Murder of a Chocolate-Covered Cherry

by Denise Swanson

  Opening her door a second before he reached the Bel Air’s front fender, Skye stepped out of the car and said, “Mr. Boyd, I presume?”

  “Carson Boyd, at your service, ma’am.” He held out his hand. “And you must be Skye.”

  She nodded, but narrowed her eyes. He had called her ma’am. How old did he think she was? She couldn’t say what she wanted to, and couldn’t think of anything else to say, so for once she kept her mouth shut.

  “I’d like to have a word with you, if you have a moment.” His request sounded more like an order.

  Skye bristled. “I’m sorry, Mr. Boyd; as a matter of fact I don’t. Perhaps we could schedule something later in the day, or tomorrow.”

  “Would that we could, but I’m leaving Scumble River this afternoon, and I know you’ll be tied up with the cooking contest all morning.”

  How did he know that? Probably Uncle Charlie or Jesse had mentioned that she was a finalist. “Unfortunately, that’s the reason I don’t have time right now. I need to freshen up and get back to town for the awards ceremony.” Skye bit her lip to stop from smirking. Freshen up—that was a good one. What she really needed was to be run through a car wash, complete with the wax option.

  “If you could just give me fifteen minutes,” he persisted, following her as she walked up the steps. “It’s about my son. I need your help to do what’s best for him.”

  Holy crap. How could she say no to that? “Okay. But I really have a limited amount of time.”

  Skye unlocked her front door and led him into the parlor. At least this room was freshly painted and contained some beautiful antiques. If he would just not notice the worn and stained carpet, she might be able to pull off a good first impression.

  She sat on the settee, offering the delicate Queen Anne chair to her guest. She hoped its uncomfortable seat would make him leave that much sooner.

  After a few minutes of silence, she prodded, “What can I do for you, Mr. Boyd?”

  “Call me Carson.”

  “Okay, Carson, what is it you wanted to say?”

  He took off his sunglasses, and she was struck by his resemblance to Wally.

  He cleared his throat. “I understand you and Walter are seeing each other.”

  “Yes. It’s not exactly a secret.”

  “How serious are you?”

  Skye tilted her head. “Are you asking me what my intentions are?”

  “Yes, in a way I am.”

  “Shouldn’t my dad be having this conversation with your son, instead of the other way around?”

  Carson gave her a serious look. “I’m sixty-four years old. I own a multinational corporation, and instead of preparing to take my place in the business, my only son is off playing Sheriff Andy Taylor in some Northern Mayberry. I’m not playing around here.”

  “So you’ve suddenly traveled to Scumble River to persuade Wally to return to Texas with you and run your company.” Skye’s stomach cramped. It was just as she had feared.

  “In part, yes.”

  “What does Wally’s choice of occupation and hometown have to do with me?”

  “My dear, don’t be so modest.” Carson ran his fingers over his head as if he’d forgotten he had no hair. “From what I hear, my son has been infatuated with you since you were a teenager, and now that you two are finally together, I doubt a Texas twister could tear him from your side.”

  “Interesting.” Skye forced herself not to beam. After the last couple of days of self-doubt, it felt wonderful to have Wally’s father verbalize his son’s devotion. Even if it turned out not to be true, she would bask in the moment. “But I still don’t know what you want from me.”

  “Before I answer that, let me ask you something.” Carson stared into her eyes. “Would you be willing to pack up, move to Texas, and live there for the rest of your life?”

  His question caught her unprepared. If he had asked it of her when she first graduated from high school or college, or even just a few years ago, she would have jumped at the chance to leave Scumble River, but now … she had friends, family, a house. She wanted to know how things would turn out for the kids she was working with at school. She just didn’t know if she could leave all that.

  “Your silence is enough of an answer.” Carson shook his head. “What in the world does this little nowhere town have that makes you and my son want to stay here?”

  “It’s home.” Skye shrugged. That really wasn’t a good answer, but it was the only one she could put into words. “Now that we’ve settled that, I repeat—what do you want from me?”

  “I want you to break up with Wally. Tell him you don’t love him. You’ve changed your mind. You really love that funeral director you were going with before dating my son.”

  Skye couldn’t stop her gasp. “Why would I do that?”

  “I had planned to offer you money, but I understand you gave away a painting that was worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, so maybe cash doesn’t motivate you.” He stared at his sunglasses, almost as if he had forgotten she was there. “Still, it’s worth a try.” He looked up at her. “I will help you set up an offshore account and transfer a million dollars into it, if you will agree never to speak to my son again.”

  “You were right. I’m not as motivated by money as I used to be.” She smiled to herself. She’d come a long way since she’d been blinded by her ex-fiancé’s wealth and position. “How Wally makes me feel is worth ten times that amount.”

  “Then I’ll ask you to do it because it’s the right thing for my son. The only way he’ll fulfill his destiny and be the great man he was born to be.”

  “But that’s not the life Wally wants.” Skye tried to calm her emotions and think straight. “He moved here and became a police officer long before he ever met me.”

  “He did that as a young man’s foolish act of rebellion. He’s more mature now.”

  “So, now that he’s older and wiser, what did he say when you asked him to quit his job, move back to Texas, and take over for you?” Skye held her breath.

  “He turned me down.” Carson continued before Skye could comment. “But not because of his love for this town or his job—because of his love for you. If you were willing to move with him, he would come home.”

  “Did he say that?”

  “Not in so many words. But a father can tell what his son really means.”

  Skye briefly contemplated turning Wally’s dad over to her mother—of course, first she would tell May that Carson was trying to get Skye to move to Texas. She smiled thinly before realizing that her mother would be thrilled with Carson’s other suggestion—that she break up with Wally and get back with Simon. Hmm. No, her mother would be no use in this situation.

  “I’m a firm believer in hearing something from the horse’s mouth,” Skye said, watching the older man’s expression carefully. “If Wally tells me that he wants to move home and take over for you, but doesn’t want to leave me, I’ll either break up with him or agree to move with him.”

  “He’d never tell you that, but what if I arranged for you to overhear him say it to me?”

  “Fine.” Skye stood up.

  Carson followed suit and she led him into the foyer.

  “I’ll let you know where and when.”

  “You do that.”

  “I’m not a monster, you know.” He paused, one foot over the threshold. “All I want is what’s best for my son.”

  “I know.” Skye closed the door after him and leaned against the smooth wood, her emotions at war. “Me, too.”

  After several minutes, she sighed and started up the stairs to change. Her heart was focused on her feelings concerning Wally, but her brain was telling her she had missed something important in her conversation with his father. But what?

  CHAPTER 18

  Toothpick Inserted in Center Should Come Out Clean

  Why am I always running late? Skye fumed as she hurriedly bathed, threw on clean clothes, and jumped into her car. Just once I’d like
to get dressed without feeling as if I’m a quick-change artist.

  Cursing Carson Boyd, she roared out of the driveway toward town. His visit was not only extremely upsetting; it had cut her primping time in half.

  Skye’s bad temper worsened when she arrived at the high school a little before ten and discovered the parking lot was full. By the time she drove around the block to the middle school, found a spot to park there, cut across the stretch of lawn that divided the two buildings, and walked into the auditorium, her irritation had blossomed into a full-fledged huff.

  Her mother’s glare did not improve her disposition. Skye glared back at May as she crossed the stage and took her position among the other One-Dish Meals contestants.

  From what Skye could tell, the ceremony had just begun. Grandma Sal wrapped up her welcome speech, then introduced Dante, who spoke for a few minutes about how pleased Scumble River was to be this year’s host for the contest. He also managed to squeeze in a mention of his own self-sacrifice in being wounded for the good of the town before turning the stage back to Grandma Sal.

  A serious expression on her face, she said, “As you all know, a terrible tragedy occurred during this year’s challenge. We lost one of our wonderful finalists, Ms. Cherry Alexander.”

  Someone in the crowd yelled out, “She was murdered, not misplaced.”

  Skye cringed.

  Grandma Sal ignored the outburst and went on. “To honor Cherry’s valiant spirit, we have created a special award to be given to the finalist who showed the most stick-to-itiveness. And here with us today to present it is her husband, Kyle.”

  Dressed in a sober black suit, his hair gelled back from his face, he looked ten years older than the man who had been with Cherry backstage three days ago. He stepped up to the microphone and read from an index card, “‘Cherry would be honored to have this award named after her. She was a person who never gave up and demanded the best from everyone, especially herself.’ “

  A voice from the audience bellowed, “You should be taking Fine Foods to court, not giving out an award for them. Their negligence contributed to your wife’s murder.”

  Skye squinted past the stage lights. The heckler sounded a bit too well educated to be one of the Scumble River regulars. Who was trying to make Grandma Sal’s company look bad in front of all the press?

  There was no way to tell, and Skye’s focus returned to Kyle, who pulled at the neck of his white shirt and darted a glance toward Grandma Sal.

  She murmured in his ear, and he straightened and said, “The winner of the Cherry Alexander Award for Perseverance is …”

  He squinted at the card Grandma Sal handed him, and Skye wondered just how much Fine Foods was paying him to do this, rather than file a lawsuit.

  “Glenda Doozier.” Kyle waited for the applause to end, then continued, “Not only did this plucky little lady come into the contest late and as an alternate, but she made it through some very difficult family issues, still managing to turn her dish in on time.”

  Skye would have swallowed her chewing gum if she’d had any. Glenda Doozier, plucky? Little lady? Family issues? Her husband had been trying to bribe people, and her brother-in-law had shot up the place. How did that constitute being worthy to win a prize?

  The Red Ragger queen pranced up to the mike in fourinch spike-heeled black plastic sandals and a Dolly Parton wig. Her leather skirt was the size of a Post-it note, and her lipstick-red tube top was no bigger than a rubber band. Every man in the place held his breath and prayed for a wardrobe malfunction.

  Kyle seemed to be having trouble forming words. Finally managing to gasp, “Here,” he thrust the silver spoon-shaped trophy at Glenda’s 38DD chest. When it caught in the elastic of her top, several men in the audience growled like hyenas about to tear into their dinner.

  Clearly Grandma Sal had dealt with testosterone-induced stupidity before. She casually reached over, disengaged the utensil’s handle from the stretchy material, and gently moved Kyle backward, taking his place. She then grasped Glenda’s arm, and as she walked her to the stairs said, “Mrs. Doozier, thank you so much for participating in our little contest. You’ll be contacted to come and pick up your check at the factory.”

  Skye overheard Grandma Sal mutter to herself as she walked back to center stage, “Why in the world would he pick her to win the special prize? Is he trying to ruin us?”

  The older woman straightened as she approached the microphone, pasted a smile on her face, and addressed the audience again. “Now, for our regular awards. We’ll be giving one in each of our four categories; Special-Occasion Baking, Healthy, Snacks, and One-Dish Meals. The grand prize will go to one of those winners.”

  Skye looked at the little table placed on Grandma Sal’s right. Several plaques and one trophy—the size of a small child—were waiting to be passed out.

  Jared stood between his mother and the table. He picked up the first plaque and handed it to her.

  She peered at the name, then announced, “The winner of the Healthy category is Monika Bradley, our CPA from Brooklyn, for her Gluten-Free, Dairy-Free Sponge Cake and Frosting.”

  It took several minutes for the attractive blonde to hobble up to the front of the stage, her leg still immobilized by a brace, but when she got there she kept her speech short. “What characterizes a dish as healthy is different for each person. If you have diabetes, it’s sugar-free. If you have high cholesterol, it’s excluding trans fats. And if you have high blood pressure, it’s low sodium.

  “While most people are aware of these dietary needs, many are uninformed about life-threatening food allergies. I entered this contest to bring the issue of celiac disease and other life-threatening food allergies to the public’s attention. My winning entry has no gluten or dairy and is still delicious. Thank you all for the opportunity.”

  Next Grandma Sal awarded the Snacks winner. Skye had half believed Charlie would win, but a woman from Laurel took the prize for her Fiesta Italiano Dip.

  The Special-Occasion-Baking category was next. Skye looked down the row at her mother. May was holding the hands of the contestants on either side of her as if she were in the Miss America Pageant.

  Grandma Sal took the plaque from Jared, checked the nameplate, and said, “The winner of Special-Occasion Baking is … Diane White, our cookie blogger from Clay Center, for her Chocolate Brownie Tiramisu.”

  The blogger shrieked and ran over to Grandma Sal. Her hug nearly knocked the older woman off her feet. After releasing Grandma Sal, Diane whipped a piece of paper from her pocket. She unfolded it like an accordion, grabbed the microphone, and began to read, “I’m grateful to my wonderful husband, my three lovely children …”

  The thank-you list was endless, and when Diane expressed her appreciation to the fish in her aquarium for being a calming influence, naming each individually, Skye tuned her out and looked back at May. Her mother’s smile was shaky, and Skye could tell that it cost her a great deal not to burst into tears.

  Her own throat closed; she knew how much it had meant to May to win. Skye wished she had done a better job on the casserole, so she could have won for her mother. Darn. She should have practiced more and kept her mind on the cooking rather than on sleuthing.

  Diane showed no sign of coming to an end of her roll call, but Grandma Sal wrestled the mike away from the excited woman by tempting her with the plaque. The blogger was still thanking people as she returned to her place clutching her prize.

  Grandma Sal took the fourth award from her son, squinted at the engraving, and frowned. She whispered something to Jared, who answered her. She shrugged and said, “Last but not least, the winner of our One-Dish Meal is …”

  Skye glanced to her left and smiled at Butch King, the firefighter whose mother had tried to obedience-train Earl Doozier. She hoped Butch would win. He’d been so nice that first day when they’d had lunch together.

  “… Syke Denison.”

  Had her name—at least, a version of her name—really been c
alled? Skye was rooted to the spot. Even after she heard her mother screaming and saw her jumping up and down, she didn’t believe it was possible she had won.

  Skye shot Grandma Sal a questioning look, and the older woman nodded. Finally Skye managed to move her feet, and she walked carefully to the front of the stage. She was still more than half afraid that she’d misheard and was about to make a huge fool of herself.

  Grandma Sal handed her the plaque and said, “Syke is a school psychologist from right here in Scumble River, and she wins for her Chicken Supreme Casserole.” Skye whispered in the older woman’s ear and Grandma Sal said, “Sorry, her name is Skye. I thought the other was wrong, but my son insisted. You know these youngsters; they think they know everything.”

  The crowd laughed politely, and Grandma Sal handed Skye the mike.

  Skye took a deep breath and tried to think of something to say. “Uh, well, I just want to thank my mother for teaching me to cook, and Wally Boyd for eating all of my practice attempts, even the burned ones.”

  As Skye stumbled back to her spot, May met her halfway, hugging and kissing her. “You did it! You really did it! I knew you could.”

  Grandma Sal waited for May to calm down, then turned to the audience. “Now for what you’ve all been waiting for. The grand prize of ten thousand dollars goes to …”

  May’s nails dug into Skye’s hand.

  “… Diane White for her Chocolate Brownie Tiramisu.”

  Skye’s shoulders sagged. She had no right to be disappointed. It had been a miracle she had won her category, and there was no way she’d had a chance to win the grand prize. Still, for just a second she was let down.

  Then May hugged her and whispered, “She was probably sleeping with the judges.”

  Skye shook her head. “Two of the judges are women.”