“How did you find out?”
“When I called the groom to tell him his kids were missing, he told me.”
“Well, at least that’s one problem solved.” Skye scrunched up her face. “But you’ll never guess what Riley just said.”
“She wants you to take over for the dead wedding planner.”
“How did you know that?” Skye demanded.
“Elementary, my dear Watson. Riley’s a spoiled princess who wouldn’t dream of letting the death of one of her serfs interfere with her plans.” Wally smirked. “And as my grandpa used to say, scratch a dog once and you’ve found yourself a permanent job.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means she thinks you’re a pushover.”
“Is that what you think too?” Skye glared at him. “Because you’re both so wrong. No way am I trying to put on a million-dollar wedding.”
“Really?” Wally raised her hand to his lips. “Even for me?” He kissed the inside of her wrist. “I need to keep everyone together until we figure out what happened to Belle. If Riley postpones the wedding, all the participants will scatter. I can’t order them to stay put. I have no evidence against any of them, and their lawyers would be all over me.”
“Crap!” Skye paused to gather her thoughts. “Do you know what you’re asking me to do? This event is so over the top, I have no idea how to coordinate it.”
“I’m sure Belle had notes you can use.”
Skye nodded slowly, remembering the huge three-ring binder that Belle had referred to as her bible.
“I bet Jordan would shell out for an assistant or two for you.” Wally kissed her palm. “And I bet he’d pay you your weight in gold to do it.”
“Are you implying I weigh a lot?” Skye teased.
“Never. You know I like you fluffy.” Wally released her hand and cupped the back of her head. “I’m just saying a fool and his money can throw a heck of a party.”
After a thoroughly satisfying kiss, Skye stepped out of his arms and said over her shoulder as she went back into the office, “You owe me big-time for this.”
“With all my worldly goods, I thee endow.”
The sincerity in Wally’s voice brought tears to Skye’s eyes, and she was still wiping them away when she stepped inside.
Riley rushed over to Skye. “Has something else happened? One more thing and I’ll kill myself.”
“Nothing bad has happened.” Skye resolved to treat her cousin as she would a high-strung kindergartner—with a soothing but firm hand. “You need to pull yourself together if you want me to take over as your wedding coordinator.”
“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” Riley squealed and enveloped Skye in a huge hug. “You’re the best.”
“Yes, I am.” Skye squeezed her cousin back, then extracted herself from Riley’s stranglehold. “Here’s the deal. Nick gives me whatever Belle was getting and covers the cost of two helpers.” The new no-kill animal shelter that had just opened up in Stanley County would be getting a nice donation out of this, Skye decided.
“We’ll give you twenty-five percent of Belle’s fees—it’s what we still owe her.” Riley had suddenly dropped the girlish persona. “And fifteen dollars an hour for each of the two assistants.”
“Fine.” Skye already knew who she wanted to hire, and both of them would be happy to get nearly twice Illinois’s minimum wage. “And if the wedding goes as planned, I want a bonus.”
“Name it.”
“Nick pays for any wedding dress I pick out, whenever I get married.” Skye figured that if she said yes to Wally, considering his family’s wealth, she would need a fancier dress than she could afford on her salary.
Skye and Wally were silent during the five-minute ride from the police station to his house. It had been a grueling twelve hours, and although her hangover was long gone, her head still throbbed—this time from too much caffeine and sugar. The only things edible at the PD came out of a vending machine, and Skye had overdosed on Diet Coke and Kit Kat bars.
They had reinterviewed everyone at the motor court, then moved on to the other members of the wedding party, but had run out of time before getting to the vendors. In her few spare minutes, Skye had called the caterer with the final guest count and studied Belle’s notebook.
As Wally turned the squad car into his driveway, she looked at the four-room bungalow. Although Wally was the son of a Texas oil tycoon, he lived modestly, and no one in Scumble River other than Skye knew about his affluent background.
Passing through the enclosed back porch, which contained a washer, a dryer, and an ironing board, they stepped into the homey kitchen, where the tangy smell of barbeque greeted them. When Wally flicked on the overhead light, Skye saw that the table was set with a red-and-white-checkered cloth and heavy white dishes.
She gestured around the room, then pointed to the plate of brownies on the counter and asked, “Dorothy?”
A few years ago, after his divorce, Wally had a hired a housekeeper who came in a couple of days a week to clean and do the shopping, laundry, and occasionally cook a meal. The tricky part was that Dorothy Snyder was one of Skye’s mother’s best friends, and Skye always wondered whether she reported their every move to May.
“Yes. I called her when I realized that it would be too late for us to eat at the Feed Bag.” Scumble River’s only restaurant stopped serving at six p.m. on Sunday. “I asked if she had time to fix us something.” He shrugged off his navy nylon Windbreaker embroidered with SCUMBLE RIVER POLICE.
“And I guess she said yes.”
“Yep.” Wally unbuckled his utility belt and draped it over the back of a kitchen chair. “She said she was bored and would be happy to help us out.”
“Let’s see what Dorothy’s whipped up for us.” Skye lifted the lid of the Crock-Pot. “Yum, beef barbeque.” Moving to the fridge, she opened the door. “Potato salad and baked beans.”
“Sounds good.” Wally yawned and rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s a great cook.”
Skye noticed the exhaustion in Wally’s eyes. “You’re tired.” He’d been up late last night because of her. “You should have let me go home so you could get some rest.” She knew he had the eight a.m. shift the next day.
“I’m fine.” Wally yawned again. “I just need a shower.”
“Why don’t you go ahead, then? By the time you’re finished, I’ll have everything on the table.”
“Or you could join me.” His voice was a seductive promise. “It’ll help you forget about today.”
As she considered the invitation, Skye’s stomach growled, and she said, “Maybe later.”
“Okay.” He chuckled and kissed her on the cheek. “I know a hungry girlfriend is a cranky girlfriend.” He started unbuttoning his shirt as he walked away.
A few seconds later, Skye could hear him humming and moving around in the master bedroom; then the shower came on. Smiling, she busied herself with microwaving the baked beans and heating up the buns. Ten minutes later, Wally appeared just as she was putting the potato salad on the table. He had changed into faded jeans that clung to his muscular thighs and cupped the tight curve of his derrière. A plain white T-shirt stretched across his powerful shoulders.
Skye’s lips parted and the tip of her tongue darted out to moisten them.
His chocolate brown eyes followed the movement, and he gave her a smile that sent her pulse racing. “It’s not too late to change your mind about a shower. There’s still plenty of hot water.”
In her mind, Skye sprinkled the brownies all over his chest and licked them off. Before she could act on her impulse, her stomach growled again. No. Real food first, fantasy dessert later, or maybe just cuddling. They were both exhausted, and the recent murder didn’t exactly set the right mood for lovemaking.
Sadness swept over Skye at the memory of Belle’s death. She hadn’t liked the woman, but no one had the right to take her life. By murdering her, the killer had stolen Belle’s chance to ma
ture, to grow, to become a less selfish person.
Skye thrust out her jaw. Whoever had done it would be sorry. They’d 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, both of which had a nearly perfect record of bringing murderers to justice.
Wally was looking at her funny, and Skye realized she’d been lost in her thoughts. She shook off her gloominess, grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, and handed it to him, asking, “Ready to eat?”
“I was ready five hours ago.” He sank into a chair.
“Me, too.” She watched him from the corner of her eye as she poured herself a glass of wine. She never tired of looking at him. He was devastatingly handsome and exuded masculinity. Taking a deep breath, she savored the tantalizing scent of his aftershave.
Skye heaped savory barbeque onto a warm roll and took a huge bite. She closed her eyes and nearly moaned as the spicy meat melted in her mouth, then swallowed and brought the sandwich back to her lips. Hearing Wally chuckle, she glanced at him. He had a bemused expression on his face.
Putting down the bun, she demanded, “What? Do I have sauce on my chin?”
“No.” Wally tried to hide his grin. “I just enjoy watching you eat. You have a much more intimate relationship with your dinner than I do.”
“Is that bad?” Was he saying she was a glutton?
“Nope. In fact, it turns me on.”
“Oh.” Skye smiled to herself. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
They ate in silence for a while, but after their initial hunger had been slaked, Skye commented, “I haven’t seen these dishes before. What happened to your grandmother’s Royal Winton china?”
“Dorothy thinks they should only be used for special occasions, so she made me buy these from Wal-Mart.” Wally shook his head. “I’m not sure what she considers a special enough occasion—these are all she ever sets out.”
“She and my mother are so alike.” Skye ate a forkful of potato salad, then added, “Mom won’t even let me have the dishes her grandmother left me until I’m married.” Oops! She didn’t want to discuss Wally’s proposal. Hurrying to change the subject, she asked, “So, how’s your dad been?” Carson Boyd had been hospitalized last October after collapsing, and the doctors had never figured out what was wrong with him.
“Fine. When I spoke to him last week, he was thinking of taking a cruise.” Wally took a swig of beer. “I’m not sure what’s up with that. I can’t remember the last time he took a vacation.”
“Maybe he’s met someone,” Skye offered. Wally’s mother had died the year he’d finished college.
“I doubt it.” Wally’s tone was serious. “Remember, I told you, Boyd men mate for life.”
Skye kept her face impassive. Wally’s first wife had left him, so what did his statement mean? Had she been his mate for life and he was making do with Skye? Instead of asking, she said, “Ready for some brownies?”
“I’m stuffed. Maybe later.”
“Me, too.” Skye got to her feet. “Why don’t you go relax while I clean up?”
Wally pushed back from the table and started to clear the table. “We’re both tired. Why should I get to rest and not you?”
Skye grinned. Except for the fact that he was older, divorced, and not Catholic—as her mother continually reminded her—Wally was the perfect man.
Fifteen minutes later they settled on the sofa in the living room. The hardwood floor gleamed in the low light of the aquarium—Skye’s gift to Wally on his last birthday—and the deep taupe walls created a warm haven.
“Let’s see if the murder made the local news.” Wally turned on the TV. “I was surprised when you told me Belle’s father was a famous hotelier.”
“Believe me, she never let anyone forget who her dad was.” Skye wiggled into the buttery soft leather couch. “Did you ever get hold of her parents?”
“No. I spoke with dozens of assorted personal assistants and secretaries and housekeepers, but they all claim the Canfields are on their yacht in the Mediterranean and refuse to give me their cell numbers. The employees claim they’ll pass on the message that I need to talk to them about an urgent matter regarding their daughter.” Frustration edged his voice. “That’s one of the reasons I hope the media didn’t get wind of Belle’s death.”
Skye nodded sympathetically.
“I hate cases where famous people are involved. So far we’ve only dealt with minor celebrities, but Canfield Hotels are famous worldwide.”
“Yes, but I don’t think Belle was all that famous. I remember the first time I met her, she was moaning that the paparazzi didn’t pay as much attention to her as they did to Paris Hilton.” Skye patted his arm. “Maybe we’ll catch a break and solve the case before a reporter puts two and two together. After all, who would expect someone like Belle Canfield to be working in Scumble River?”
The news ended and Wally clicked off the TV. “Looks like we dodged the bullet so far.”
“Do you want to talk about the interviews?” Skye turned sideways on the sofa so she could look at Wally without straining her neck. “Or are you too tired?”
“Well, there are other things I’d rather do.” Wally gave Skye a sexy grin. “But it’s probably better if we go over the facts while they’re fresh in both our minds.”
“Okay. Let me get my notes.”
“I’ll grab mine too.”
When they were both resettled on the couch, Skye asked, “Are you thinking that Belle’s murderer is probably connected to the wedding?”
“That’s the most likely scenario. The wedding party and the vendors are the only ones in the area who know her. So, yes, that’s my working theory.”
“Hmm.” Skye chewed her lip. “How about an ex-boyfriend? She was pretty up-front about sleeping around, and I heard her on the phone begging a friend to make some guy give her another chance.”
“What was the friend’s name?” Wally asked.
“Shoot! I don’t remember.” Skye shook her head. “Something cute and girly.” She sighed. “I’ll ask Riley and the other bridesmaids if they know the names of any of Belle’s close friends.”
“Good. Tomorrow, I’ll have Martinez start calling all the people in the vic’s cell phone directory.”
“And whenever I get one of the guys in the wedding party alone, I’ll see if he had a fling with Belle.” Skye made a note, then asked, “So, anyone you talk to a likely suspect or have an alibi?”
“We still don’t have a time of death, but we have narrowed it down a little.” Wally flipped open his notepad and said, “Jesse Larson told Quirk that Belle was at the Brown Bag from seven to ten Saturday night.”
Jesse was the owner of the Brown Bag, a combination liquor store, bar, and banquet hall located across the road from the motor court.
“Was she alone?”
“No. She was with some guy, but Larson didn’t know him. The guy kept his ball cap and sunglasses on the whole time, so Larson could only describe him as big with tattoos.”
“Maybe he’s the ex-boyfriend,” Skye said. “Was there anything else Jesse noticed about him?”
“No. They sat in a dark corner, and she was the one who got their drinks from the bar.”
“Belle bragged about never sleeping alone, but I just can’t picture her hooking up with a local, and there hasn’t been a hint of it in the town rumor mill.” Skye nibbled her thumbnail. “I can’t even think of anyone to question about it.”
“Larson said it was the first time she’d been in the bar. He only knew her because earlier in the month she’d rented the banquet hall for the bridal party’s dance lessons.”
“Did they leave together?”
“Larson wasn’t sure,” Wally answered. “And we haven’t been able to locate anyone who saw her alive after that.”
“So that puts TOD at somewhere between ten p.m. Saturday and shortly before eight a.m. Sunday.” Skye murmured to her
self. “Does that eliminate any suspects?”
“Any of the bridal party would have had the opportunity to get to Belle after the attendants’ party. Even the ones staying in Chicago could have stopped by on their way to the hotel or returned to Scumble River later.” Wally shook his head. “The groom claimed he only knew Belle as an employee, and when they were together, they mostly talked about the wedding.”
“I wonder if Nick was ever alone with Belle, or if Riley was always present.” Skye tapped her fingers on her legal pad. “Belle was a gorgeous young woman, and Nick clearly likes them young and beautiful. Or as my mom would put it—he’s a cradle robber.”
“Hey. Give the guy a break,” Wally teased. “Maybe he just prefers generationally different relationships.”
“Tell that to May.” Skye winked. “She’s upset about the few years between us; Nick is nearly twenty years older than Riley.”
Wally cringed and changed the subject. “Can you casually find out from your cousin if Nick and Belle spent any time together without her? It seems like just the kind of topic that would be perfect for a little girl talk.”
“I’ll add that to my list.” Skye chewed the top of her pen. “Okay, how about the twins? Any motive for them?”
“Not that I can come up with. They don’t gain anything by her death, and since they’ve been away at college, they’ve had the least contact with her.”
“True,” Skye agreed. “But I get the feeling they aren’t happy about this marriage. Maybe they thought killing Belle would stop the wedding.”
“That’s quite a stretch.”
“Maybe.” Skye looked up from her notes. “But they’re weird, and I’m keeping an eye on them.”
“How about Nick’s parents? You talked to them?”
“Actually, it’s his dad and his stepmother,” Skye pointed out. “His mother isn’t coming. She’s in some ashram or commune or something and can’t leave. Anyway, Mr. and Mrs. Jordan said they had never met Belle. They seemed fairly uninterested in the whole affair and only flew in so early to take their six-year-old son to the Museum of Science and Industry, Shedd Aquarium, and Adler Planetarium.”
Murder of a Wedding Belle Page 6
