Murder of a Sweet Old Lady srm-2

by Denise Swanson

  “I suppose you get that a lot as a psychologist.”

  Skye shrugged. “The other weird thing is that there are still teachers working there who taught us.”

  Trixie shuddered. “Not Mr. Zullo? His freshman English was the worst class I’ve ever been in.”

  “Yep, he’s still there. He’s only in his fifties.”

  “Yuck. He always made me feel so uncomfortable. He stood too close, and I know he was trying to look up my skirt or down my blouse.”

  “Yeah, me too. I observed his class a couple of times.”

  “Did you see anything?”

  “He’s not going to make any moves on the girls while I’m watching.”

  “Did you talk to the principal?”

  “Homer?” Skye shook her head. “What’s the use? Besides, I have no proof.”

  Trixie scowled. “You need to be invisible.”

  Skye opened her mouth, but a commotion at the door drew her attention. Her cousin Hugo, his wife, Victoria, and a familiar looking middle-aged man were standing at the maître d’s podium.

  Skye’s eyebrows shot into her hairline. Could her cousins’ dining companion really be who she thought he was? She deliberately dropped her napkin so she could take a good look at the man without anyone noticing.

  Victoria’s voice could be heard clearly even under the table. “What is the problem? You have our reservation; I can see our name written in your book.” She stabbed the ledger with a gleaming fingernail the shape of a dagger.

  “But, madame, the booth you requested is still occupied. If you insist on that particular spot you must wait. I could seat you elsewhere immediately.” Philippe’s French accent thickened.

  Victoria crossed her arms and turned to Hugo. “Do something, sugar. I want ‘our’ table.”

  Hugo glanced at the man, who was now standing a little apart from them, and patted Victoria’s arm. “Sure thing, sweetheart.”

  Slipping his wallet from his jacket pocket, Hugo selected a bill and approached the restaurant owner. They spoke in whispers for a moment. Philippe finally accepted the money and walked over to a banquette in the back of the room. It was occupied by two women sipping after-dinner coffee and chatting.

  He bent low and whispered to one of the women. She listened, consulted with her friend, and nodded. The women got up and moved toward the bar. A busboy appeared instantly and cleared the table, resetting it with fresh linens.

  Victoria’s scowl turned to a dazzling smile as she was seated between the two men.

  As soon as the three disappeared behind huge menus, Skye leaned over to Trixie and whispered, “Do you know who that guy with Hugo and Victoria is?”

  Trixie shrugged. “He does look sort of familiar, but I can’t put a name to him. Why?”

  “Because if he’s who I think he is, I now have a plausible suspect in my grandmother’s murder.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Ashes to Ashes, We All Fall Down

  The next day the weather took a turn for the worse. It was hot and humid, and afternoon clouds portended a storm could break loose at any moment. Skye stood with her parents and Vince in the mirrored foyer of the Reid Funeral Home, waiting to view her grandmother’s body. She tugged at her navy linen suit, which suddenly felt a size too small. Even the strand of pearls around her neck felt as if they had shrunk. The building was supposed to be air conditioned, but too many people crowded in too small a space had defeated even the strongest equipment.

  She followed the pull of Vince’s hand through the double doors. It was finally their turn to enter. As the eldest, Uncle Dante and his family had been first. Skye could still hear Aunt Mona muttering from the bottom of the stairs about being last. Minnie and her crew were caught in the middle, as usual.

  At first the blast of cool air was a welcome relief, but the subtle odor of death beneath that of the flowers made Skye want to turn and run away. Instead, she drew a ragged breath and turned right, walking toward the front of the room. The bronze casket stood beneath a soft pink spotlight. Huge floral displays on wire stands ranged along both sides.

  May was on the kneeler, head bent in prayer. Not being Catholic, Jed stood behind her, his hands folded. Vince guided Skye to their mother’s side and she knelt.

  Skye swallowed hard and looked at the wrinkled face of her grandmother. Antonia’s nimbus of white hair was artfully arranged and her features looked peaceful. An emerald-green rosary was entwined in her fingers.

  Skye stood, allowing Vince to take her place. She examined the cards on the flowers and plants, and was astonished at the number of arrangements.

  Vince and May were finished and Skye rejoined her family as they stood in front of the coffin for a moment of silence. In that instant she vowed, Grandma, I will find out who did this to you. Even if it’s one of us, I know you’d want the guilty person to be punished.

  May joined Dante in the line of cushioned chairs in front of the rows of folding chairs. Jed and Vince moved to the back of the room.

  Skye looked for Simon. She wanted to run her theory about Hugo by him before she spoke to Hugo himself. Even though Simon rarely agreed with her, he almost always had a unique way of looking at matters that inevitably came in handy.

  “So, when I saw Hugo and Victoria eating lunch with the guy from the Castleview housing development company, I knew who had killed Grandma and why.” Skye sat back in her chair.

  Simon leaned forward. “Tell me again why Hugo killed your grandmother.”

  They were in his office in the back of the funeral home. The door was tightly closed, but Skye still checked to make sure no one was listening. “Number one: Hugo lives far beyond his means, and if he cuts back I’m betting he’ll lose Victoria, not to mention his son.”

  “Okay, say we accept that premise even though you don’t have proof. After all, Hugo could make a lot more selling cars than you think. Or maybe Victoria doesn’t care as much about money as she seems to.”

  Skye choked on a mouthful of tea. “Right, and Scumble River is the center of culture and elegance.”

  He looked at her steadily for a moment. “Ready to go on?” She nodded. “Fine. Even agreeing to all the previous assumptions, how can you get from a simple lunch to this Castleview fellow buying your grandmother’s farm for a housing development?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Besides, didn’t you tell me that your Uncle Dante controls the trust? How could Hugo benefit? The money would go to the children, not the grandchildren.”

  “There are lots of ways around a thing like that. Dante could be in on it, the trust could be a lot less airtight than we think, or . . . Hugo may have figured a way around those problems.”

  “Maybe. But this is a long way from proof.”

  “I’m going to talk to Hugo today. See if he makes any slips.”

  “You’d better be extremely careful. If, and I do mean if, Hugo is the killer, it would be very dangerous for him to know you’re onto him.”

  Skye bounced up from the chair and faced Simon. “Gee, thanks, I was going to go straight up to him, and tell him I knew what he was up to and that he was the killer. Your way sounds so much better.”

  “You’ve always got a comeback, don’t you?” Simon drew her into his arms and whispered against her lips: “So how about an answer to my question?”

  Skye gave him a quick kiss, wiggled out of his arms, and slipped out the door without replying.

  Back in the visitation parlor, Skye sat down on the folding chair vacated moments earlier by Victoria. She could still smell the other woman’s Obsession.

  Leaning close to Hugo, she spoke softly, “Hi, how you doing?”

  He gave her a startled glance and pulled slightly away. “Fine. Just fine.”

  “Sure is something about Grandma. I always thought she’d just go in her sleep. Hard to believe someone killed her.”

  Glancing nervously around, Hugo whispered, “We shouldn’t talk about that now. Someone might hear us.”

&nb
sp; “Oh, but we don’t have anything to hide, right?”

  “No, no of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.” He mopped his forehead with a large white handkerchief. “It’s just not very respectful.”

  “You’re probably right.” Skye forced herself to agree with him. “So, how’s the family? Prescott is in third grade now, right?”

  Hugo beamed. “Yes, and then there is talk of double promoting him. We’re waiting for the results of this last year’s achievement test.”

  “You must be very proud.” Skye turned slightly. “He’s in the Brooklyn School District, right? You live across the county line.”

  “Right. But he goes to a private school in Kankakee.”

  “Wow, that must be expensive. Not to mention a long ride. Do they send a bus?”

  “It’s costly, but Victoria, I mean, we feel it is money well spent. If for no other reason than the connections he can make.” Hugo took a lighter from his pocket and began sliding it through his fingers. “There are kids at Saint Elmo’s from the best families in a sixty-mile radius. You know, a lot of wealthy people from Chicago have moved out this way to get away from the . . . from the crime.”

  “Yes, I recall.” He was speaking of white flight. Skye frowned, but decided if she wanted to get information from him it would be a mistake to tell him what she thought of his morals and values. “You must be a wonderful salesman. It’s hard to keep up with that type of crowd. Financially, I mean.”

  “I make a good living.”

  “But Victoria doesn’t work, does she?”

  “She takes the occasional interior design job. We both agree that Prescott is her main occupation.”

  “Well, selling cars must be better paying than I ever dreamed. Certainly better than being a school psychologist.” Skye laughed self-deprecatingly. “But almost anything pays better than that.”

  Hugo smiled stiffly. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to step out and have a cigarette.”

  He was gone before she could think of anything else to say.

  Skye was writing her impressions of her meeting with Hugo in a little notebook when Victoria and Prescott sat down. She slapped the book closed as Victoria inclined her head in its direction.

  “What are you writing?” she asked.

  “Just my grocery list,” Skye lied without blinking. “Hugo went out for a smoke.”

  “Filthy habit, but the poor dear needs something to help him relax.”

  “Sounds like he works really hard.”

  “Yes, he insists on making sure we live in the right style.”

  “That’s a beautiful ring. Is it new?” Skye pointed to a huge ruby set in gold.

  Victoria twisted it, catching the light. “Yes, I just got it yesterday. It’s three carats.”

  “I was shopping yesterday too, but all I bought was an answering machine and a dress for the funeral tomorrow.” Skye tried to sound friendly.

  “It was a gift.”

  “From Hugo?”

  “You could say that. At least indirectly.” Victoria suddenly seemed bored. “Excuse me, Prescott needs to leave for his violin lesson.”

  Antonia had left instructions that the wake would be held for one day only, with visitation from one to four and seven to ten. The family took a break between afternoon and evening hours, gathering at May’s to eat some of the food that friends and neighbors had been dropping off for days. Many went to their own homes first to do some personal chores. Skye had stopped off at the cottage and taken care of Bingo’s needs.

  When got to her parents’ house, she found her father leaning against the dog pen. Chocolate sat near the gate. Jed absently rubbed the lab’s ears.

  “Hi, Dad.” Skye kissed his cheek. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Chocolate was barking like crazy, and your mother sent me to quiet him down.”

  “Was anything wrong?” Skye eyed the dog, who glowed with health.

  “Nope, just wanted some attention.” Jed patted the dog’s chest.

  “Bingo was a little squirrelly too. Poor thing. Going from spending every minute of every day with Grandma to catching a few hours with me when I’m home. He must be pretty confused and lonely.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure no one thinks of the animals when they kill someone.” Jed gave Chocolate a final stroke. “Too bad Bingo can’t talk. He could probably tell us who the murderer is.”

  Skye nodded. “He’s a pretty good watch cat. Yowled his head off when someone . . .”

  “Someone what?”

  “Came to the door selling magazine subscriptions.” There was no need to tell her parents about the Bible.

  “Ah-huh.” Jed gave her the same skeptical look he used when she tried to explain getting home late from a date as a teenager. “Well, we’d better be getting inside before your ma’s sisters drive her crazy.” He paused. “They’re good people. They try real hard. Maybe too hard.”

  Skye was surprised to hear her father make that kind of pronouncement. He wasn’t much of a talker and never seemed to have much to say about other people. She wondered if he was trying to tell her something.

  They made their way into the house through the kitchen. Jed stopped to wash his hands at the half bath off the utility room.

  May was at the kitchen sink with Aunt Minnie and Uncle Dante’s wife, Olive. Skye kissed her mother and said hi to her aunts.

  May gestured for Skye to follow and led her to the other side of the room. She whispered, “I looked at those pictures in Vince’s safe. I wrote the names of anyone I recognized on the back. Why did you want me to see them?”

  “I found them at Grandma’s and thought they’d be valuable if I ever get around to doing the family history.”

  “Why do you need to keep them in Vince’s safe?”

  Skye thought quickly. “In case of fire. I’d hate to lose them before I can make duplicates.”

  May nodded, but looked puzzled.

  Both the peninsula counter and the table were loaded with food. Jell-O molds nudged casserole dishes, while angel and devil’s food cakes fought the eternal battle of temptation.

  Skye edged past the overflow and went through the arch into the living room. Uncle Dante had claimed her father’s favorite lounger, where he sat like Napoléon with one hand scratching his belly and the other aiming the remote. A can of beer sat sweating on the oak end table, a white ring already forming on the wood.

  Skye’s gaze swept the room. She was stunned. Uncle Emmett was eating a plate of ravioli, tomato sauce dripping on the white brocade of the love seat. Vince sat next to him gesturing with his fork, which held a bite of chocolate cake—crumbs flew in all directions.

  She watched as, without noticing, Uncle Neal ground a cookie under his heel, leaving an oily patch on the russet carpet. Mona scooted closer to Neal on the sofa and tried to pick up the ginger snap’s remains in a paper napkin.

  Food in the living room. Her mother never allowed them to eat there. The world as they knew it truly must be ending.

  Skye aimed her question at Dante. It had only been a week and she was still angry about the essay contest, so she didn’t want to talk to Mona. She also wasn’t interested in joining the conversation about tractors that Emmett and Vince were having. “Where are Hugo and the twins?”

  Not turning from the television screen, Dante said, “Ask Olive.”

  Instead Skye headed for the den, a spare bedroom that her parents had converted by adding a love seat, armchair, and television. On her way she fixed herself a plate of food and grabbed the latest mystery from her purse.

  It crossed her mind that this might be a good opportunity to talk to some of her relatives about her grandmother’s death, but she was too tired to do a good job. Grief and several nights of just a few hours of sleep had caught up with her. One thing she had learned as a psychologist was that if she didn’t feel good physically, she tended to make stupid mistakes mentally.

  So, instead of pressing on with her investigation she set up a TV t
ray by the small sofa, kicked off her shoes, and snuggled into the corner. Selecting a carrot spear from her dish, she settled in to read.

  Skye half heard the twins and their families arrive a little while later. By the time Hugo and Victoria made their appearance, it barely registered. Skye was deep into the fictional world of the story when the den door was eased open and Aunt Minnie slipped in.

  Skye reluctantly put her book aside. “Hi. What’s up?”

  “Sorry, I didn’t know you were in here. I just wanted to rest a bit before going back to the funeral home. It’s already past six.”

  “Have a seat. Did you get anything to eat? How about a cup of coffee?” Skye pushed her tray away.

  Minnie sat gingerly on the chair. “I nibbled while we put things away. I don’t eat much anymore.”

  Skye looked from her aunt’s plump figure to her own and wondered about genetics.

  “How about some coffee then?” Skye slid her feet back into her navy pumps.

  “That would be nice, but I can get it.” Minnie tried to get up.

  Skye beat her to the door. “Sit down. I want another glass of Diet Coke anyway.”

  When Skye returned with the drinks, she found her aunt with her eyes closed. She set the cup and glass on the tray between them, and curled back up on the love seat.

  “I’m not asleep.” Minnie stretched and reached for the coffee.

  “This whole thing must be a real strain on you. I know you spent more time taking care of Grandma than anyone else.” Skye eased her way into the topic she was interested in pursuing.

  “I never begrudged Mom the attention.”

  “Of course not. Everyone said how devoted you were.” Skye swirled the ice cubes in her glass. “Still, it had to be hard.”

  “A little. Mom didn’t like to acknowledge that she needed help.”

  “It must have been tough having to be there three times a day every day to make her meals.”

  “The others wanted to let the housekeeper do it all, but I knew she wouldn’t eat right if we let that foreign woman fix her food.”