“Fine.” Ronnie’s voice was controlled and her eyes cold. “Where will you be?”
“You can reach me on my cell.”
Skye noticed Wally didn’t answer the woman, but instead headed toward the door, pulling Skye after him without giving her a chance to say anything.
Outside, Skye dug in her heels and stopped him. “Where are we going?”
“To get something to eat.” Wally let go of her hand. “Unless you’d rather stay here and see what Margot’s cook is serving for Thanksgiving dinner.”
“No, thanks.”
Wally opened the door of the squad car for Skye. “Coming?”
She nodded and joined him at the bottom of the stairs, sliding into the passenger seat. He closed the door and walked around to his own side.
After he buckled his seat belt, she asked, “But where can we find something to eat this late on a holiday?”
“My place.”
CHAPTER 10
Getting Steamed
Skye’s nervousness kept her silent on the ten-minute ride to Wally’s house. She had been there only once before, and it hadn’t been an enjoyable visit. As Wally turned the squad car into his driveway, she glanced at the dashboard clock. It was close to six o’clock, and she had a raging headache brought on by hunger and stress.
Wally opening her car door interrupted her thoughts, and she smiled stiffly at him as he took her hand and helped her out. Once she was standing, he rested his palm on the small of her back and guided her to the house’s rear entrance—a small enclosed back porch containing a washer, dryer, and an ironing board.
Straight ahead, a soft glow from the oven beckoned them into the kitchen. Before she even reached the threshold, a heavenly smell of turkey and dinner rolls greeted her.
Wally flicked on the overhead light, and Skye could see that the table was set with a white cloth and bright flower-patterned dishes. She pointed in admiration to the table and the pumpkin pie on the counter. “How did you do all this?”
“When I finished my interviews, I called my housekeeper and explained the situation.” He shrugged off his navy nylon jacket embroidered with scumble river police, and underneath, chief boyd in gold over the right breast pocket. “Once she heard our plight, she agreed to bring us the leftovers from her family’s dinner.”
“You have a housekeeper?” How could Skye not have known that?
“About a year ago I hired Dorothy Snyder to come in and clean a couple of days a week, and do the shopping and laundry and stuff like that.”
Dorothy was one of her mother’s best friends. Why hadn’t May mentioned that Dorothy was working for Wally? “Did Dorothy quit the factory job she took last year?”
“Yes.” Wally unbuckled his utility belt and laid it across the back of one of the kitchen chairs. “She said she liked keeping house better than making phone books. She works for a couple of other guys, too.”
Did Wally realize that Dorothy was probably reporting their every move to May? Skye opened her mouth, then closed it. It wasn’t an issue she was ready to bring up just then. Instead she stepped over to the oven. “Let’s see what Dorothy’s family had for Thanksgiving.”
“Whatever it is, I’m sure it will be good.” Wally yawned and rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s a great cook.”
All of a sudden, Skye noticed how tired Wally looked. “How long have you been on duty?”
“I covered Quirk’s midnights. My original plan was to work until eleven, then have Anthony come in for the rest of the day shift and cover afternoons as well.”
Skye did the arithmetic in her head. “So you haven’t been to bed since Tuesday night?”
“It’s not quite that bad. I slept a few hours yesterday before going in to the station last night.”
“Still, you must be exhausted.”
“I’ll be fine.” Wally yawned again. “I just need a shower and a cup of coffee.”
“Mmmm.” Skye could almost taste the caffeine after being deprived for the past twenty-four hours. “Why don’t you take your shower and I’ll put on a pot of coffee? By the time you’re finished, I’ll have everything on the table.”
“You’ve got a deal.” He kissed her on the cheek and started unbuttoning his shirt as he walked out of the kitchen.
Wally’s tiny house, built in the nineteen-thirties, had two bedrooms on one side and the kitchen and living room on the other. She could hear him humming and moving around in one of the bedrooms, then the shower came on.
As she listened to the water, she found coffee in the freezer, and filters in a cupboard. The coffeemaker was a simple model, easy to figure out. As it dripped, Skye examined the fridge. There was a strawberry-pretzel JELL-O salad and a Tupperware bowl full of whipped cream for the pie. She took both out, setting the salad on the table.
Next, she investigated the oven. Wrapped in foil was a quarter of a turkey. A white CorningWare dish held stuffing, and a divided Pyrex bowl had half sweet potato and half green bean casserole. Skye put on oven mitts and started transferring everything to the table.
She could still smell dinner rolls, but couldn’t find them. Where were they? The kitchen was bright and clean, with uncrowded countertops, and she finally located the rolls in the toaster oven. She set the temperature control knob on WARM and the timer for five minutes.
Wally appeared just as the bell dinged and she transferred the rolls from oven to table. He had changed into worn jeans that molded the muscles of his legs and cupped the tight curve of his derrière. A loose Hawaiian shirt didn’t hide the powerful set of his shoulders or his well-developed chest. He wore flip-flops on his bare feet.
Skye felt faint, and not just from hunger. She licked her lips and his fudge brown eyes followed the movement. He gave her a devilish grin.
Skye was torn between the food and the man. Would he mind if she spread the pumpkin pie all over his torso and licked it off? She gave herself a mental slap and ordered herself to follow her original plan: dinner, then dessert.
It was time to move the relationship to the next level, but not on an empty stomach, and maybe not even tonight. It certainly wasn’t the best circumstance for their first time together. They were both exhausted and preoccupied with Esmé’s murder.
Suddenly Skye’s libido receded and she felt a sense of sadness. Granted, Skye hadn’t found Esmé very likable, but no one had the right to take her life. By murdering her, the killer had taken Esmé’s chance to grow, to become a better person. Who knows, maybe if she had gotten pregnant, having a baby would have changed her.
Skye straightened. Well, whoever killed Esmé would be sorry. They had picked the wrong place to commit the crime. Scumble River may seem like a hick town, but it had a terrific police department and a darn good psychological consultant. Between the two of them, they’d bring the murderer to justice.
Skye pushed away the depression that had seized her and asked, “Shall we eat?” She grabbed the coffeepot and gestured toward a cup. “You take it black, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Wally sank into a chair. “There’s that vanilla creamer you like in the fridge, and Sweet’N Low in the sugar dish.”
“Great.” Skye was touched he remembered exactly how she liked her coffee. “Dorothy did you proud. Don’t wait for me. Dig in.”
She watched him from the corner of her eye as she poured the creamer and dumped in the two packets of sweetener. He was gorgeous. He literally took her breath away. That he was sweet and funny and a good person helped, too.
They ate in silence for a while, both starving. Finally after the initial edge had been taken from their hunger, Skye commented, “These are beautiful dishes. Royal Winton’s Summertime, right?”
“Right.” Wally beamed at her and ran a caressing finger along the rim of the saucer. “They were my grandmother’s. Darleen hated them, said they were old fashioned, so they’ve been in storage. I got them out last week.”
Darleen was Wally’s ex-wife, a topic Skye wasn’t ready to talk a
bout, especially since it might lead to Simon, an issue she definitely wanted to avoid. Searching for another subject, she decided this was a good time to find out a little about Wally’s parents. “Were the dishes from your mom’s mother or your dad’s?”
“My maternal grandmother. Dad gave them to me when my mom passed away.”
“How long ago was that?” Skye lay her hand briefly over his. “You never talk about your family, which makes me feel like I don’t know you very well.”
Skye could see the war in Wally’s eyes. They went from warm to cold to vulnerable. Finally, he said, “There’s not much to say. Mom died the year I graduated from college. My father and I were never close, and with her gone it seemed as if there was nothing for us to say to each other.”
“You must keep in touch, though.” Skye buttered a piece of roll. “You told me he bought you that wonderful car for your birthday.” Last September, on their first date, Skye had been surprised when Wally had picked her up in a brand new Thunderbird convertible.
“I call him once a month and we exchange birthday and Christmas cards.” Wally took a gulp of coffee. “When I decided to go to the police academy instead of graduate school, he pretty much lost interest in me.”
“But the car?”
“I have no idea why he suddenly decided to buy me a car.” Wally looked down at his plate and mumbled, “Hell, I have no idea why I accepted it.”
Skye knew she had pushed him as far as she could, probably farther than she should have when both of them were worn out and preoccupied. After a moment she asked, “Ready for some pie?”
Wally looked at her questioningly, then gave her a relieved smile. “I’m stuffed. How about taking our coffee into the living room and letting dinner digest, then we can really enjoy dessert?”
“Sounds good.” Skye got to her feet. “Why don’t you go ahead while I clean up a little?”
“Dorothy will do that in the morning.”
“I know. I’m just going to put away the leftovers and rinse the dishes—these shouldn’t go in the dishwasher.”
Wally pushed back from the table and got up. “I should do that, not you. It’s my house.”
“Yep, and next time I’ll expect you to.” Skye waved him away. “But just this once we’ll pretend it’s nineteen-fifty and I’ll let you rest.”
“Okay.” Wally picked up both their coffee cups and headed toward the living room. “But I warn you. I could get used to this.”
His goofy grin as he disappeared through the door made up for the dishpan hands Skye had just let herself in for.
Fifteen minutes later the leftovers were wrapped and in the fridge, the dishes washed and draining on the counter, and the tablecloth shaken and replaced. Skye had found a tray in the cupboard and loaded it with a thermal coffee pot, cups, and two slices of pie with whipped cream.
Carrying the tray into the living room, she was stunned at how much better it looked now than it had when she’d seen it before. On her previous visit it’d had a neglected air, but the shag carpeting had been traded for hardwood flooring and the tweed sofa and chair were replaced by cream leather furniture. The walls had been painted a deep taupe, and a mushroom, cream, and rust area rug occupied the center of the room. Arts and Crafts style bookcases and tables took the place of the fake Early American ones that Skye remembered.
“Wow! You’ve redecorated since the last time I was here.” Skye put the tray down on the coffee table. “It looks wonderful.”
“Thanks. When Darleen left and took everything, I just bought some second-hand stuff. Then after she tried to get back together, I finally realized it was time to move on, I didn’t have to live like a poor college student.” Wally patted the sofa cushion next to him. “Have a seat. The couch is really comfortable.” Wally clicked the TV off as Skye sat down. He gestured to the set and said, “Nothing on the local news so far, but I’m guessing our luck won’t hold for long. Not with our victim being a famous model.”
“Mmm. This is nice.” Skye wiggled into the buttery soft leather. “You’re probably right about the media. Even though Esmé’s an ex-model, once you’re in the limelight, it seems as if you’re never a private citizen again—especially if you’re either the victim or perpetrator of a juicy crime.”
“I hate cases where celebrities are involved. So far we’ve only dealt with minor ones—local TV stars—but Esmé Gates was on magazine covers around the world.”
“Hopefully we can solve the case before the buzzards get a whiff of it.” Skye turned sideways on the sofa so she could look at Wally without straining her neck. “Do you want to talk about the interviews, or are you too tired?”
For an instant a wistful expression stole across his face, but then he took a deep breath and said, “I’m fine, and it’s probably better if we go over things while they’re fresh in both our minds.”
“Okay. Let me get my notes.”
“I’ll grab mine too.”
Soon they were both resettled on the couch, one on each end with their backs against the opposite armrests and their legs intertwined. The soft denim of his jeans against her bare skin was curiously sensual.
Skye took a deep breath, ordered herself to focus, then said to him, “You go first. You had the most likely suspects.”
Wally raised an eyebrow but flipped open his notepad and said, “I saw Dr. Burnett first. He claimed to be working on his book, Even You Can Be Beautiful, and had no alibi. He said he only knew Esmé through Margot. When they were together, they mostly talked about her diet and beauty regime.”
“I can believe that. She seemed extremely narcissistic the couple of times I saw her.” Skye tapped her fingers on her legal pad. “We should check out Dr. Burnett. There’s something about him I don’t trust. Maybe he killed Esmé by accident—you know, some youth injection gone wrong—then made it look like she drowned in the mud.”
“I agree we should check him out, but would he really make it look like his own spa was at fault?”
“Good point.” Skye chewed on the cap of her pen. “Okay, how about Margot? Any alibi or motive for her?”
“No to both. She was alone during the crucial eight thirty to nine thirty time period, but she and Esmé appear to have been good friends for many years and she doesn’t gain anything by her death. It’s not as if they were both competing for the same modeling jobs anymore.”
“How about Kipp Gardner? Why was he even at the mud bath treatment room?”
“He’s the hairdresser, right?” Wally flipped through his notes. “He was there to rinse out the deep conditioner Esmé had put on just before taking the bath. And as for an alibi, he was in and out of the hair salon restocking supplies, so it’s hard to account for him, but he claims to have never met Esmé before this weekend.”
“Mmm.” Skye curled a piece of hair around her finger. “We should check into Kipp’s background and I’ll make an appointment to have my hair done. Maybe I can get him to chat and trip him up somehow.” Skye made a note. “Which brings us to Ustelle, who never seems to be around when she’s needed.”
“What do you mean?”
Skye gave Wally a slightly modified version of her attempt to save Trixie.
“Trixie mentioned that, although,” Wally hid his grin, “her account was much more detailed. Something about foil and you looking like a giant hot dog hopping to the rescue.”
“Trixie exaggerates. You should know better than to believe everything she says.”
“Of course, my little frankfurter. I knew you wouldn’t relish the thought of that story getting out. Too many people would roll with it.”
Skye threw a pillow at Wally. “That’s not funny and I don’t want to hear anything more about it.” She picked up the plate with the pie on it and held it threateningly. “Understand?” When he nodded, still fighting a smile, she asked, “So, how about Ustelle and her disappearing acts?”
“Since she claims she was on the phone, I’ve got the dispatcher checking the phone company
records. She also says she didn’t know Esmé.”
“Another background check we should run. I’m not getting another seaweed wrap, but I guess I could get a facial. I’ll tell Ustelle that I’m afraid to be alone because of the murder, and ask her to stay with me and get her to chat.”
“What if she’s the murderer and tries her luck with a second victim?” Wally wrinkled his brow in concern.
“I’ll get Trixie or Loretta to watch from the other room or take some other precaution.” Skye studied her notes. “How about the stepdaughter?”
“Whitney. Is she some kind of nut job or what?”
“Probably.” Skye related her encounter in the solarium with the young woman. “I still have no idea why she ran away. Me in my underwear can’t be that scary.”
“Maybe we should test that out.” Wally gave her a lecherous look. “You could take off all your clothes and I’ll see if I’m afraid.”
“Right.” Skye snickered, then got back to business. “There certainly didn’t seem to be any love lost between Whitney and her stepmother.”
“True, but if that were a motive for murder, half the blended families would be minus a parent.”
“Any alibi?” Skye asked.
“She claims to have been swimming. Said the personal trainer saw her there.”
“Frisco said the same thing.”
“So they alibi each other.” Wally jotted down a note. “Now go over your interviews with me.”
Skye complied, finishing with, “Amber doesn’t have an alibi, and Frisco did admit to knowing Esmé before this weekend, saying that her new husband is the jealous type.”
“Interesting.”
“Amber is a school friend of Whitney’s and said their moms knew each other. Also she claims Elvis Doozier is stalking her.” Skye shook her head. “We should probably talk to him about that.”
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