“I didn’t notice any food or bowls or litter box,” the tech said. “There wasn’t any sign of a pet inside that residence.”
“I just remembered that Palmer’s girlfriend told me he didn’t like animals so I doubt this is his cat.” Skye exchanged another glance with Wally, then turned to the tech and said, “Look for a can of tuna or salmon.”
Once the tech took off toward the house, Wally said, “I’ll open the door a crack and you start talking to the cat like you do with Bingo.”
“Bingo only listens to me about a tenth of the time,” Skye warned.
“Which is ten times more than he listens to anyone else,” Wally said as he eased the door open a couple of inches. “Especially me.”
“True.” Skye sank to her knees and, softening her voice, said, “Mr. Kitty, we’re here to help you. If you come out, I’ll get you something yummy to eat. I bet you’d like some tuna fish.”
Nothing happened. Skye groaned, moved closer to the o
pening, and sat cross-legged—she was too off balance because of the baby to kneel or squat for long. She continued to speak in a soothing tone, offering food. When there was no response, she promised a variety of toys.
Just as she was about to give up, a gray and white face appeared. Skye reached out and rubbed under the kitty’s chin. He purred, half closing his blue eyes, and leaned into her fingers, revving his engine.
Wally opened the door wider and the cat strolled through, climbed on Skye’s lap, and wrapped his fluffy tail around her arm. She continued to pet and scratch the kitty as she inspected it.
“Is he okay?” Wally asked, leaning down and stroking the cat’s back.
Before answering, Skye examined the tag on the collar. After reading it, she said, “She seems fine. And as I suspected, the reason that there’s no animal stuff in the house is that this isn’t Palmer’s pet.”
“Then who does she belong to?” Wally asked, wrinkling his brow.
“Princess Honey Bluebell is Dr. Quillen’s therapy cat.” Skye bit her lip. “I thought I recognized her.”
“What’s she doing in Lynch’s garage?” Wally asked, continuing to pet the cat. “Do you think she got locked in by mistake?”
“I seriously doubt it.” Skye passed the kitty to Wally, then held out her hand for him to help her to her feet. “Dr. Quillen called me after I got home from church to tell me he had to cancel the session with my grade school group because Belle had been stolen.”
“Shit!” Wally gave the cat back to Skye. “Why didn’t I know about that?”
“If I recall correctly, you told me that shortly after I left for school, Mom called you into the PD because of the American Legion break-in.” Skye walked back toward the house. “I’m guessing you didn’t have time to do anything but handle that situation. Certainly not sit around and read about yesterday’s cases.”
“Oh. Yeah. Right.” Wally ran his fingers through his hair. “Which means, we now have what seems to be three really weird crimes.”
“I can’t figure out how the Legion break-in fits in, but the fact that a stolen cat was locked in Palmer’s garage has to mean something.” She smiled as Belle climbed up her chest and draped herself around Skye’s neck. “What I can’t understand is why Miss Kitty here attacked the crime scene guy. Dr. Quillen would never use her for therapy if she wasn’t trained and as gentle as a lamb.”
Murder of a Cranky Catnapper Page 7
