Murder of a Small-Town Honey

by Denise Swanson

  “As soon as I get settled, I thought I’d have you and my other cousins over for lunch.” Skye dodged Gillian’s question while nudging the deposit slip toward her.

  “We were sure surprised to hear you were coming home. This is such a small town, and we all have such small minds. Everyone thought you’d be living in New York or California by now.”

  Pasting a smile on her face, Skye shoved the check closer to Gillian. “Life is full of surprises. Maybe next year I’ll be in Alaska. You can never tell.”

  “After all the times you said you’d never come back, it must be hard to face people.” Gillian slowly started to tap the keys of the adding machine. “Especially after having gained so much weight.”

  Skye managed to keep a pleasant look on her face by thinking, Yes, it is. Thank you for announcing it to the world. If brains were lard, you wouldn’t have enough to grease a skillet. She looked pointedly at the line growing behind her. “It’s been great talking to you. We’ll have to have lunch sometime. But I really need to get going now.”

  “Sure. We’ve really missed you at the family gatherings. It’s a shame we never got to meet that fiancé of yours before he broke up with you.” Gillian completed the transaction, giving Skye the deposit receipt and counting the cash into her hand.

  Skye made her escape and hurried next door to the dry cleaners. For once it was a relief to pay the ransom for her clothing. At least none of her relatives worked there.

  CHAPTER 16

  It’s Impossible

  Skye was stretched out across her bed with an ice cube-filled washcloth covering her eyes. Her only movement was a fingertip idly tracing the stitching on the quilt. It had deep rose-colored diamonds and ivory rings on a cranberry background, and had been on every bed she’d owned since her Grandma Leofanti gave it to her when she turned sixteen.

  After the scene at the junior high and the run-in with her cousin at the bank, Skye was emotionally exhausted. Upon reaching home, almost before closing the door, she’d shed her clothes and kicked off her shoes. She’d grabbed a handful of ice from the freezer and a cloth from the bathroom, then flung herself across the bed and tried to forget her encounters with Lloyd and Gillian.

  The harder she tried to think of something else, the more the confrontations bothered her. As a psychologist I’m supposed to know how to deal with people. Instead, I’m alienating them left and right. First Darleen, then Wally, and now Lloyd. Who will be next? Gee, I haven’t spoken to the superintendent of schools yet. Or how about the mayor? Maybe the pope will grant me an audience.

  A loud ring from the telephone interrupted her self-castigation. She reached for the handset without removing the washcloth from her eyes. “Hello?”

  “Good, you’re finally home. Where have you been? It’s almost five-thirty.”

  “Vince, I’ve had a bad day,” Skye said in a don’t-mess-with-me tone.

  “I’m just calling to make sure you remember our double date tonight.”

  “Oh, my God!”

  “You did forget,” Vince said accusingly.

  Skye responded petulantly, “Gee, I’m sorry I forgot something so important, but I have been a little busy trying to clear your name.”

  There was silence on the line, and Skye wondered briefly if he had hung up.

  “Yeah, well, ah, thanks. That’s good, because Wally was by the shop again today,” Vince mumbled.

  “You didn’t say anything, did you?”

  “No. He said he just wanted to make an appointment for a haircut.”

  “Well, you don’t really believe that, do you?” Skye sat up.

  “Of course I don’t. I’m not as stupid as everyone in the family thinks.”

  “This is a stressful time, Vince. No one thinks you’re stupid. We need to stick together.” She swung her feet to the floor.

  “Okay. Let’s forget this stuff and have a good time tonight. What are you wearing?”

  “Where are we going exactly?”

  “We’ll pick you up at six, which would put us in Joliet around seven. If we eat at the Red Lobster near Louis Joliet Mall, we could catch the nine o’clock movie at the cinema.” Vince’s voice became more animated.

  “That sounds good. I guess I’ll wear my black-and-white gingham shorts suit. Will that be all right? Or should I call Abby?” she teased.

  Vince responded seriously, “No, that sounds fine. Do you have white flats?”

  “Sure, they’re ballet-style flats with bows.”

  “Great. What are you going to do with your hair?”

  “Oh, I thought I’d wear it. Unless you think I should shave it off. What’s going on here? I thought this was a casual date.” She rubbed her throbbing temples.

  “It is. I just want you to look nice. Mike hasn’t seen you in a long time.”

  “Is this about my weight?” Skye threw the damp cloth in the direction of the bathroom door.

  “No, no, that’s not it at all. Mike’s a little conservative, and sometimes you dress a little wild,” Vince hurried to explain.

  “Are you kidding? I dress about as flashy as Marie Os mond. How conservative is this guy?”

  Vince ignored her question. “Everything will be fine. We’ll see you at six.”

  Skye had a bad feeling about this date, but reassured herself by thinking, After all, it’s just one date. It’s only a few hours out of my life. Vince and Abby will be with us the whole time. And I do want to ask Mike some questions about Honey.

  She rolled off the bed and retrieved the wet cloth from the floor, using it to mop up the puddles from the melted ice cubes. After disposing of it in the bathroom hamper, she slipped into her robe, which had been hanging on a hook on the back of the door.

  Skye took a moment to admire it. Running her hands over the powder-blue damask cotton, she snuggled in the French terry lining. It had cost more than she made in a day, but she couldn’t resist it when she’d spotted it at Marshall Field’s.

  She had developed a clothes addiction when she returned from her stint in the Peace Corps. After wearing nothing but denim shorts, jeans, and T-shirts for four years, she had gone on a shopping spree that rivaled Imelda Mar-cos’s. She still liked nothing better than to shop until she dropped.

  Skye took one look at her rumpled hair and pale skin in the bathroom mirror and switched on her electric curlers. While she was waiting for them to heat up, she washed her face and applied a generous dollop of moisturizer.

  Allowing the lotion to soak in, she set her hair before applying her makeup. Skye employed a lot of cosmetics to appear as if she used none. First came the base. Next she used a concealer to cover the circles under her eyes. After a light dusting of translucent powder and some blush she was ready to work on her eyes.

  Skye’s eyes had always been her best feature. Their effervescent color and large size drew admiring glances and comments wherever she went. The cream and taupe eye shadows, dark green eyeliner, and mascara were merely embellishments.

  It was five minutes to six by the time she finished dressing. She was fastening her watch when the doorbell rang. Slipping on an onyx ring shaped like a cat’s face, she walked to the front door.

  Abby, Vince, and Mike were all standing on her porch. Mike was dressed in a conservatively cut navy suit. His light blue shirt matched his eyes, and his hair was cut as short as possible without edging into a crew cut. Belatedly, Skye realized that she should have had something ready to serve them.

  Stepping to one side, she gestured them into the foyer. “Please come in. I’m sorry the place isn’t more furnished, but I’m still getting settled.”

  Vince saved her. “We really don’t have time to stay. You know Abby, and this is my friend Mike Young.”

  Mike held out his hand. “Hi. I’m sure you don’t remember me, but I certainly remember you. I always thought Vince’s little sister was going to be a beauty when she grew up.”

  Having no answer to that statement, Skye smiled uncomfortably and wondered if he was
disappointed with the reality.

  Mike and Vince did most of the talking on the drive up. They thoroughly discussed the Cubs’ latest season before moving on to the best way to work out at the gym. Abby was able to contribute an occasional comment on both subjects, but it sounded to Skye as if they were speaking Swahili.

  Red Lobster was mobbed when they arrived. The lobby was full, and people were standing outside on the front walk, making it difficult to negotiate passage through the throng. Vince offered to fight his way to the front to find out how long a wait there would be.

  The loudspeaker squawked, “Martin, party of four.”

  A group rose from one of the two benches outside the door. Skye was not able to see how it was accomplished, but miraculously she found herself seated between Mike and Abby.

  Mike leaned back, stretching out his long legs, seemingly unaware of the dirty looks from the people standing in front of him. “Ah, this is better. You comfortable, girls?”

  At the word girls Skye shot Abby a look. A slight shrug of Abby’s shoulders stopped Skye from pursuing the matter.

  “We’re fine, Mike. Thanks for snagging the bench. I’ve been on my feet all day.” Abby slipped off a sandal and rubbed her instep.

  “Oh, anything special happen at school or just the usual disasters?” Skye turned slightly to look at Abby.

  Before Abby could answer, Vince pushed his way back out the door and plopped himself down on the bench next to her. “It’s a madhouse in there. The hostess said it would be about forty-five minutes. You guys want to stay or try somewhere else?”

  “It’s Friday night. Everywhere will be crowded. Let’s just stay here.” Skye looked at the others for agreement.

  Mike reached across the women and lightly punched Vince in the arm. “I told you we should have gone someplace where they take reservations.”

  Vince muttered under his breath, “You did not.”

  Skye was surprised to hear Vince answer back. He usually avoided confrontation. The silence became uncomfortable as the men silently stared at each other.

  It occurred to Skye that this might be the time to ask about Honey and Mike’s past relationship. She didn’t want the conversation to end like the one with Lloyd had earlier, so she chose her words carefully. “Mike, you and Vince go way back, huh?”

  “Yep, we were in kindergarten together.” Mike sat back and extended his arm across the back of the bench.

  Vince added, “Yeah, he was the one who borrowed the class hamster, and I was the one who got into trouble for it.”

  Wow, two confrontations in a row. This isn’t like the Vince I know. Maybe he changed while I was gone. Skye looked at her brother thoughtfully

  “Vince, why bring up ancient history?” Mike replied. “Remember Matthew, chapter six, verse twelve: ‘Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.’”

  Skye frowned. “I thought that was from the Lord’s Prayer.”

  “You Catholics do not know your Bible.”

  Not wanting to get sidetracked from her original line of questioning, Skye asked, “Were you two friends throughout school?”

  “Yeah, I guess. More so in high school, when we were both on the basketball team,” Vince answered.

  “That must have been tough. If it was anything like when I was in school, all the popular girls went out with the basketball team. I remember my junior year two of our stars fought the whole season over one girl. They never talked except on the court.”

  Mike laughed. “We never seemed to have the same taste in girls. Vince always liked the ice queens and I preferred the sex kittens.”

  “I recall one girl you both liked,” Abby said softly.

  Skye could have kissed her. This was exactly where she wanted the conversation to go. Disregarding the dirty looks that both Vince and Mike shot at Abby, Skye asked, “Would that have been Honey Adair? I understand almost every male in Scumble River was attracted to her.”

  “She and I were through by the time Vince started dating her,” Mike said. “In fact, I think it was my idea that he ask her out.”

  Once again Vince muttered to himself, “It was not.”

  “It seems that no one went with her for very long,” Skye said. “I was told she was always after greener pastures. Why did you break up with her, Mike?” Skye looked him in the eye.

  He got up from the bench, stepped over to the door, and peered inside. “I wonder if we’re getting close to a table? Maybe I should check.”

  Smiling, she patted the vacant spot next to her. “Oh, that’s not necessary. The time goes fast when you’re having a nice conversation.”

  Reluctantly, Mike sat back down.

  “Mike, you were going to tell us about your breakup with Honey,” Skye reminded him after a few moments of silence.

  “Why are you so interested in a past romance? Not jealous, are you?” Mike put his arm around Skye’s shoulder.

  “No, you moron,” Abby suddenly broke in. “She’s trying to figure out who killed Honey Adair, and you’re one of her suspects.”

  “Talking to a man in that manner is why you’re still single, Abby.” Mike smiled cruelly.

  Abby’s face mirrored her fury, but before she could speak Vince whispered something in her ear. He turned to Mike and Skye. “We’ll be right back.”

  After they left, Mike drew Skye closer. “You really ought to leave the investigating to the police. An innocent young lady like yourself could get hurt asking questions of the wrong people.”

  “So, you’re not going to answer my question?” She shrugged out of his embrace and scooted to the far side of the bench.

  “Is there any reason I shouldn’t tell you?” When she didn’t respond, he slouched down farther and examined his fingernails. “She wanted to get married and I didn’t. Even tried to tell me she was pregnant—but she couldn’t prove it when I confronted her.”

  “Why did you sic her on Vince?”

  Mike shrugged, unconcerned. “He always dated such nice girls, I thought it was time he had a taste of the wild side. Now that I’ve found Jesus, I can see I was wrong. ‘There is no peace, saith the Lord, unto the wicked.’ Isaiah, chapter forty-eight, verse twenty-two.”

  “Did you find God while you were in prison?” Skye asked pointedly.

  “Yes, I did. I’m not ashamed of my past. I learned a trade and was born again.”

  “Which church do you belong to, Mike?” Skye looked in the direction Abby and Vince had disappeared.

  “The Church of Forgiveness. I founded it myself. You’ll have to come to one of our services.”

  “Where is it? I don’t remember seeing a new church building.”

  “It’s on Springfield, between Basin and Kinsman.” Mike slid closer to Skye.

  She thought a moment. “Oh, yeah, I know where it is.” She had passed by it one day and wondered about its origins. After all, it’s not often that you see a church in a double-wide trailer. “When are services?”

  “Tuesdays at seven and Sunday at eight. Why don’t you come this Tuesday?”

  “I certainly will . . . if I’m free.” Right after I dye my hair black and get a tattoo.

  “You should come. It would help you after your awful experience.” Mike took her hand.

  Skye wasn’t sure which awful experience he was referring to but guessed. “You mean when I found Honey’s body?”

  “Yes, that must have been awful for you. I’ll bet you dropped everything and ran out screaming.”

  “Well, actually, I was pretty calm when it was happening. I didn’t have my breakdown until afterward.”

  “Did you see anything?” Mike didn’t seem upset when Skye withdrew her hand from his grasp.

  “No. I was inside the trailer for less than a minute. I didn’t have time to look around.”

  “Sometimes we see things without them registering right away.”

  “I guess so, but like I said, I was there for such a short time and I didn’t touch anything but Honey.”


  Mike put his arm back around her shoulders and squeezed hard. “Let’s hope the murderer believes that.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Lonely Street

  Saturday morning, thanks to the school district’s lack of a social worker, Skye found herself driving in and around the outskirts of Scumble River. While attempting to get the special education files in order, she had discovered several with no telephone numbers and only sketchy addresses. All but one family had proved to be accessible through neighbors or relations.

  Earl Doozier, Jr., needed a reevaluation. In order for this testing to take place, Skye needed a signed Consent for Assessment form. Parents couldn’t be asked for a signature if they were unreachable, and since the Dooziers had no telephone number and an iffy address, obtaining permission would require the dreaded home visit.

  As she drove up and down streets, searching for the correct address, Skye thought of an assembly she had attended her senior year in high school. The speaker talked about the history of the town. Most of the other students were bored, but Skye had been enthralled. It was the only time she had found anything interesting about Scumble River, and what the man had said remained clear in her memory even now.

  She could still hear his voice weaving the story of the community’s establishment. “The town of Scumble River was originally built in the eighteen-thirties in the fork between the two branches of the Scumble River. Since then it has spread along both banks. Some might say overflowed.

  “Railroad tracks encircle the village. They creep up from the south and curve west before continuing north. As you all may have noticed, it’s often possible while driving through Scumble River to be stopped twice by the same train.

  “Consisting of the six blocks that run along Basin Street, the center of town is like the yolk of an egg. To the west of this area, houses were built in the nineteen-thirties by Italian immigrants who were imported by the Sherman Coal Company.