Murder of a Bookstore Babe srm-13

by Denise Swanson

  “Have it your way.” Homer folded his hands across his paunch and leaned back. “Do it because I’m ordering you to, and because, unlike that lunatic English teacher, you do not have tenure.”

  Skye opened her mouth to protest but closed it without speaking. He was right. Since she was considered a part of neither the teaching faculty nor the administration, she had none of the protections most of the staff enjoyed. She’d tried to join the union, as many of her fellow school psychologists in other school systems had, but so far the matter was still being considered.

  “Any suggestion on how I can prevent Pru from acting within her constitutional rights?” Skye asked. Not that she didn’t want the teacher to cease and desist harassing the bookstore, but she had no idea how to make her stop.

  “Nope.” Homer scratched behind a hairy ear.

  Skye wondered whether she should get him a flea collar for Christmas this year.

  “Just don’t mention I told you to do it.” Homer pointed his finger at her.

  The ringing of the phone saved Skye from responding.

  Homer snatched up the handset. “Yes?” He paused, then said, “No. No. Tell him I’m not here. . . . Hello, Shamus. What can I do for you?”

  Skye flinched, hoping this call wasn’t about her. Dr. Shamus Wraige was the superintendent of the Scumble River School District, and not one of Skye’s biggest fans.

  She unashamedly eavesdropped and heard Homer say, “No, I didn’t sanction that petition.” He listened, then whined, “Pru Cormorant sent it to her students’ parents without telling me.” He listened again before bleating, “I do have control of my staff. In fact, I just asked our psychologist to talk to Mrs. Cormorant about her concerns and suggest she not involve the school in her personal issues.” After a long pause, he said, “Ms. Denison assures me there is no merit to Mrs. Cormorant’s fears. Yes, sir. She’ll take care of it today.” He banged down the receiver and told Skye, “Dr. Wraige does not want to get one more call about this matter.” Homer dug a roll of antacids out of his desk drawer.

  “And you told him I could stop Pru?”

  “Yes, so hop to it.” Homer threw a handful of Tums into his mouth.

  The white fizz around his lips made him look like a wolf with rabies. Normally Skye might have found that amusing. Not now. Not considering that he had just offered her up to the superintendent as a sacrificial lamb.

  “You know”—Homer suddenly froze, and beads of sweat popped out on his forehead—“if Corny finds out I told you to stop her, she’ll hound me to hell and back.”

  “I promise not to mention your name.”

  “You’d better not,” Homer warned, then threw two more antacids into his mouth. “Because if that happens, I’m making you twice as miserable as she makes me.”

  “I’ll do what I can, but truly, I have no idea how to get her to quit.”

  Homer appeared to make a sudden decision. “I’ve got to make a call.” He picked up the phone. “You can go now.”

  As she was gathering her things, Skye heard part of Homer’s conversation. “It’s me. I’ve decided we should go to the cabin this afternoon. Start packing now. I’ll be home in a couple of hours. I’ll call in sick for the rest of the week.”

  Apparently, Homer wasn’t taking any chances that Pru Cormorant would turn her attentions to him.

  He looked up from the file he had opened. “Are you still here? I thought you had an appointment at seven fifteen.” He looked pointedly at the clock on the wall behind her. “You’re late.”

  Great! Skye yanked open the door and dashed out of the office. As she jogged down the hall toward the library, where the meeting was being held, she ran through Homer’s list of commands: Stop finding bodies, stop finding murderers, and stop Pru Cormorant from riling up parents against the bookstore. Nope. She had as much chance of doing any of them as she had of winning a million dollars.

  CHAPTER 12

  Crime and Punishment

  After the meeting, which went well despite her tardiness, Skye spent a few minutes talking to Trixie about the murder, then retreated to the relative safety of her office. She sank into the chair behind the desk, let her tote bag fall to the floor, closed her eyes, and murmured to herself, “I totally take back all those times when I was a kid and I said I’d never need a nap.”

  Shaking off her fatigue, Skye turned on her computer and found the document containing the teachers’ schedule. The first of Pru Cormorant’s two planning periods was second hour. Skye had forty minutes to figure out how to tame Scumble River High’s own Cruella De Vil. Too bad Skye felt more like a Dalmatian puppy than the Teacher Whisperer Homer expected her to be.

  After some thought, Skye decided the best way to approach Pru was unofficially, which meant she needed to run into the mulish woman by chance rather than appear to have sought her out. Unfortunately, there was one major obstacle to that scheme.

  Pru had one of the nicest classrooms in the school. Not only did it have actual walls instead of folding curtains—it had windows and an exterior door. So, when the weather was pleasant, the best place to find Pru when she wasn’t teaching was right outside her room sitting in a lawn chair. This made casually bumping into her difficult.

  Concentrating, Skye tried to come up with a plausible reason for being outdoors and near the English teacher’s room. A few minutes before the second bell rang, the solution came to her. She could claim to be exercising. In fact, she could credit Pru with motivating her to work out, saying that after their chat about wedding pictures in the faculty lounge last Friday, she’d had a change of heart.

  Skye hated to encourage the older woman’s narrow-minded idea of beauty, but if it helped the bookstore and got the principal off her back, she was willing to do so—but only this one time. After all, a man may have to do what a man has to do, but a woman has to do what he can’t. And clearly, Homer couldn’t handle Pru.

  Having decided on a plan, Skye exchanged her black pumps for the tennis shoes she kept in her bottom drawer—a good school psychologist was prepared for any occasion—tied her hair back into a ponytail, and took the bottle of water from her lunch bag. At the last minute, thinking it might add an air of authenticity to her disguise, she grabbed the stopwatch from her WISC-IV test kit and put the lanyard around her neck. She just hoped she remembered to put it back when she was finished, as it was impossible to administer the Wechsler Intelligence Scale for Children without a timer.

  When Skye walked out of the building, she turned left and saw Pru in a lounge chair with a copy of Cosmopolitan tented over her face. Skye wondered how the teacher could consider romances porn, yet buy a magazine with a cover that contained a scantily clad woman and a promise of an article inside titled, “Six Sex Positions for the New Millennium.” Not that Skye cared what the older woman read, but it did seem a tad two-faced. Of course, being hypocritical had never bothered Pru in the past.

  A snore drifted out from under the periodical, and Skye wondered how she could wake Pru without making it obvious she wanted to talk to her. Shrugging, she decided she’d have to “accidentally” run into her chair.

  Backing up out of sight, Skye started to jog. As she rounded the corner, she increased her speed and banged into the lawn chair. Pru snatched the magazine from her face and gazed up at Skye, an angry expression twisting her features.

  Before the older woman could yell at her, Skye said, “I’m so sorry. Enjoying some fresh air?”

  “Yes, I was.” Pru’s pale blue eyes were malicious. “What are you doing out here, dear?”

  “Just jogging during my morning break.”

  “Really.” Pru raised a drawn-on eyebrow. “I thought you told me that you weren’t going to lose weight for your wedding pictures.”

  “True.” Skye forced herself to look contrite. “But I considered what you said and decided you might be right, so I’m trying to run a couple of miles every day.”

  “How energetic of you.” Pru’s tiny pointed teeth appeared in
her version of a smile. “Well, all I can say is that I hope you keep it up.”

  “Me, too.”

  “So many young people have no follow-through these days.” Pru tucked a greasy strand of hair behind her ear. “When I was your age we were expected to stick to our decisions, not change course every five minutes.”

  Skye nodded silently, a firm believer that you rarely learn anything valuable if your mouth is moving.

  “Look at those two over at the bookshop.”

  Eureka! Just the subject Skye wanted to talk about. “Risé and Orlando? How are they not sticking to their plans and following through on their decisions?”

  “They’re prime examples.” Pru pursed her thin lips. “I heard that they both had completely different careers before coming here and opening that store.” She tsked. “All this hopping from job to job is what’s ruining America. It used to be you stayed in your position until you retired, and it was a disgrace to get fired or quit.”

  “Still”—Skye tried to steer the conversation into a more positive light—“now that you’ve seen Tales and Treats, surely you don’t still think it’s full of porn and how-to manuals on the occult, do you?”

  “Maybe not,” Pru admitted. “After the unfortunate incident of her pets escaping and emptying out the store, I went back and spoke to Ms. Vaughn about my concerns.”

  Skye had to bite her tongue to stop herself from blurting out, “You mean after you let the chinchillas loose.” Instead she asked, “And what did Risé say?”

  “She assured me they wouldn’t be selling the racier romances or the darker science fiction to anyone under eighteen. And they do have that lovely café. She gave me a card for free coffees for a year to show her appreciation for my concern.”

  “I guess that means you can stop gathering signatures for your petition and disband the protesters.” Skye wondered whether the complimentary beverage card was a bribe. More important, had it worked?

  “Yes.” Pru thrust out her bottom lip. “Hardly anybody signed anyway,” she muttered, then brightened. “But clearly, something is wrong with that store and its owners, or there wouldn’t have been a murder, so I’m still going to keep my eye on them.”

  “Being robbed is not their fault,” Skye pointed out. “That could happen to any business.”

  “Not in Scumble River.” Pru shook her head. “I can’t remember the last burglary around here. I believe that everything happens for a reason. And more often than not the reason is someone’s past goof-ups. Thus, there has to be a reason that store is attracting violence. And I think it has to do with that couple’s previous life.”

  “What did they do before?” Skye asked. Risé had mentioned her husband’s prior occupation but not what she had done. “I thought Orlando was a book scout, which should be pretty harmless.”

  “Maybe.” Pru twitched her shoulders. “But she was some hotshot executive.”

  “I wonder why she’d give that up,” Skye mused. “Her salary had to be a lot more than the money they can make from the store, and she’s got to be within five or six years of retirement age.”

  “Exactly.” Pru’s tone was predatory. “They’re hiding something, and I won’t rest until I find out what.”

  “So then, after I jogged out of her sight, I went and told Trixie she didn’t have to try to dig up any dirt on Pru after all.” Skye was sitting with Wally in the hall outside of Father Burns’s office at the rectory. “She seemed almost disappointed.”

  They were waiting for the priest to arrive for their late Monday afternoon appointment to discuss Wally’s annulment. They’d met with him briefly once before and had been given paperwork to complete, but today he was going to discuss the entire process with them.

  “That sounds like Trixie. She likes a good fight.” Wally chuckled, then asked, “What did Homer say when you told him?”

  “He agreed that although Pru might still be harassing the bookstore, it didn’t sound as if she was going to pursue the petition angle.”

  “I’ll bet he was relieved.”

  “You sure couldn’t prove that by me.” Skye made a wry face. “He just grunted, told me to get back to work, then picked up the phone and ordered his secretary to get his wife on the line and cancel their trip.”

  “Homer sounds like our mayor.” Wally ran his thumb down Skye’s cheek. “Your uncle isn’t too happy that we have another murder. The city’s in negotiations with new businesses for several of those empty storefronts on the same part of the street as Tales and Treats.”

  “I wonder if Hugo knows that.” Skye leaned her head on Wally’s shoulder. She was so tired. She hadn’t slept well last night, and the stress of the last couple of days was catching up with her. “I just told you my cousin and Risé are in a big fight over parking spaces.”

  Skye had been unable to reach Wally all day, so she was using this time to fill him in on what she’d forgotten to tell him the previous evening.

  “Right.” Wally put an arm around her. “You mentioned she had disagreements with Flip and Kevin, too. I’d say it was odd that so many of your family members are somehow involved with that woman, except that you’re related to half the town.”

  “Maybe more. Mom keeps coming up with new branches on the family tree.” Skye nestled closer. “It’s a good thing it was a burglary. If Risé was the intended victim without any other motive, a lot of my relatives would be suspects.”

  “It’s pretty amazing that Risé has managed to tick off so many people in such a short time,” Wally commented.

  Before Skye could respond, Father Burns walked in the front door and ushered them into his office. He was a tall, ascetic-looking man who had been the priest at St. Francis, the Scumble River Catholic church, for as long as Skye could remember. He had to be close to sixty, but he had an ageless face and a gaunt body that hid his age.

  Once Skye and Wally were seated on the leather wingchairs facing Father Burns at his desk, the priest said, “As I warned you the first time we spoke, the annulment process isn’t usually smooth or quick, and I’m sorry to tell you, yours seems to have already hit a snag.”

  “Oh?” Wally tensed.

  “What’s the problem, Father?” Skye took Wally’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

  “I’m afraid the address you furnished for your ex-wife isn’t any good.” He looked at them to see whether they understood the gravity of the situation. “Although declaration of nullity is still possible, without her input, the proceedings will be even more drawn out.”

  “In other words”—Wally narrowed his eyes—“it would be best if I found her?”

  “It would speed things up. Her involvement isn’t essential, but the Church does like to give both parties an opportunity to present their views of the marriage.” Father Burns sat motionlessly. “How long has it been since you’ve had contact with her?”

  “A couple of years.” Wally’s hand tightened on Skye’s. “Since we didn’t have children, and the prenup she signed precluded her from claiming any of my assets or asking for alimony, or whatever it’s called nowadays, there was no need to keep in touch.”

  “Fortunately, your line of work should assist you in locating her.” Father Burns smiled. “I’m sure God will guide you in your search.”

  “Thank you, Father.” Skye was afraid this setback would cause Wally to try to persuade her to marry him without the process, so she asked, “Could you explain to us why the Church requires an annulment?”

  “The Church’s stance is that matrimony is lifelong.” His dark, serious eyes studied them for a long moment; then he continued. “The annulment procedure is used to determine if an essential element, which prevented the sacramental union promised, was missing when the couple entered into the marriage.”

  “And what are those elements?” Wally asked, glancing at Skye to see whether she knew.

  “The most common is insufficiency or inadequacy of judgment,” the priest explained. “There is also psychological incapacity, and absence
of proper intention to have children, be faithful, or remain together until death.”

  “Since Darleen left me for another man, we should have that last one covered,” Wally said drily. “Not to mention her psychological problems, which I found out about during the divorce.”

  “That will help.” Father Burns looked down at the rosary in his hands. “But the real question is, can you honestly state that you knew there was something missing, something radically wrong, right from the start? Did you have second thoughts prior to the nuptials or have serious difficulties in the early years of the marriage?”

  Wally didn’t hesitate. “Yes. I knew I didn’t feel the way toward Darleen that I had toward someone previously.” He gazed into Skye’s eyes. “I wanted to back out of the wedding the night before, but I couldn’t humiliate Darleen in front of all her family and friends.” He stared at the priest. “We fought almost from the first day of our marriage. We were never a team.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Father Burns’s voice was gentle. “However, it will help your case.”

  “But I should still locate Darleen.” A flicker of impatience crossed Wally’s eyes, but his voice was unruffled. “Right?”

  “It would help.” A corner of the priest’s lips turned up.

  “Even though Darleen and I weren’t married in a church and I’m not Catholic?” Wally wrinkled his brow.

  “Yes,” Father Burns answered. “The Catholic Church views all marriages with respect and presumes that they are valid and binding. Consequently, it requires even non-Catholics to have any previous marriage annulled.”

  Wally’s expression was skeptical.

  “I understand that this must seem like a lot of nonsense, but without it your marriage to Skye will not be valid in the eyes of the Church. And I know Skye well enough to say without a doubt that this will trouble her greatly, now and in the future. For you to do this is a great act of self-giving love.”

  Both men turned to Skye, and she nodded.