A cloud covered the moon and darkness enveloped her as Skye left the house. No one had replaced the broken outside light and suddenly she felt as if she were being watched. She ran to the Buick, unlocked the door, and jumped inside. She hit the lock buttons as quickly as she was able.
On the drive home, Skye constantly checked the rearview mirror, sure she was being followed, but there were no other vehicles on the road. At least none trailing her with their headlights on.
By the time she got to her cottage, Skye had convinced herself that it was all in her imagination. There had been no one watching at her grandmother’s and no one had followed her home. She was being silly.
Pushing her fear away, Skye opened the car door. After trying to lift both the Bible and the box, she decided to take one at a time—the heavier load first. The last thing she wanted was to drop the family Bible in the mud.
She heaved the box into her arms and fumbled her way inside. Bingo was waiting for her by the door and wound around her feet as she tried to walk through the foyer. She dropped the carton on the sofa, grabbed a letter opener from her desk, and cut through the packing tape. Prying open one flap, she saw an issue of Modern Maturity. All that trouble for another box of old magazines.
Disappointed, Skye started back to the Buick. She was halfway down the front sidewalk when she noticed that someone had the car door open and was reaching into the vehicle’s backseat. A sound of protest escaped Skye’s throat and the figure straightened, clutching something to its chest.
The intruder stared at Skye through the slits of a ski mask. The eyes glittered with hatred, and for a moment Skye thought they looked familiar, but before she could get a good look the trespasser whirled and raced down the driveway.
Skye ran to her car and looked inside. The Bible was gone. Great, now her relatives had another transgression to blame her for. She had lost the family Bible. She had to get it back. The thief was tall, well muscled, and ran with an athletic grace. Skye knew she’d never catch up on foot.
She jammed her hand in her pocket and came up with the car keys. In seconds she had jumped into the Buick and backed it out of the driveway. Skye headed toward town, the direction the robber had headed. There was no sign of the figure, and when she reached the crossroads she was stumped. The darkness made it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead of her. Which way had the intruder chosen? Probably neither. Most likely the invader had left the road and was long gone. She had blown her one chance to retrieve the Bible.
As Skye pulled back into her driveway, she realized how foolish she had been to pursue the thief. She was alone and vulnerable. This thought made her hurry inside and lock the door. Her father had given her a shotgun after her windows had been broken. She had hidden it in the seat of the hall bench. Heart pounding, she grabbed the weapon, leaned against the foyer wall, and thumbed the gun’s release. The barrels and stock separated. Two red shells rested in the barrels. It was loaded and ready to go. All those sessions with Jed and Vince shooting tin cans had taught her all she needed to know about firing a shotgun.
Skye woke to Bingo’s yowls. He was standing on her chest. She had fallen asleep on the couch after sitting there for hours mentally replaying the night’s events and clutching the shotgun. Bingo continued to vocalize until she got up. The fur on his back stood up in a ridge down his spine. His tail twitched and his ears were moving like radar dishes.
She followed him to the foyer. Skye kept her body against the wall and peeked out the small pane in the door. A shadowy figure was trying to open the Buick’s trunk.
Gripping the shotgun, Skye flipped on the porch light. The intruder froze and looked toward the house. It was the same figure as before. Skye ducked back inside. For a second she thought the person was going to charge the cottage, but instead it ran into the trees.
Skye sank onto the couch and waited for her heart to regain its normal rhythm. This was an interesting development. The Bible must not have been what the intruder was after. What could the burglar want?
If the robber had followed her, and watched her at her grandmother’s, then Skye was probably seen carrying two items to her car. Maybe the intruder didn’t even know what it was looking for, but couldn’t afford to have Skye stumble across something incriminating by accident. Possibly the person wanted both items, no matter what they were.
Her gaze fell on the box full of magazines. I’d better look through these right away. She reached for the carton, pulled it across the coffee table toward her, and tipped it over. At first a few magazines fluttered to the floor, then a lifetime’s worth of snapshots spilled out.
Questions raced through her mind. Was it significant that these particular pictures had been saved? Who had saved them—Antonia, May, or maybe one of her siblings? Were they stored and forgotten or were they hidden? Skye had always found it odd that Antonia had so few photos of her children growing up. Had something happened and all snapshots been banished?
Skye knelt down near the heap of slick black-and-white images. They ranged in size from tiny one-by-one squares to a couple of eight-by-ten enlargements. Only a few were in color. Skye carefully separated a photo from the group. It showed Dante as a boy in a cowboy suit holding the reins of a pony. His smile was pure joy. When had he lost that emotion?
It took Skye several hours to sort through and examine the pictures from her grandmother’s box. It was nearly eight in the morning before she finished. In one pile she put pictures of people she recognized. In another, pictures with information written on the back. The last group contained photos of people she couldn’t identify. None seemed more recent than the early 1970s.
Skye put the unknown ones in a large manila envelope, and set them aside, intending to ask her mother to go through them. The other two batches she studied closely. Again she wondered if the person who had stolen the Bible had in fact been looking for the box of photos. And if so, which of the hundreds of pictures was the thief after?
She stood and stretched. Pins and needles shot up her legs from sitting on the floor.
Skye limped into the kitchen, fed Bingo, and made herself a cup of tea. What was her next move?
She took her mug into the bathroom and turned the shower on as hot as she could stand. After shedding her nightgown, she stepped into the stall.
Skye abruptly stopped lathering her hair with shampoo. A chill ran down her spine and she quickly rinsed out the suds. Someone is watching me right now. I can feel it.
Her eyes flew open and she spotted Bingo sitting on the bathmat scrutinizing her. He licked the crumbs of his breakfast off his whiskers and looked smug.
Once her breathing returned to normal, she asked, “If you’re so smart, why don’t you tell me who killed Grandma?”
Bingo blinked and lifted a paw for a wash.
After dressing, Skye gathered up the pictures and drove to her brother’s salon. She quickly told Vince what had happened and watched him lock the photos in his safe. She swore him to silence, promised a longer explanation later, and ran back to her car.
Next she headed to the police station to report the theft of the Bible. She knew she should call her parents, and probably Simon, to let them know what had happened, but there was nothing they could do except worry or tell her to stop trying to find Grandma’s killer. She didn’t need them to remind her that what she was doing was dangerous. It was her choice and her decision, nobody else’s.
CHAPTER 13
Skye and Trixie Went to Town, Riding in a Mustang
Two pieces of luck shortened her stop at the police station. Her mother wasn’t working and Wally was out on a call. Skye was able to convince Thea, the dispatcher, not to summon the chief and to allow Skye to fill out the paperwork herself. At the same time Skye wrote her mom a note and asked her to stop by Vince’s and look at the pictures to see if she recognized anyone.
It was a couple minutes before ten when Skye started down Trixie’s lane. By Scumble River standards, she was late. To most citizens ten o’
clock really meant nine-forty-five. She had almost canceled her date with her friend, but realized she really needed to buy a dress for her grandmother’s funeral in two days.
The old farmhouse was in the process of being remodeled. The outside was covered with Tyvek material and huge holes in the front and sides were sealed with plastic. Skye picked her way carefully up the worn wooden steps. The porch had been stripped and a sander lay in a corner.
Before Skye could ring the bell, Trixie pulled open the unpainted door and tugged her inside. “What fun. I haven’t been shopping in ages. Are you looking for anything special? Do you want something to eat or drink before we go?”
Skye gave Trixie a quick hug. “I need an outfit for the funeral. And no thanks to the offer of refreshments. Let’s just get going before something else in my life blows up.”
“What are you talking about?” Trixie grabbed her purse from the newel post.
“I’ll tell you all about it in the car.” Skye nudged Trixie out the door.
“Okay, but I’m driving.” Trixie led the way to her Mustang convertible. “No offense, but that Buick of yours is pretty sad.”
“None taken. I’m just borrowing it till I get the insurance check.” Skye got into the passenger’s side and put on her seatbelt. As they roared toward Kankakee, she told her story, sometimes competing with the wind to be heard.
When Skye finished, Trixie said, “Wow. Do you think everything that’s been happening to you is being done by your grandma’s killer? Or maybe it’s some of those awful parents you had run-ins with?”
“Got me.” Skye shrugged. “Maybe both. I’m beginning to feel like the most hated person in Scumble River.”
“Well, then, shopping is just what you need.” Trixie flashed an impish grin. “I know maxing out my credit cards always makes me feel better.”
“I don’t know about that. I can max mine out at the gas station.”
“Want to stop at the mall first?” Trixie asked.
“Sounds good to me. Then let’s go to K’s Merchandise. I have got to get an answering machine.”
Shopping for clothing was tricky. Skye needed Plus Sizes while Trixie required Petites. Except for the large department stores, few dress shops carried that combination of merchandise. They finally decided to alternate, one place for Trixie, then one for Skye.
Their first stop was Pretty Petite. Trixie held up a short red dress for Skye’s inspection.
“It looks like a long tank top. Isn’t it a bit . . . revealing?” Skye asked.
“Yep, it’s for our ninth anniversary. He won’t tell me where we’re going, just says to dress up.” Trixie held the garment against her body. It came to mid-thigh. “I’ve always wanted a sexy red dress.”
Skye nodded thoughtfully. “Why don’t you try it on? Take this dress, too.” She held up another dress with a flared skirt and triple spaghetti straps that crisscrossed in the back.
Trixie’s giggle could be heard clearly in the waiting area where Skye sat on an overstuffed chair.
Coming out from behind the oatmeal-colored curtain, Trixie twirled in front of Skye. “What do you think? I know I don’t have the cleavage, but can I get away with it?”
The front of the bodice hung loose, but the rest of the dress hugged Trixie’s small body.
“It looks okay, except for the bust.” Skye tilted her head. “Would you consider one of those Wonderbras to fill out the top a little?”
“Maybe. Let me try on the other dress and see if I have the same problem.”
“Go ahead. I’ll be right here.” Skye resumed reading. She always carried a book in her purse for anytime she had to wait.
The second dress fit without having to resort to unnatural means and Trixie bought it. As they strolled the mall, window shopping and gossiping, Skye began to relax.
They were nearing an escalator when Skye spotted her cousin Hugo’s wife, Victoria. Skye knew she had to be in her early thirties but she looked much younger. Smooth blond hair fell straight to the middle of her back and blue eyes shone from a sun-kissed complexion. She wore a short navy-and-white polka-dot slip dress over a slim, toned body.
Skye was filled with instant loathing, a deep mingling of envy, contempt, and self-pity. It wasn’t a feeling she enjoyed or was proud of.
She froze. Before she could decide what to do, Victoria looked around, then abruptly turned and walked rapidly in the other direction.
Skye grabbed Trixie and pointed at the retreating figure. “Do you remember my cousin Hugo?”
“Yes, good-looking, but a little too smooth?”
“Right, there goes his wife, Victoria. I wonder what she’s up to.”
“What do you mean?”
Skye described Victoria’s actions. “Maybe my imagination is running overtime, but it was almost as if she didn’t want to be seen, or saw someone she wanted to avoid.”
“Or maybe she just forgot something.” Trixie suggested.
“That’s probably it. I’m not too fond of her, so I was doubtlessly thinking the worst of her.” Skye sighed. “She’s hard to like.”
Trixie patted Skye’s arm. “I have heard her referred to around town as Mrs. Perfect and Queen Victoria.”
Skye nodded. “Yeah. I don’t think she has many friends. I should try again, I suppose. She is family.”
“Why is she so disliked? Is it just her incredible looks?”
“I’m sure that’s part of it, but everything she says has a barb attached. Sometimes it pinches right away. Sometimes it’s like a time bomb, waiting for the right moment to detonate.”
“And?”
“She’s materialistic and a snob and she’s raising her son, Prescott, to be just like her.” Skye looked in the direction Victoria had headed. “I can’t figure out how Hugo supports her in the manner she demands. You wouldn’t think selling cars would earn that much income.”
Skye sat back in the restaurant’s plush red velvet seat and sipped an iced tea. “I forgot to ask. Did you get the job at the high school?”
“Yes, they called this morning.” Trixie grinned.
“Great. We’ll be working together. Unless, of course, I’m fired by next year.” Skye felt her chest tighten as she said the words.
“I’m sure everything will be fine. You’ll come up with something that will satisfy the superintendent.”
Skye decided to change the subject. “What do you think of the restaurant?”
“Sort of elegant for the Kankakee I remember.”
“Don’t worry. Kankakee may now have Chez Philippe, but it still has a Farm and Fleet store, too.” Skye picked up the huge menu.
“What a relief. We wouldn’t want to have to run all the way to Ottawa for a Farm and Fleet fix. How would the citizens of Scumble River survive without it? Where would they get their clothes, candy, and car supplies?”
Skye snickered and added, “Don’t forget electronics, hunting equipment, and livestock needs.”
Giggling, Trixie added a few more essential items that could be purchased at the discount store.
“But I must admit,” Skye said, feeling forced to be honest, “I have found some nice brand-name clothes there and the prices are about thirty percent less than Carson’s or Field’s.”
“Me too,” Trixie confessed. “I just don’t normally admit where I got them.”
Both women were laughing so hard the waiter was forced to raise his voice. “Good afternoon, ladies. Are you ready to order?”
They agreed to share a plate of tomato basil bruschetta. For her main course Trixie ordered a steak sandwich with Gorgonzola butter and fries. Skye decided on the seafood salad.
When the waiter finished the grand production of writing down their order and left, Skye asked, “Have you worked in a school before?”
“No, I just got my certification. I worked in a public library for a while as a clerk.”
“Schools are a different situation. I’ve been trying to figure out what it is that makes things so int
ense.” Skye paused to allow their appetizer to be served. “The special education coordinator at my last school used to blame it on so many women having PMS at the same time. His other favorite excuse was ‘mental pause,’ as he so charmingly called the change of life.”
“What a jerk. I’ll bet you didn’t let him get away with crap like that.” Trixie scooped up a piece of toasted bread with chopped tomato and basil sprinkled on top.
Skye smiled thinly, but didn’t offer that that same man had fired her. “The best explanation I have so far is that no matter what we do it’s eighty percent odds that we’ll be in trouble with either a parent or an administrator.”
“That sounds a little dramatic.”
“Not at all. If you call a student for doing something wrong, six out of ten parents will argue about your decision. On the other hand, if you let something pass to give a kid a chance to straighten up, some other child will tell his folks, who then will complain to the superintendent.”
“Sounds rough.”
“And that doesn’t even touch my job. Almost everything I have to say upsets someone. If I don’t find a referred student eligible for services, the teacher is mad at me. If I do find a handicapping condition, the parent is upset. And if I can’t tell and need additional tests, the administration is irritated.”
“Hard to believe anyone wants to be a school psychologist.”
“Believe me, they don’t tell you this stuff in graduate school, and even in your internship you are rarely made aware of the everyday realities of the job.” Skye moved her hands out of the way, allowing the waiter to center her salad in front of her.
The women turned back to their previous topic.
Trixie asked, “Has the staff of the high school been friendly to you?”
“In their own way.” Skye speared a shrimp, a piece of lettuce, and a black olive. “The thing with my job is that I only pop in and out of the building, and rarely have a chance to socialize in the lounge. Even when I do, I think I make a lot of them uncomfortable because they think I’m analyzing everything they say and do.”
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