Murder of An Open Book: A Scumble River Mystery (Scumble River Mysteries Book 18)

by Denise Swanson

  By heading out the back exit, she was able to avoid passing the library, so if Trixie was still around, she wouldn’t see her. Skye warily looked both ways as she stepped outside. Once she was on the grass, she hurried toward her car, rummaging through her purse as she walked.

  Heck! She should have had the keys in her hand before she left her office. Ah. There they were. Triumphantly, she fished the ring from the bottom of her bag, lifted her head, and shrieked.

  “Surprised to see me?” Trixie stood, blocking Skye from the T-bird.

  “What are you doing here?” Skye glanced around. Trixie’s Honda wasn’t anywhere near where Skye had parked. “Are you having car trouble?”

  “Nope.” Trixie poked Skye in the chest. “I’m having friend trouble.”

  “Oh.” Skye backed up. “I have no idea to what you’re referring.”

  “Sure you don’t.” Trixie snickered. “I can always tell when you have a guilty conscience because you suddenly start using impeccable grammar.”

  “Are you saying that I usually don’t speak well?” Skye edged around her pal, opened the driver’s door, and threw her tote bag and purse on the passenger seat. “I’ll have you know that I minored in English and never received less than an A in those classes.”

  “Don’t try to change the subject.” Trixie grabbed Skye’s arm before she could slip into the car. “You’re not getting away that easily.”

  “Sorry.” Skye shook off her friend’s hand. “But I really have to run.”

  “Not so fast.” Trixie threw herself between Skye and the T-bird.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Skye hip-checked her BFF. At times like this, being taller and heavier than the tiny librarian came in handy.

  “You’re not leaving until you talk to me.” Trixie moved behind the car.

  “Seriously, I need to leave,” Skye stalled, wondering if there was room to drive forward instead of backing out of the space.

  “I hear Blair Hucksford was murdered.” Trixie smiled in triumph and hopped on the trunk. She patted the blue metal surface next to her and said, “Sit down and tell me everything.”

  CHAPTER 9

  FAQ—Frequently Asked Questions

  “Son of a buck!” Wally’s frustration hissed through the Thunderbird’s interior like a drop of oil on a hot cast-iron pan.

  Skye held her cell phone away from her ear, waiting for him to stop swearing and calm down. As soon as she’d escaped from Trixie’s interrogation, she’d driven into town, parked, and immediately phoned Wally—who was now ranting about loose lips sinking ships.

  Dodging most of Trixie’s questions, Skye had admitted only to finding Blair’s body and being the one to call 911. Since she had no idea who wanted Blair dead or why the teacher was killed, she had been able to honestly tell her BFF that she didn’t have any inside knowledge about the murder.

  Oops! Wally had finally stopped cursing, and there was now an ominous silence coming from her phone, so Skye quickly said, “According to Trixie, no one else knows about Blair, and I pinkie swore her to secrecy. But I thought I’d better warn you that there was a leak, and to be prepared.”

  “How on God’s green earth did she find out the victim’s identity?”

  “Apparently, in the name of research for the book she’s writing, Trixie has cozied up to the ME’s administrative assistant, aka his wife.”

  Skye was sitting in front of the dry cleaner’s, and as she talked to Wally, she watched a woman maneuvering a gigantic stroller over the business’s threshold and through the narrow doorway. The baby’s screams could be heard through the T-bird’s closed windows.

  Putting her hand on her stomach, she wrinkled her brow. Although she’d considered many aspects of motherhood, she’d never really thought about the everyday difficulties of navigating life completely responsible for another human being’s every need. Suddenly it seemed like a really tough job, and she wasn’t sure she was up to the challenge.

  “Don’t that just beat all?” Wally interrupted Skye’s thoughts. “You buy ’em books and you buy ’em books and they’re still so ignorant they just chew on the covers.”

  Skye’s lips quirked upward. She loved it when her husband reverted to his roots and started speaking like the Texas boy he was at heart.

  “I’m about to put a rattlesnake in that doc’s pocket and ask him for a quarter.” Wally ground his teeth so loudly Skye could hear it. “All those precautions and we’re done in by pillow talk.”

  “On the good-news front, when Mrs. ME phoned Trixie, she had just finished typing her husband’s preliminary report.” Skye tried to cheer up Wally. “Once her husband signed off on it, she planned to send the report to you right away. Have you checked your e-mail recently?”

  “Not in the last half hour.” Wally paused, and Skye could hear the clicking sound of him typing on his computer keyboard. A few seconds later, he said, “Yep. It’s here.”

  “That’s a relief.” Skye dug through her purse, looking for the receipt for her dry cleaning. “Have Blair’s parents contacted you yet?”

  “No.” Wally grunted. “But they live in California, so they’re two hours behind us. It’s only two forty-five there, which means they’re probably not home from work yet. I left my cell number on their machine because I didn’t want to have to hang around the PD, waiting for them to call me.”

  “Good.” Skye got out of the Ford. “Then I’ll let you go so that you can read the ME’s report.” She walked across the sidewalk and through the Clean Bee’s door. Just before clicking off her cell, she said, “I’m running some errands, but I’ll see you at home about five thirty.”

  Warm solvent-scented air washed over her as Skye entered the dry cleaner’s. She got into the back of the line and looked around. It was the after-work rush, and five customers were in front of her. As she waited, she mindlessly stared at the back of the guy directly ahead of her. After a couple of minutes, she noticed that the white printing on his black T-shirt was superimposed over a bright red volleyball and read, SCUMBLE RIVER STILETTOS. 2006 CLASS 5A CHAMPIONS.

  The man was in his early forties, wearing jeans and a baseball cap. Skye chewed her thumbnail. She was fairly certain that the championship shirts weren’t widely available for sale, which meant that he was probably a parent of one of the players. She tilted her head, considering. Or at least a big supporter of the team.

  Noting that the line was stalled by a woman who couldn’t find her receipt or, apparently, even remember exactly what clothing she’d brought in to be cleaned, Skye managed to catch Mr. T-shirt’s eye and said, “Gee, I sure hope this doesn’t take too long. I stayed late at school to get some work done and now I’m running behind schedule.”

  “Are you a teacher at the high school? I don’t think I’ve seen you at the PTO meetings.” He smiled. “My daughter’s a junior.”

  “I’m the district psychologist.” Skye fished a card from the outer pocket of her purse and handed it to him. “I work at all three buildings.”

  “Ah. That’s why we haven’t met.” The man shook his head. “My Roxy hasn’t needed your services. She’s well-adjusted, and she always makes the honor roll.”

  “Grades like those are quite an accomplishment. You must be thrilled for her.” Skye pointed to his shirt. “And I’m guessing she’s also on the volleyball team.”

  “She’s the captain.” He hitched up his pants and beamed proudly. “She’s up for a scholarship at Southwest Illinois University.”

  “Wow! That’s terrific.” Skye nodded enthusiastically, then asked, “Are there any other schools besides SWIU interested in her?”

  “No. She was lucky to get noticed by that one.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “There aren’t too many volleyball scholarships for women. The men’s athletic programs get all the money.”

  “How did SWIU discover her?” Skye doubted Scumble
River High School’s athletes were on too many college scouts’ must-see list.

  “Her coach went to school there and knew someone.” He was starting to look at Skye as if wondering why she was asking so many questions. “We were lucky that Ms. Hucksford came to Scumble River, or Roxy might never have had the opportunity.”

  “How long has she been coaching?” Skye knew Blair had been at the high school for a few years, but she wasn’t sure when the teacher had taken over the volleyball team. “I haven’t had much interaction with Ms. Hucksford.”

  “This is her second year.” He noticed that the line had moved and edged forward. “Ms. H has done an amazing job with those girls.”

  “Oh. Wasn’t the team very good before?” Skye wished she knew more about the sport. “How did Ms. Hucksford improve their performance?”

  “Well . . .” The guy shoved his hands in his back pockets, his expression guarded. “There were a couple of very talented players—Roxy and Keely Peterson, to name names—but the problem was that none of them had team spirit until Ms. Hucksford took over.”

  “That’s impressive,” Skye said, glad that Blair’s death hadn’t yet been made public. No way would this guy talk as freely about the volleyball coach if he knew she’d been murdered. “And I imagine not easy to achieve.”

  “Exactly.” His eyes shifted away from Skye for a moment, but when he looked back, he said, “Some of the parents couldn’t accept the time and commitment that accomplishing that goal took.”

  “Interesting,” Skye said, starting to get a glimmer of an idea.

  “Looks like it’s my turn.” He stepped up to the counter and said, “Nice talking to you. You should come to a game next year.”

  “I’ll sure try to.” Skye smiled. “Lovely chatting with you, too.”

  After Roxy’s father completed his transaction, took his plastic-wrapped clothes, and left, Skye stepped up and handed the clerk her receipt. While she waited for the woman to locate Wally’s uniforms on the revolving rack, Skye thought about how nice it was to hear something positive about Blair. Maybe the other teachers hadn’t liked her, but at least one volleyball parent had been a big fan of the dead woman. Someone in Scumble River would mourn her.

  * * *

  Skye stood in the master bathroom, luxuriating under the soothing spray of the newly installed eight-inch rainfall showerhead. It was her second shower today, but the first one had been more of a hurried rinse so she could get back to school than a true scrub. She had plenty of time. Wally had phoned to tell her he wouldn’t be home until six thirty.

  When her fingers started to prune, she stepped out of the stall, toweled off, and reached for the moisturizer. Still feeling itchy from her recent coatings of caked-on chlorine, she applied and reapplied the lotion until her skin was shiny and slick.

  As Skye dried her curls, a little voice carped at her. Should she bow out of this investigation? Although her doctor had assured her that going back into the pool to bring Blair to the surface hadn’t put the baby at any risk, Skye still felt guilty. The nagging voice in her head sounded a lot like her mother’s, but maybe she should listen anyway.

  While mentally debating her participation in the case, she finished styling her hair, then applied bronzer and mascara. Wally would understand if she chose not to work this case. Heck, he might even encourage her to sit out this one. But did she really want to turn into that kind of woman?

  She wiggled into a pair of black jeans—thankful for the touch of spandex when she could barely zip them. Flipping through the hangers in her closet, she chose a ballet pink knit top that displayed her amplified cleavage to its full advantage. She usually greeted Wally wearing sweats and sporting a ponytail, but he’d had a rough day and deserved a little treat.

  Hearing the sound of the front door closing, she hurriedly slipped on her pink Coach flats. Then she stole an additional second to put on lipstick and take one last glance in the mirror before going to greet her new husband. After passing her own inspection, she flew down the steps, into the foyer, and rushed up to Wally.

  Her welcoming smile faded a little as she noted his exhaustion. Although he was only an hour later than usual, the poor guy was obviously dog-tired. She reined in her out-of-control hormones. Heck! Wally was forty-four. She didn’t want her pregnancy lust to kill him. Clearly this wasn’t the best time to seduce him or, for that matter, to discuss her reservations about continuing her role as the PD’s psych consultant.

  Wally silently shed his jacket, hung it and his gun belt on the foyer’s coatrack, then said, “It seems like years since I kissed you good-bye this morning at the pool.” Without waiting for her response, he swept her into his arms and added in a lower, huskier tone, “Dang it. I miss you so much when we’re apart.”

  As his mouth claimed hers, Skye caught a glimpse of his expression. Passion and something she couldn’t quite read swirled together in his deep brown eyes. Was it apprehension? But why would he be uneasy? Unless, of course, his concern was about the case.

  Mentally shrugging—she’d figure it out later—Skye twined her arms around his neck and buried her hands in his thick black hair. She loved the crisp feeling of the strands as they feathered through her fingers. His lips sent her heart into a wild disco beat, and she pressed herself closer, reveling in the sensations he aroused.

  Wally deepened the kiss, his tongue stroking hers. He tasted sweeter than her favorite chocolate-dipped shortbread cookie, and she wanted to gobble him up. She forgot about the murder, the baby, and all her other qualms, and enjoyed the moment.

  Wally’s fingers were cold as his hands crept under the hem of her shirt, and she shivered. But his touch immediately warmed up when he unhooked her bra and cupped her breasts. She ran her palms down his back, stroking the muscles and dipping below his waistband. She had no idea how long they stood there, absorbed in each other, but when they finally broke the kiss, both of them were gasping for breath.

  He wrapped an arm around her waist and started to guide her toward the stairs, but when his stomach let out a loud growl, Skye stopped and raised an inquiring eyebrow at him. He twitched his shoulders, denying his hunger, and tried again to lead her up the steps. But when his stomach rumbled a second time, Skye refused to budge. She turned and shoved him in the direction of the kitchen.

  “Did you eat today?” Skye asked as she pushed him into a chair.

  “I didn’t have time to go out and pick up anything,” Wally said. “And I left here this morning without packing a lunch. But I had a can of root beer from the machine and a couple sticks of beef jerky.”

  “Why didn’t you ask someone to go through Mickey D’s drive-through for you?” Skye asked, opening the refrigerator and examining their options for supper. Too bad this wasn’t a Dorothy day.

  “You know I don’t like to take advantage of my position as chief.”

  “I didn’t propose that you order an underling to pick up your dry cleaning—’cause I did that.” Skye brought Wally a bottle of Sam Adams. “Just ask a friend for a favor. Or even call Mom. She brings Vince lunch every day at his hair salon. I’m sure she’d be thrilled to feed you, too. Heck, once she knows I’m pregnant, maybe she’ll add me to her list of meals-on-wheels beneficiaries.”

  “You must be hungry, too, or feeling light-headed.” Wally twisted off the beer cap and took a healthy swig. “Because you have to be pretty woozy to suggest involving May in our lives even more than she already is. I thought our goal was to keep our independence.”

  “You’re right.” Skye scrunched up her face. “I just hate the thought of you going hungry.” She wandered over to the pantry. After examining the nearly empty shelves, she turned to him and said, “Our choices for dinner are leftovers from last night, an omelet, or frozen pizza.”

  “Leftovers.” Wally took another swallow of beer. “That’ll be the quickest.”

  “Okay.” Skye returned
to the fridge, removed a glass casserole dish, and popped it into the microwave. “Tomorrow I’ll try to get to the supermarket after work. But whether or not I have time depends how the kids and staff react to the news of Blair’s murder.”

  “I’d do it, but I doubt that I’ll have a chance, either.” Wally got up and started to set the table. “Why don’t we draw up a list and have Dorothy do the grocery shopping? She’d probably be happy to earn a little extra cash. We can even ask her to make dinner.”

  “Well . . .” Skye filled a glass with ice and caffeine-free Diet Coke. “Let me think about it.”

  She was torn. They were both extremely busy, and having Dorothy help them out would be marvelous, but Skye wasn’t used to having discretionary income. Seven years ago, when she’d returned to Scumble River, she’d been beyond broke. Having made several foolish decisions that had maxed out her credit cards, she’d been deeply in debt. The only thing standing between her and living out of her car had been the generosity of her family. She’d worked hard and scrimped to pay off her obligations, but that fear of losing everything again hadn’t gone away.

  Now that she and Wally had combined salaries, they were comfortable and could afford a few luxuries. In fact, they could actually have almost anything they wanted, because although no one from Scumble River knew it, Wally’s father was a millionaire. And Wally’s mother had left him a hefty trust fund when she died. Skye had only recently found out about his affluence herself.

  Because he wanted his wealthy background and hefty bank account to remain a secret, Wally had always been careful to live within his means. And if anyone noticed that his father seemed to have more money than he should, the story that Wally had carefully spread around town was that Carson Boyd’s boss was a very generous billionaire.

  It was probably silly to refuse the help, and after the baby came she’d need even more, but—the microwave beeped, interrupting Skye’s inner debate. Taking out their meal, she put the dish on the table and Wally fetched the salad. As they sat down to eat, Skye still hadn’t made a decision.