Still it wouldn’t hurt to get home. After all, there was no reason to stay and have the two men continue to rub each other the wrong way.
As she scanned the area to see if Wally’s officers had things under control, a movement in the distance caught Skye’s attention and her scalp prickled. Although the explosion and subsequent fire and police department activity had drawn a crowd, most of the people were pressed against the barricades trying to get a better view of the action. But it looked as if a single shadowy figure hung back, skulking in the semidarkness, just beyond the taped-off perimeter.
Remembering the fire chief’s reaction to her question about terrorists, Skye was reluctant to say anything about the lurker. After a long internal debate, she tugged on Wally’s arm until he bent his head down and then she whispered what she’d seen.
“I’ll inform Martinez.”
While Wally stepped away to radio Skye’s observation to Zelda, Skye glanced at Simon. He was listening to his mother, but staring at Wally’s retreating figure. And Simon’s smile was like a straight razor—sharp and, with one false move, oh so dangerous.
Worried about Simon’s chilling expression, Skye nearly missed the commotion at the entrance of the bowling alley. A pair of firefighters burst from the building and ran toward Chief Eaton.
Both men skidded to a stop in front of the chief. The larger one elbowed his buddy out of the way and announced, “We found a body.”
As Wally returned from using the squad car’s radio, Chief Eaton turned to him and said, “Looks like the police better stick around.”
“Shall I get the hearse?” Simon asked, taking a half step away.
“No rush.” The fire chief shook his head. “I can’t let you go in to retrieve the body yet.”
Simon turned to his mother and demanded, “Who was inside? The bowling alley is supposed to be closed on Mondays.”
“You took the words right out of my mouth.” Wally stared at Bunny.
“Mine too.” Chief Eaton joined the other two men glaring at the scantily clad redhead.
Bunny moved so that she was halfway behind Carson, widened her eyes, and said, “I locked the doors last night at nine. The cook, servers, and bartender left about twenty or thirty minutes later. I did a final sweep of the place, then went upstairs to change into something more comfortable.” She petted Carson’s shoulder. “By then, Car had a couple of steaks going on the grill. We ate outside, then went in and watched TV.”
“How about the cleaning service?” Chief Eaton asked. “Do they have a key?”
“No.” Bunny twisted a red curl around her finger, her expression virtuous. “Sonny Boy doesn’t like me to give out extra keys.”
“Maybe whoever it is hid when Bunny closed up,” Skye suggested. “I doubt she was looking for someone who had deliberately concealed themselves.”
“Who would want to spend the night in a deserted bowling alley?” Simon asked, then looked at his mother. “You do lock away the alcohol and cash, right?”
“Of course.” Bunny crossed her arms, which caused her robe to gap open.
“I suppose it could be someone who’s homeless and just looking for shelter,” Skye said slowly. “I think there are more of those folks than we like to believe. Even here in Scumble River.”
“That makes sense.” Wally scratched his chin. “With so many of the area churches still overwhelmed helping the tornado victims, the people they usually feed and shelter may not be able to get in.”
Although everyone nodded, Skye noted that Simon continued to cast suspicious glances at his mother. She’d have to talk to Bunny once her son was gone. People tended to share things with her that they would never tell the cops, which is why she was such a good police psych consultant.
Wally interrupted Skye’s thoughts. “Chief, any idea when I can get a look at the crime scene?”
“I put in a call for the county engineer.” Chief Eaton rolled his eyes. “But don’t hold your breath. He’s in Chicago at some convention, so it’ll be a couple of hours until he gets here. And even then, he can’t start his inspection until the bomb tech arrives.”
Wally sighed, then asked, “Have your men otherwise secured the building and concluded that there are no more unexploded devices?”
“I just received the all clear.” Chief Eaton gestured to where the firefighters were packing up. “I’ll stick around until the engineer and bomb expert get here, but I ordered the rest of my crew back to the firehouse.”
“No use calling in the county forensic techs until the engineer can go in and approve the structure and the bomb expert gets what he needs.” Wally rubbed the back of his neck.
Skye tilted her head. Wally’s first instinct would be to remain at the scene. She stared appraisingly at Roy Quirk, who was supervising the officers at the barricades. There was nothing Wally could do here and staying would mean precious time away from her and the babies—time there was really no reason he had to waste.
She went up on her tiptoes and spoke quietly into her husband’s ear. “I know you probably want to take charge, and that’s okay with me. But Roy can take care of this. He can always call if there’s a development, but the odds are nothing will happen or be discovered until tomorrow.”
Wally’s brows drew together, then he sighed and said, “You’re right.” Looking at his father, he asked, “Do you want to stay with us tonight, Dad? The sofa bed is yours if you want it.”
Simon gestured at his mother. “You can stay in my guest room.”
“Thanks, boys, but Bunny and I will bunk at the motor court.” Carson smiled wryly. “I kept the room to…uh…store some of my stuff.”
“That was a lucky break.” Skye heard Carson’s unsaid words. He’d kept the room in case things didn’t work out with his love life.
Wally caught Quirk’s eye and gestured for him to come over. When the sergeant arrived, Wally said, “I’m leaving you in charge. When the county engineer gets here and clears the building for occupancy, contact the crime scene techs.” He paused, then, evidently unable to stop himself, added, “But if there’s any problem, call me.”
“Will do, Chief.” Quirk’s chest puffed up. “You can count on me.”
“I know I can.” Wally slipped his arm around Skye and said, “Darlin’, are you ready to head home and take care of our babies?”
“Absolutely.” Skye kissed his cheek. “There’s nothing I would rather do.”
Chapter 8
Bad Baby
“Sorry, Kathryn. I still haven’t received the ME’s report.” Wally kept his voice level, but he fidgeted in his chair, anxious to end the conversation. “I promise our public information officer will release a statement as soon as we have anything to share.”
Kathryn Steele, the owner and editor of the Scumble River Star, had already telephoned the station three times and it wasn’t even noon yet. She was more intent on gathering secrets than a locker room full of teenage girls, and twice as vicious.
The local newspaper was a weekly and she was desperate to get something into the edition coming out tomorrow. Wally, on the other hand, would be delighted if none of the particulars of either the explosion or the dead body made it into this week’s paper.
“Public information officer my eye,” Kathryn sneered, her voice hissing like a swarm of angry wasps. “You owe me for helping you reveal your family’s wealth in a positive way.”
“Fine.” Wally drew in a deep breath, then released it slowly. “I personally will call you with the official statement as soon as it is available.”
“I don’t just want the ‘official’ party line,” Kathryn said sharply.
“That’s too bad.” Wally hung on to his temper by a thread. “Because that’s all I’m prepared to offer.”
The twins had been extra fussy that morning and it had taken both Wally’s and Skye’s best efforts to
get them fed, changed, and soothed. Consequently, he’d been late getting to work and was still going through the various reports from his officers, the fire department, the bomb expert, and the county engineer. He needed to wrap up this conversation and inform the dispatcher that he was not taking any more calls from the Star’s owner.
“If I don’t hear from you by three o’clock, I’m printing Bunny Reid’s interview by itself.” Kathryn paused, then singsonged a warning. “And you do not want her perception of the event to be the only one my readers see.”
“Make it four,” Wally countered, running his fingers through his short hair. “I promise to have something for you by then.”
Disconnecting the line, Wally glanced around his office. It was plain and practical, just how he liked it. He preferred minimal furnishings—a large metal desk, two no-frills chairs for visitors, and a couple of file cabinets. Simplicity and organization, with nothing to clutter either the space or his thinking, soothed his soul. The only nonutilitarian item in the room was his wedding picture.
Wally reached for the framed photo and studied his beautiful bride, still unable to believe that Skye was really his forever. Standing next to her at the altar in his dress uniform, he had realized that he was the luckiest man in the world. He’d gotten a second chance to marry the love of his life and have the family of his dreams. Which reminded him, he needed to get a photograph of the twins for his desk. Maybe he’d have one from the baptism framed.
After placing the picture so that he would see Skye’s gorgeous face every time he glanced up from his work, he took a gulp of tepid coffee. He’d poured himself a mug an hour ago and hadn’t managed to take more than a couple of sips in between answering the telephone.
If things hadn’t been so chaotic at home, he would have stopped at Tales and Treats for a decent cup of java in one of their special to-go cups that kept the liquid piping hot for hours. But the police station’s bitter brew was better than nothing, and he needed the hit of caffeine.
At least with May on the afternoon shift yesterday, he knew the PD’s coffeemaker had been thoroughly scrubbed out once or twice in the past twenty-four hours. His mother-in-law was nothing if not meticulous.
Giving into his fatigue, Wally closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of his chair. Letting Quirk handle the crime scene last night had been the correct decision. He’d promised Skye and himself to be present in the twins’ life, and cutting down on the excessive hours he normally worked was the only way to do that.
There were a lot of people willing to help with the babies, but he wanted to be the one that shared the responsibility with Skye. They were in this together and he refused to be an absentee father. His children would know that they, and their mother, were the most important part of his life.
Last night had been a step in the right direction. The twins were sleeping when he and Skye had gotten home and they’d actually had some couple time. Afterward, instead of falling into an exhausted stupor, he’d held his wife in his arms and they’d narrowed down the list of names for their son and daughter to three possibilities each. One pair was sentimental, the second was Wally’s favorite, and the last one was Skye’s preference.
As odd as it seemed to other people that they had yet to choose names, Wally agreed with Skye that it was too important to rush. After so many years working with the public, both of them had a lot of names that had bad associations. Also, trying to find a name that none of Skye’s enormous extended family had already used was an issue.
Add to that the difficulty of picking names that worked for twins. They didn’t want to go cutesy like Jack and Jill. But they couldn’t have a pair that clashed, like Rambo and Edith either.
He and Skye had also had a chance to talk about their new house. Wally had thought that he had a good understanding of what it took to build a custom home. Turned out, he was amazingly wrong.
The major decisions hadn’t been too bad. They had a relatively easy time choosing a floor plan. Wally’s dad’s connections had made hiring a general contractor a snap. And deciding where on the property to locate the structure was a no-brainer.
However, Wally hadn’t taken into consideration the little details, and it was those that were killing them. Now he grasped why Skye had the television constantly tuned to HGTV.
The latest problem had been that once the house had been framed, it was clear that the toilet room in the master bath was too small for a regular door. Their options were to completely eliminate the walls or use a pocket door, which should have been a quick pick, but had ended up as a long discussion on claustrophobia versus germs.
The sharp ring of the telephone startled Wally out of his musings, and when he snatched up the receiver, his greeting was terse. “Yes?”
“Chief?” The tone was brisk.
Wally didn’t recognize the feminine voice and said, “Yeah. Who is this?”
“Dr. Norris.”
The name tugged at Wally’s memory, but he couldn’t quite place it.
After a paused, the woman added, “The new Stanley County ME.”
“Right.” Wally rubbed the bridge of his nose. He’d forgotten the old medical examiner had retired a couple of months ago.
“I’ll email you the primary report on your bowling alley vic this afternoon, but I figured you’d want the ID sooner than later.”
“I appreciate the courtesy call.” Wally yanked open his desk drawer, cringing when it gave a loud squeak. He really needed to oil that thing. Grabbing a pen, he flipped open the case file and said, “Not much I can do before the body’s identified.”
“Lucky for you, her fingerprints were intact.” Dr. Norris rustled some paper, cleared her throat, and announced, “Your vic is Paige Myler.”
“Paige Myler. Why does that name sound familiar?” Wally pursed his lips and gazed at the ceiling.
“Probably because she’s a special investigator for Homestead Insurance, which is why her prints were on file,” Dr. Norris answered, then chuckled. “My assistant is from Scumble River and he mentioned that half your citizens were insured by that company and most of them were unhappy with the way their claims were being handled.”
“Doggone it!” It was times like these that Wally was really sorry that he’d promised Skye he would give up swearing.
As soon as the ME had mentioned Homestead Insurance, Wally remembered where he had recently heard the name Paige Myler. It was when Homer Knapik had tried to file a complaint against the woman. The high school principal had been enraged that Ms. Myler had denied him full reimbursement, stating that the age of his roof only entitled him to ten percent of the cost of replacing it.
“Yep. I would say your investigation just expanded by about a hundred percent.” Dr. Norris’s amused voice broke through Wally’s musings.
“At least.” The mild headache that Wally had been fighting all morning had turned into a whopper, and as he reached into his drawer for an aspirin, it squeaked again. He scribbled OIL in all caps on a sticky note, then attached the yellow square to the offending piece of furniture and asked, “What was the cause of death?”
“Blunt trauma, which resulted in significant cardiac injuries.” Dr. Norris paused, then continued, “There was a severe thoracic aortic disruption that triggered the loss of cardiac pump function and brought about cardiogenic shock.”
“In English, please.” The only words Wally had understood were blunt, trauma, and cardiac.
“A video gambling machine fell on top of her and her chest was crushed.” The doctor’s crisp tone didn’t make the image any less horrific.
Wally swallowed, then said, “Got it.” Tapping his pen on the file, he asked, “Any indication if she was the intended target of the blast?”
“Nothing in the forensics.” Dr. Norris hesitated, then added, “I can say that if the machine hadn’t fallen on her, she would have had some severe injur
ies, but probably wouldn’t have died from the explosion.”
“Interesting.” Wally twirled the pen in his fingers for a couple of seconds, thinking about the possibilities. “Anything on the tox screen?”
“Nothing significant so far, but all the results won’t be in for several days.”
“Okay.” Wally frowned. “Thanks for the call. Keep me in the loop.”
After saying goodbye to the ME, Wally dug into the reports from last night. The figure that Skye had spotted had slipped away before Martinez could get to him or her, but the young officer thought it had to have been Millicent Rose. Martinez suggested that the fairy godmother should be their number one suspect. She was convinced the woman had set off the blast to show the citizens of Scumble River that they needed her services for protection.
While Wally made a note of Martinez’s speculation, he wasn’t anywhere near ready to believe the young officer’s theory.
Sighing, Wally continued to sift through the reports. After the crowd finally dispersed, Quirk had assigned officers to canvas the blocks surrounding the bowling alley, asking about the presence of anyone or anything unusual. Unfortunately, businesses occupied most of the area, and the bank, dry cleaners, real estate office, florist, and two churches had been closed for several hours before the incident.
As he read, Wally created a timeline of the incident. The blast occurred at 8:52 p.m. and the body was extracted by the coroner at 12:47 a.m. In between, the scene had been trampled by firefighters, the structural engineer, and the bomb expert before the crime techs could gather any possible forensics.
Although timing was usually vital in solving a murder case, in this instance, it wouldn’t help them all that much. The explosive device could have been planted hours, if not days, prior to its detonation, and the perpetrator could be halfway across the country by now.
Die Me a River Page 8
