As soon as Skye got to her office, she phoned Wally, but he wasn’t at the PD and didn’t answer his cell. Shoot! She wanted to compare notes and to ask if Dr. Wraige and Pru had alibis. Not to mention, she wanted to find out what Uncle Charlie had to say. She crossed her fingers that her godfather had someone who could account for his whereabouts during the time of death.
The rest of the afternoon whizzed by. In between counseling sessions and writing reports, Skye tried to reach Wally several times, but they ended up playing phone tag. Finally, she gave up and left a message that she’d see him at the police station after work.
A few seconds after the final bell rang at three twenty-five, Skye’s office door crashed open and Trixie Frayne dashed through. Skye hurriedly finished the notes she’d been making, tucked the documents into their folder, and filed it away. She hadn’t had a chance to hang out in the faculty lounge, so despite Wally’s warning to dodge her best friend, she was glad to see her.
Trixie would have the inside scoop on what the gossips were saying about the murder, catnapping, and the break-in. In addition to being the school librarian, cheerleading coach, and co-sponsor of the student newspaper, she kept her finger on the heartbeat of the school and was all too happy to administer CPR if things got dull.
As Trixie rushed toward her, Skye smiled fondly at her friend. Trixie always reminded Skye of a brownie—not the Girl Scout kind, the forest imp variety. She had short nut brown hair and cocoa-colored eyes, a size 4 body, and extremely high spirits.
Trixie dropped into one of Skye’s metal visitor chairs, leaned forward, and demanded, “Where have you been hiding all day?”
“Mostly seeing kids and writing psych reports.” Skye raised a brow. “You know, doing the stuff the district pays me to do.”
Unfazed, Trixie continued, “Why didn’t you return my calls and texts yesterday?”
“Sorry,” Skye apologized. “There were so many messages, I was overwhelmed. It was a madhouse. Wally and I had supper and went to bed early. We were both exhausted and knew today wouldn’t be much better.”
“Exhausted or frisky?” Trixie’s grin was lascivious. “That man of yours is hot.”
Skye inwardly frowned. During her first trimester she’d been turned on all the time. This second trimester? Not so much. Which was the complete opposite of what she’d read and damn annoying. Wally hadn’t said anything yet, but she could tell he was disappointed when she went to sleep rather than return his advances. She needed to do something about that before Chantal started looking good to him.
“Hot isn’t my number one criterion for a good husband. Right now being a good father is a lot more important,” Skye said dryly, then wrinkled her brow.
Although Trixie had seemed happy for Skye and Wally when they’d announced their blessed event, she and Skye had never really discussed Skye’s pregnancy. How did her friend feel about the upcoming blessed event?
Clearing her throat, Skye pointed to her belly and said, “This doesn’t exactly make me feel in the mood.”
“I feel ya,” Trixie said. “I sure never want to blow up like a balloon.”
“So you and Owen haven’t changed your mind about raising a family?” Skye asked.
“Nope.” Trixie shook her head. “For a while there we were talking about whether to have a baby or buy a dog. But we decided we’d rather make a mess of our rugs than our lives.” She smirked. “For me and Owen, kids would be God’s punishment for having sex.”
“So you think I’m being punished and ruining my life?” Skye was hurt by Trixie’s words.
“Not at all!” Trixie smacked herself on the side of the head, jumped up, and hugged Skye. “You and Wally will be wonderful parents. Me and Owen, not so much.” Trixie bit her lip. “But I do worry that things might become different between us. That you’ll want to hang out with other moms instead of me.”
“Never.” Skye hugged her back. “We don’t have to change friends as long as we recognize that friends change.”
“Awesome!” Trixie returned to her chair, snatched a piece of leftover Easter candy from the jar on Skye’s desk, and examined the wrapper. “So tell me about the murder.”
“Can we talk about something else, like the break-in at the Legion?”
“Sure.” Trixie crossed her legs and dangled her bright yellow high-heel sandal from her toe. “But no one really has any theories about the break-in, except the obvious one. It’s common knowledge that there’s a lot of cash there for the taking.”
“Shoot!”
“Now let’s discuss the murder.” Trixie smoothed her yellow and black polka-dot skirt over her thighs and tilted her head. “Spill.”
“Fine,” Skye agreed, then gave Trixie the lowdown on the homicide, without revealing the bondage aspect. When she’d finished, she said, “Any idea why Palmer would have a stolen cat in his garage?”
“None.” Trixie peeled the foil off a miniature egg. “From what you told me, he dislikes animals, so catnapping would seem out of character.” She popped the chocolate in her mouth and licked her fingers. “And the drug angle doesn’t really compute either. I only met Mr. Lynch a few times, but he sure didn’t look like a user to me.”
“Me either.” Skye watched her friend eat another candy, resisting the urge to join her. Although Trixie never gained an ounce, Skye could feel the fat forming just looking at the sugary treat. “But you really can’t tell. People aren’t always what they seem.”
Skye closed her eyes thinking just how different Palmer and Dr. Wraige were from the way they presented themselves to the world. She’d bet that the other men in that private club of theirs were the same.
Her lids flew open. Confidentiality agreement aside, if Palmer told the superintendent about his problem with Virginia, he might have told the other guys. Could one of them be so enraged at his indiscretion that he killed him? And who exactly were these men?
Whoever they were, they probably had as much to lose as Palmer and Dr. Wraige. An alternative lifestyle might not be cause for too much concern in Chicago, but in Scumble River those kinds of choices could ruin you.
CHAPTER 15
A cat may go to a monastery, but she still remains a cat.
—ETHIOPIAN PROVERB
Ten minutes later, failing to wheedle any more details about the crime out of Skye, Trixie jumped up from her seat and said, “I’d better get my rear in gear. I haven’t done laundry in two weeks, and if I don’t wash it tonight, I’ll be wearing my bikini as underwear tomorrow.” She giggled. “And it’s been nearly as long since I’ve been to the grocery store. I don’t have a thing in the fridge to cook and Owen is threatening to whip up a batch of his infamous roadkill stew if he has to eat cereal for supper again.”
Chuckling, Skye waved good-bye to her friend, and she hurried out to her car. As she drove to the station, she considered who else might be a part of the private club Pru had mentioned. And which of those men would Palmer be likely to go to for help.
Sifting through the likely candidates from among Scumble River’s male population, Skye almost missed her turn into the PD parking lot. The department was housed in a two-story red-brick structure. Accessible from two streets, the police station occupied half the main floor, with the chief’s office above and the lone jail cell in the basement. It was bisected by a massive double-deep three-door garage and the city hall took up the other side of the building, with the town library inhabiting its second floor. All three spaces were too small for the growing town, but no one wanted to spend the money to expand, so there was a continuous fight for square footage.
When Skye arrived at three forty-five, the city hall and library were bustling. Both closed at four thirty, and Scumble Riverites hurried to complete last-minute business.
Cars jammed the shared lot and Skye had to circle several times, waiting for someone to pull out. Finally a sleek black Miata vaca
ted its spot and she was able to maneuver her Bel Air between the white lines.
In order to avoid being delayed by her mother, who would be manning the dispatcher’s desk, Skye went into the garage and used her key to enter through the door that connected the garage to the station. May would want to chat, and Wally had mentioned that he planned to pick up Virginia as soon as school was out. Knowing her mother, if Skye stopped to talk to her, she wouldn’t have time to question Wally about what he’d found out while she’d been busy at school before they had to interview the teacher.
On her way to the stairs that led to Wally’s office, Skye passed the coffee/interrogation area. Officer Zelda Martinez and Virginia sat at a long rectangular table. Zelda was staring at the woman as the teacher graded papers. Every time Virginia inked a check mark next to a wrong answer, the young officer flinched and fingered the gun on her belt.
Smiling at Zelda’s reaction to the dreaded red pen, Skye climbed the steps to the second floor. She knocked on Wally’s closed door, then cracked it open and stuck her head inside.
Wally was on the telephone, but he gestured Skye over to the visitor chair across from his desk. He smiled at her, then put the phone on speaker, flipped open a folder, and grabbed a pen.
From what Skye could make out, the medical examiner was summarizing the preliminary results of Palmer Lynch’s autopsy.
Finally, Wally said, “So what you’re saying, Doc, is that the vic was shot in the heart with a forty-five at close proximity somewhere between eleven and midnight?”
“Yes.” The ME’s voice was hollow as if he, too, had his phone on speaker.
Wally made a note, then continued, “And your conclusion is that Lynch was already tied to the bed prior to being shot?”
“From the marks on his wrists and the powder marks on the skin of his chest, that would be my conclusion.” The ME’s voice got fainter as if he’d moved away from the microphone on his phone.
“How about drugs or alcohol?” Wally asked, raising a brow at Skye.
“No drugs showed up on the typical tests, and only a small amount of alcohol was in his system.”
“Did you check for ketamine?”
“No. But I can,” the ME said, then asked, “Any other unusual drugs?”
“Not at this time,” Wally answered, then asked, “Is the bullet in good enough shape to make a positive ID if we find a weapon?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks, Doc,” Wally said. “When can I expect the full report?”
“Give me twenty-four hours.” The ME hung up without saying good-bye.
Skye waited several seconds until Wally finished writing and looked up from the file, then asked, “Anything from the crime techs yet?”
“Nothing helpful.” Wally rubbed the stubble on his jaw. “I spent the day talking to a few suspects, but didn’t get too far. You’ll be relieved to know that Charlie has an alibi. He had a plumbing problem in one of the units at the Motor Court and the plumber vouched for his whereabouts from ten until well past midnight.”
“Thank goodness!” Skye fanned herself in relief. “Who else did you question?”
“Wraige and that Cormorant woman. Both of whom unfortunately also have alibis.” Wally hesitated, then warned, “You may not want to know what they had to say. It could be hard to work with the superintendent once you get that picture into your head.”
“Too late.” Skye wrinkled her nose. “Pru already told me, and yuck. Then again, it did give me an idea. If Palmer went to Dr. Wraige for help with Virginia, isn’t it likely that when the superintendent turned him down, he approached another one of the club members?”
“You might be right,” Wally agreed. “The problem will be learning their identities. Ms. Cormorant didn’t know any names, and I suspect Wraige won’t be as forthcoming as his cousin. I doubt if I can scare him into talking.”
“Maybe Virginia would know,” Skye offered. “Or I’m still half convinced that either Nate Turner or Tony Zello might be involved.”
“I tried to reach both of them today.” Wally consulted his notebook. “According to his staff, Zello is at a medical conference in Chicago, and Turner was somewhere up north near Bolingbrook on a big landscaping project. I left a message for both men that I needed to speak to them.”
“Which probably means tomorrow at the earliest.” Skye got up and walked around the desk. “I guess that leaves Virginia.” She took Wally’s hand and kissed his cheek. “Let’s go talk to her.”
As Wally allowed Skye to tug him to his feet, he winked and quoted one of her favorite movies, “As you wish.”
Smiling, she led him to the door, and down the stairs. The minute Skye and Wally entered the coffee/interrogation room, Zelda jumped to her feet.
Not quite saluting, the young officer said, “Chief.”
Wally tipped his head at Zelda, then asked, “Has Ms. Elders been read her rights?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did she sign the acknowledgment form?”
“Yes, sir.”
He dismissed the young woman and turned to Virginia and asked, “Do you wish to have a lawyer present during questioning?”
“No.”
“Okay. I’m Chief Boyd.” From the cabinet next to the sink, he took an old-fashioned tape recorder, pushed a button, and said, “Please state your full name and address for the recording.”
Virginia complied then flicked a glance at Skye. “What are you doing here?”
Before Skye could speak, Wally explained her status as the psych consultant, adding, “Skye will be sitting in on your interview.”
“I . . . uh . . . it might be a little awkward since we’re friends.”
Skye took the chair next to the teacher and put her hand on her arm. “Nothing you say here will be shared with any member of the school staff. The only reason the content of this interview will ever be made public is if you go to trial for Palmer’s murder.”
“You can’t imagine that I . . .” Color drained from Virginia’s face. “We’d broken up. I wasn’t even seeing him anymore. What reason would I have to kill him?”
Skye opened her mouth but closed it, not sure how to answer.
Wally ignored Virginia’s question, sat across from her, and said, “Why don’t we start with why you were no longer dating Lynch?”
Virginia looked down at the table and mumbled something Skye didn’t catch.
“What?” Wally asked, leaning forward. “You need to speak up.”
“He and I didn’t have as much in common as it first appeared.” Virginia shook her head sadly. “He wasn’t who I thought he was.”
Skye wrinkled her brow. Clearly, it wouldn’t be easy to get Virginia to talk about her boyfriend’s sexual preferences. Glancing at Wally, Skye silently requested permission to take over the questioning. He gave a slight nod and sat back in his chair.
“How was Palmer different than the man you believed him to be?” Skye asked.
“It took me a while to discover it, but his views and mine were diametrically opposed.” Virginia avoided Skye’s gaze and straightened the pile of homework that she’d been grading. “I knew there were some things we disagreed on, but not the extent of our differences.”
“I see.” Skye turned so that she was focused entirely on the teacher. Mentally she flipped through several counseling approaches, then settled on Rogerian. She would try to understand how Virginia saw her boyfriend and restate what she was saying about their breakup. “So at first, although you and Palmer weren’t in complete accord, the dissimilarities were minor?”
“Exactly.” Virginia’s brown eyes softened. “And he was willing to discuss those issues.” She shook her head. “But when push came to shove, his stance was that it was his way or the highway.”
“So when the stakes became larger, Palmer refused to compromise?”
“Yes.” Virginia twisted a strand of hair. “The more important the issue, the more stubborn he became.” Her voice faltered. “I . . . I thought I could put up with that. I was so tired of being alone.”
“You were willing to overlook some concerns, but not fundamental ones?”
“Uh-huh.” Virginia thrust out her chin. “Some things are nonnegotiable.”
“And what were those things?” Skye asked. “The nonnegotiable ones?”
“Just philosophical differences.” Virginia crossed her arms.
“You mentioned that Palmer really liked to be in control,” Skye said, recalling their previous conversation about Virginia’s boyfriend. “Did that attitude play a part in your decision to break up with him?”
“In a way.” Virginia busied herself putting the homework pages in a file and tucking the folder into her canvas tote bag. “There was only so much power that I was willing to cede to him.”
Wally’s foot nudged Skye’s calf and she glanced at him. He was retaking the reins of the interview. She turned her chair to face the table and waited.
“This type of control was too much for you?” Wally tossed down the crime scene photos of Palmer Lynch naked and bound to the bed.
Virginia flinched and tried to push the pictures away from her. When Wally held the snapshots in place, she covered her eyes.
“Don’t pretend you were unaware of Lynch’s unusual appetites.” Wally raised an eyebrow. “We have a statement from a reliable source that your boyfriend tried to entice you into the lifestyle.”
“Then you understand why I broke up with him.” Virginia’s cheeks were red. “When he suggested spicing up our love life with canes and handcuffs, I told him in no uncertain terms that we were through and gave him back his key.”
“So you’re saying that Lynch’s sexual preferences were the ‘philosophical differences’ that ended your relationship?” Wally tapped the photos with his fingernail, clearly challenging the woman’s statement.
“Yes.” Virginia lifted her chin. “There was no way I could be with a man who expected me to surrender myself to his every desire.”
Murder of a Cranky Catnapper Page 14
