“Your lemon meringue is hard to resist, but no thanks.” He smiled at the older woman.
“At your age, you shouldn’t worry about avoiding temptation.” Tomi raised an eyebrow. “Because when you get older, it will avoid you.”
“And how would you know that?” Simon tilted his head appraisingly. “Surely not from experience.”
“Sweet talker.” Tomi tapped Simon’s shoulder. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
“Will do. But I haven’t been getting much exercise lately, and I need to lose a little weight.” Simon patted his waistline.
“Me too, honey.” Tomi winked and said over her shoulder as she strolled away, “But the only way I’d ever drop a few pounds is if I visited London.”
“I’m sorry that I had to break our date.” Simon leaned slightly forward toward Emmy. “As I said in my first text—the one I sent you at six so you wouldn’t waste your time driving to the restaurant—there was an urgent state of affairs that needed my attention. And as I said in my second text—after you disregarded my original message—I had to attend to the situation immediately and I was still unable to meet you here.”
“What was the big emergency? A dead body was about to come back to life if you didn’t embalm it right away?” Emmy said mockingly. “Are you saving us from the zombie apocalypse?”
Skye was getting increasingly uncomfortable and decided dinner wasn’t worth sitting through this scene. “Excuse me. Could you let me out?” she asked. She was trapped between a wall on one side and Simon on the other, and he didn’t budge. He acted like he hadn’t even heard her.
“Of course not.” Simon’s voice was low. “Mr. and Mrs. Hucksford asked if they could arrange their daughter’s funeral via Skype. They live in California and aren’t able to travel to Scumble River. Since I’ve never used Skype, I needed to download the software onto my laptop and figure out how to work it before their appointment at seven.”
“Why didn’t you tell them you’d talk to them tomorrow?” Emmy thrust out her lower lip. “The woman’s dead. What’s the hurry?”
Skye had the same question, and now that Simon was discussing Blair, she wasn’t as eager to escape. Wally would definitely want to know why the Hucksfords were moving so quickly. Especially since their daughter’s body hadn’t even been released by the ME yet.
“Tonight at seven is the only time their attorney was available,” Simon explained. “He’s leaving for Australia tomorrow morning and will be gone for several weeks.”
“Why do they need a lawyer to arrange her funeral?” Emmy asked.
Another good question. Skye flipped open her book, pretending disinterest, but kept her ears open. She didn’t have to get involved. Emmy was doing just fine getting information from Simon.
“Something about the deceased’s estate.” Simon took a sip of coffee.
“So you decided to blow off your date with me in order to accommodate a couple of strangers.” Emmy curled her lip. “People who don’t care enough about their daughter to fly to Illinois to get her body?”
“It’s not my place to question how people mourn.” Simon’s expression was somber. “Everyone demonstrates their emotions differently. Something I’ve tried to explain to you on my own behalf on several occasions.”
“Don’t get me started.” Emmy narrowed her eyes. “You know that I don’t have brakes.”
“Well, if you’re going to insist on living on the edge, you better make sure you’re wearing a seat belt, because you’re headed for a crash.” Simon glowered back.
Emmy’s lips parted as if about to argue the point; then they snapped shut. A second later, in a deceptively casual tone, she said, “But you found time in your busy schedule to come have coffee with us when you saw that I was here with Skye. Didn’t you?”
“I . . . uh . . . well—”
Simon was saved by the arrival of Emmy’s and Skye’s food. Tomi put their plates in front of the women, along with a fresh glass of soda for Skye. She topped off Emmy’s and Simon’s coffee and asked Simon again if he wanted anything to eat. After making sure that no one needed anything else, Tomi told them to enjoy their meal and hurried away to handle the line that had suddenly formed at the cash register.
As Skye forked a bite of grilled chicken breast topped with grilled green peppers, onions, mushrooms, and mozzarella cheese into her mouth, she watched Emmy tear into her barbecued spare ribs. For such a slim woman, Emmy appeared to have a big appetite.
A few seconds went by, and then Emmy paused in mid gnaw and said, “You never answered my question. Why did you rush down here?”
“I have no idea,” Simon admitted. “Maybe because I was looking for an excuse to see you tonight, even if it was for only a couple of minutes.” He took Emmy’s hand—the one not holding the spare rib. “I felt that I had to cancel the date and oblige the Hucksfords in their time of grief, but I truly was sorry to miss seeing you tonight. I’d been looking forward to it all day long. I guess I should have told you that in the text, but I didn’t know how to say it.”
A lump formed in Skye’s throat. That was one of the sweetest things she’d ever heard Simon say. She resolutely ignored the teeny twinge of jealousy. No reason to be a dog in the manger. She didn’t love Simon and was happy he’d found someone else.
Noticing that Simon and Emmy were staring soulfully into each other’s eyes, Skye tried to give them as much privacy as the situation allowed by concentrating on her food. But considering she was less than a foot from Simon’s side, she couldn’t avoid overhearing their conversation.
Emmy murmured, “Nobody cares how well you waltz. But you have to eventually just get up and dance.”
“I try.” Simon’s voice was husky. “For you, I’ll try harder.”
Skye had decided it would be a good time to go to the restroom, but Simon’s watch suddenly began beeping. He quickly slid out of the booth and stood up. Stepping over to Emmy, he leaned down and whispered something in her ear.
She giggled, pursed her lips, then said, “Okay, but only because I already packed my costume.”
Simon kissed her cheek and shook his finger at her. “And no more personal info on Open Book.”
“We’ll see.” Emmy looked up at him through her eyelashes. “Depends how good you are tonight.”
His ears red, Simon said a stiff good-bye to Skye and hurried out of the restaurant.
As soon as he was gone, Skye said, “I take it he’s forgiven and you’re meeting up after his Skype appointment?”
“Yep. He said the five most important words in any relationship.” Emmy smiled as if she’d just won Wimbledon. “You were right. And I apologize.”
“Which was your strategy all along,” Skye guessed.
“I love it when a plan comes together.” Emmy held up her hand for a high five.
Skye slapped the other woman’s palm. Emmy seemed like the perfect match for Simon. She was able to stand up to him in a way Skye never had quite been able to manage. Emmy could help him chill out, relax, and get more pleasure out of life. Evidently, lots more pleasure, if his blushing about their late-night plans were any indication.
Skye and Emmy enjoyed the rest of their meal, and afterward Skye felt a little better about the stunning blonde. Maybe they’d even be friends someday. That is, if Emmy could stop flirting with Wally.
It was after seven by the time they finished eating, paid their bills, and Skye took the to-go box from Tomi. Emmy and Skye walked into the parking lot together, and once Emmy had gotten into her car and driven away, Skye checked her cell to see if Wally had left her a message. There were no texts or voice mails from him indicating he was home, so she headed over to the PD. What in the world was keeping Wally there so late?
The police station shared a large redbrick building and parking lot with the city hall and town library. During the day, finding a spot co
uld be tricky, but since it was so late, Skye had her choice of slots. She pulled the Bel Air between her mother’s white Oldsmobile and the ugliest car she’d ever seen—a purple 1973 Gremlin.
When Skye pushed open the PD’s glass door, a series of chimes announced her arrival. She waved at her mom, who stood at Skye’s right—bulletproof glass reached from the counter to the ceiling, separating her mother from the reception area.
May waved back, then buzzed Skye through the security entrance on the far wall. Once she was through the door, Skye took a step and poked her head around the corner to greet her mom.
“Hi.” May didn’t take her eyes from the computer screen. “Did Wally call you in? I thought he said he was going to wait until tomorrow.”
“Nope.” Skye held up the carryout box. “I had dinner at the Feed Bag, so I brought him some supper. I forgot you’d be working or I would have gotten you a slice of that chocolate cake you like so much.”
“I’m glad you didn’t. Tomi’s desserts are too hard to resist.” May grimaced. “And I’m still trying to lose those five pounds I gained on the cruise.” She glanced at Skye. “Looks like you are, too.”
“Not really,” Skye said coolly, then asked, “Is Wally in his office?”
“No. He’s with a suspect.” May made a face, then turned back to the computer. She was expected to type data into the computer, monitor the radios, and answer the phones simultaneously. “But he’s been in there a while, so he might be almost done.”
“Who’s he talking to?” Skye asked. “Is it someone connected to the murder?”
“No. McCabe brought in Banjo Bender. Wally’s been wanting to talk to him about all the buildings that have burned in the past few months,” May said, finally facing Skye. “He thinks they may not have been accidental. The fire department is hemming and hawing about whether someone torched all those businesses or Scumble River is just having a run of bad luck.” May narrowed her eyes. “Apparently, it’s not as easy to spot arson as those television shows would have you believe.”
“Yeah, Wally tells me that’s true about a lot of the forensic stuff they show on TV.” Skye pursed her lips. McCabe’s presence explained the purple Gremlin. It was a car only the inept county deputy would drive and/or think was cool. “But why is McCabe’s personal vehicle parked in the lot? Was he undercover?”
“Yeah. Right. Undercover as the biggest dork on the planet—himself.” May snickered, then explained. “Wally asked the county to keep a lookout for Bender, and McCabe spotted him sitting at the Bunny Lanes bar. The deputy was bowling on his regular Wednesday-night league, and there was Banjo—big as life and twice as tipsy.”
“Who’s on duty here tonight?” Skye asked as the telephone rang.
“Anthony’s out patrolling,” May said, then answered the call. When she hung up the phone, she added, “He’s making the circuit.”
The circuit was from one end of Basin Street to the other. It was patrolled mainly to keep an eye on the numerous bars that were scattered down its length. Even on a weeknight, the taverns were hopping, and the drunks sometimes spilled out onto the sidewalks.
“Guess I’ll go upstairs and wait for Wally in his office,” Skye said.
“When he finishes with Banjo, I’ll let him know you’re there.” May turned back to answer a radio call.
Skye said good-bye and strolled down the short hallway that led past the coffee/interrogation room. The blinds were closed, but she could hear a voice baying, “I ain’t no firebug.” From the sounds of Wally’s laughter, Skye could tell he didn’t believe the man.
Continuing on, she climbed the steps to the second floor and paused on the landing. She glanced nervously to her right. A year ago, her uncle had ordered that an opening be cut in the wall between the city hall and the police department. Now, whenever she was there, she was always half afraid Dante would pop out through the archway like the scary clown in a jack-in-the-box.
When she saw His Honor’s door was closed, she relaxed. However, since there was light seeping out around the jamb, she hurried down the hall toward Wally’s office. Juggling her purse, tote, and the carryout box, Skye fumbled with the knob. Why wouldn’t it open? Wally never bothered to lock up until he left for the day.
After groping through her shoulder bag for her key ring, she unlocked the door and stepped inside. As she looked up from stashing away the key, she gasped. Otto McCabe had his feet up on Wally’s desk. He was leafing through a folder while he chewed on one of the special sticks of beef jerky that Skye had bought her husband on their honeymoon cruise. She was incensed. Divine Bovine was both pricey and hard to find.
Skye and McCabe stared at each other for a second. Then he tossed down the file, leaped from the chair, and started choking. Throwing down the jerky, he clutched his throat, coughing and sputtering. Just as Skye was afraid that she’d have to perform the Heimlich maneuver—or worse, mouth-to-mouth resuscitation—the deputy spat a chunk of meat into the trash can and scowled at her.
“You pert near scared me to death.” McCabe tugged at his green-and-orange aloha shirt, then fingered the huge watch on his wrist.
“I had no idea you were in here.” Skye wrinkled her brow. It seemed strange to see him in something other than his tan Stanley County uniform. Shaking her head at his clothing choice, she glared. “And speaking of that, what are you doing with your feet on my husband’s desk, eating his expensive snacks?”
“The chief said I could wait for him here.” McCabe scowled, and his hand went to his hip, most likely searching for the comfort of the gun that was usually there. “He told me to make myself at home.”
The high-strung skinny deputy bore an unfortunate resemblance to Barney Fife from the old Andy Griffith Show. Skye wondered if, like Barney, he was allowed to have only one single bullet. If so, did he keep it in his shirt pocket like the TV character?
When Skye didn’t comment, McCabe glowered at her and said, “You got no business sneaking in like that. I could have shot you dead.”
“Only if you had your gun.” Skye stood her ground. “And I doubt Wally meant for you to make yourself quite as at home as you were.”
“Says you.” McCabe hitched up his pants and bristled. “The chief appreciates me.”
“Uh-huh.” She peered at the tab on the folder he’d been perusing. It was marked BLAIR HUCKSFORD. “Why were you reading that file?”
“I was bored.” He smoothed his greasy hair back into its pompadour.
“Was it interesting?” Skye was curious what, if anything, McCabe had seen and if he’d been looking for any specific information.
“I can’t discuss official police business with you.” The deputy puffed out his thin chest and straightened his narrow shoulders.
“You do recall that I work as the police department psychological consultant?” Skye said impatiently. They’d had this discussion before, but for some reason McCabe chose not to remember.
“Sure. Nothing gets past me. I got my ear to the ground and my eye on the prize.” He thrust his head forward, looking like a pigeon in search of a tasty bread crumb. “You working the murder?”
“Of course.”
“Well, it’s a mess.” McCabe shoved his hands in his pockets. “The chlorine in the pool water ruined any possible evidence, you know.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And no one seemed to like the vic, except maybe her boyfriend.” He leaned a skinny hip against the desk. “And he’s missing.”
“Really?” Skye said slowly. That was interesting. She’d meant to ask Wally about the physical education teacher but had never gotten a chance to bring him up. “So Thor Goodson hasn’t been questioned?”
“Nope.”
“That’s definitely a problem,” Skye murmured to herself. “The clock is ticking.”
“Where’s the gall-darn fire?” McCabe frowned. “The vic’s not goi
ng nowhere.”
“Come on. You know that the more time that goes by, the less likely the case is to be solved.” Skye rolled her eyes. They’d had this conversation before, too. “We need to be on top of things.”
“Don’t be lecturing me, missy.” McCabe moved into her personal space. “I’m a professional peace officer, and you’re nothing more than the chief’s trophy wife.”
Skye hid a smile. She never thought she’d hear herself called that.
“The rest of us had to work hard to join the force,” McCabe bellowed, his Adam’s apple moving up and down like a bobber on a fishing line.
Skye backed up a step. The alcohol on the deputy’s breath made her dizzy.
“While you and that other woman the chief had to hire to be politically correct didn’t do nothing but grow a pair of boobies.”
“That’s not only untrue but offensive.” Skye realized the deputy was inebriated, and he was starting to scare her a little bit.
“You and Martinez shouldn’t be on the force.” McCabe backed her against the desk and grabbed her by the shoulders. “The chief should have hired me.”
“I—”
Before Skye could respond, a voice from the doorway thundered, “Take your hands off of my wife or you’re a dead man.”
CHAPTER 16
GNOB—Good Night Open Book
“I can’t freaking believe he dared to touch you.” Wally’s face was dangerously red. “I should have separated his head from his shoulders.”
“It really wasn’t that serious,” Skye protested. “I can handle McCabe.”
They’d been home for several minutes and Wally still hadn’t calmed down. Once the deputy had scuttled away, apologies and excuses trailing behind him like toilet paper clinging to his heel, Wally had made sure that Skye was okay. Once she assured him that she was fine, he whisked her out of his office and down the stairs.
They’d both plastered normal expressions on their faces as Wally told May he was leaving for the day. Then they said good-bye to her and hurried into the police garage. Wally had insisted on driving Skye home, which meant the Bel Air was still in the PD’s lot and he’d have to take her to pick it up in the morning.
Murder of An Open Book: A Scumble River Mystery (Scumble River Mysteries Book 18) Page 14
