Murder of a Small-Town Honey

by Denise Swanson

  Skye gave Loretta Charlie’s number and told her to call there if no one answered at her house or her parents’. She then went to tell her parents the bad news.

  Jed and May were standing outside. The hearse had already left for the cemetery, followed by Charlie in the funeral home’s limousine. Other cars were falling into line as Skye approached her parents.

  “Let’s walk to the car.” Skye guided her parents to their Olds.

  “Was that Abby? Did she find Vince?” May anxiously seized Skye’s hand.

  “Why don’t we get in so we can talk in private?” Skye opened her mother’s door.

  After they were all seated, Skye leaned her arms across the back of the front seat. “That was Loretta Steiner. Vince has been arrested.”

  Gasping, May clutched her chest. Jed sat staring out the windshield, the only evidence of his emotions the white of his knuckles where he was clenching the steering wheel.

  May grabbed Jed’s arm. “Hurry. We’ve got to get to the station.”

  Before Jed could react, Skye put a hand on both their shoulders. “Loretta said for us not to go there.”

  “Why not?” May twitched her shoulder anxiously.

  “She said they were taking him to Laurel and we wouldn’t be allowed to see him there, either.”

  “We have to be there for him. We can at least talk to Loretta.” May turned to Jed.

  “I think we should go to the cemetery and then to the luncheon. There’s nothing we can do for Vince right now, and Charlie hasn’t got anyone else.” Skye also looked to her father.

  Jed started the car and backed out, getting in line behind the last vehicle in the procession. “Right now we can do something for Charlie. We can’t for Vince,” Jed said in a case-closed tone.

  May asked questions all the way to the cemetery, but because she had no answers Skye concentrated on the scenery crawling past her window. She allowed her mind to wander, trying to block out her mother’s voice.

  As the column of cars turned left on Basin and headed south of town, Skye glanced at the orange and white exterior of the Strike and Spare Bowling Alley. Its blackened windows and peeling paint gave it a jack-o’-lantern appearance.

  Skye sighed and closed her eyes. When she opened them, the car was inching past McDonald’s plaza. People were walking out, carrying cups of coffee and brown paper sacks. Turning her head, she gazed at the cornfield on the other side. A billboard announced it was the future home of the newest Castleview housing development.

  She watched the yellow-green stalks heavy with ripe ears of corn rustle in the breeze. Soon the farmers would be out on the combine harvesting them, but right now the blackbirds were enjoying a morning snack.

  Brick and wrought-iron gates loomed on the east side of the road, spelling out the words “Scumble River Cemetery.” Winding their way down the narrow dirt lane, the cars turned first right, then left, then left again before stopping within sight of a dark-green canvas awning.

  The coffin and the flowers from the funeral home were set up in the front of the shelter. Charlie and Simon stood together. By the time the Denisons trudged up from the rear of the procession, the space under the tent was full. As they stood to one side, Charlie motioned for them to come next to him.

  Before Simon started the interment ceremony, Charlie whispered into Skye’s ear, “What happened to you guys? I wanted you to ride with me.”

  “Vince was arrested,” Skye whispered back. “His lawyer called just as we were leaving.”

  Simon must have heard what she said because he gave her a quizzical look before beginning. After he said a short prayer and gave a few inspirational words, the crowd filed by Charlie and the casket once again.

  Standing up front, Skye noticed that all her suspects had come for the funeral. Darleen, looking like a corpse herself, was dressed in a slinky black dress that hugged her skeletal frame and accentuated her chalk-white complexion.

  Looking every inch a principal, Lloyd was impeccably outfitted in an expensive blue suit with coordinating shirt and tie. Not to be outdone, Mike wore a charcoal-gray pin-striped suit that made him look as if he had stepped off the pages of a Marshall Field’s ad.

  If she were judging them on the crime of bad taste, Darleen would have to be the killer. Maybe she was using drugs. The clothes she wore had to have some pharmaceutical explanation.

  Skye’s attention wandered to a group standing on the edge of the crowd. She had been introduced to them by Charlie at the funeral home. The short, square-shaped woman was Honey’s agent, Blanche Herman. She kept glancing at her watch and sighing.

  Next to Blanche stood Roxanne Dunn, Honey’s publicist. She was busy scribbling in a pocket-size notebook.

  The last of the Chicago Three, as Skye had dubbed them, was the producer of Gumdrop Lane, Adrian Warner. As Skye watched him, he examined his manicured nails and adjusted the collar of his lilac silk shirt. She quickly scanned the crowd to see if anyone else noticed. All eyes were facing forward. Skye hoped the Chicago people would come to the luncheon; Adrian would certainly liven things up. May had taken another peek at Honey’s file and reported to Skye this morning. It was too bad that all three had alibis for the time of Honey’s death. Each of them looked as if killing would be all in a day’s work.

  CHAPTER 21

  Luck Be a Lady

  Charlie’s friends and neighbors had done him proud. His kitchen table and all available counter space were covered with dishes of food. Walters’ Supermarket had sent over a sliced roast beef, and the grocery store had contributed a spiral-cut ham. There were pies and cakes of every flavor. Jell-O molds jockeyed for position with green-bean-and-french-fried-onion casseroles.

  Skye circulated through the assembly. People were balancing plates and cups while standing in little knots gossiping. She refilled coffee, dispensed napkins, and eavesdropped on her suspects’ conversations.

  Mike and Lloyd stood with their heads together for their entire stay. Skye caught the words “Chokeberry Days” once and the phrase “this should take the wind out of his sails” another time, but for the most part they stopped talking whenever she appeared. Skye knew the two men were against continuing the festival, but she thought it was incredibly tacky of them to discuss it while under Charlie’s roof, considering that he was so clearly in favor of the event.

  On his way out, Mike took her hand and inclined his head. “I wish you’d reconsider and come to the services at my church tomorrow.”

  “If I get out of my meeting early, I’ll do that,” Skye promised insincerely, removing her hand from his grasp and holding the screen door open. “Thanks for coming. I’m sure Charlie appreciates it.”

  Lloyd was next to leave. He shook hands with Charlie and made his way over to Skye. “Can I speak to you a moment in private?”

  She glanced at the people still filling Charlie’s small house. “How about the office? It’s through the connecting door at the end of the hall.”

  He followed her silently. When they reached the office, he said, “Someone called my wife Saturday morning, pretending to be from the paper. Do you know anything about that?”

  “How would I know about something like that? What do you mean, ‘pretending to be from the paper’?”

  Lloyd backed Skye into the counter and poked her with his finger, breathing angrily into her face. “Someone called pretending to be Barb, but Barb’s in St. Louis visiting her sister this weekend. Her husband is our custodian. He mentioned they were leaving right after school Friday.”

  Skye tried to move away from Lloyd, but he put a hand on either side of her. She thought fast. “That’s pretty odd. Could your wife have misunderstood? Maybe what they said was that they were calling for Barb.”

  “Wrong!” he roared, french-fried-onion fumes smacking her in the face. “You can’t fool me that easily. I called the Star. There are no pictures from Chokeberry Days that they’re trying to identify.”

  “That’s strange, but I don’t know why you thin
k I’m involved.” Skye shoved Lloyd away.

  “Because it occurred to me that whoever made that call was trying to check to see if I had an alibi for the time of Honey’s death.”

  Skye had been edging toward the door as he spoke. She fumbled behind her for the knob. “How clever. Maybe it was the police.” She pushed the door open.

  “I didn’t kill Honey Adair. If you keep trying to prove I did, all you’re going to do is bring up the past and ruin my marriage.” Lloyd’s voice was low and beseeching.

  Now that she was steps away from other people, Skye felt safer. “I’ll do whatever I have to do to save Vince.”

  “If I catch you talking to my wife or spreading any more lies about me, I’ll see that you’re fired. Remember, I know what happened at your last job. I will not be a scapegoat for your brother.” Lloyd thrust his finger at Skye again.

  Just then Charlie emerged from the bedroom next to the connecting door. “You’ll what?” he thundered. “Believe me, Stark, Scumble River will see the backside of you long before my goddaughter is ever fired.”

  Lloyd stalked past Skye and Charlie without replying. He shouldered people out of his way and slammed the front door behind him.

  “Well, Uncle Charlie, I think I’m in trouble now.”

  Charlie put his arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry, honey. Lloyd’s reign of terror is just about over.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Come to the board meeting tomorrow night and you’ll see.”

  “You’ve got something on him. Could it help Vince?”

  “It won’t help Vince, but it will get Mr. Lloyd Stark out of our hair.”

  Before Skye could ask more questions she heard a voice calling her name. She turned and saw Honey’s agent beckoning to her. After excusing herself to Charlie, Skye joined the Chicago Three.

  “Skye, I couldn’t help but notice that you and Charlie seem very close,” Blanche stated as soon as Skye walked over.

  “Yes?” Skye waited to see what was on the agent’s agenda.

  “We have an exciting project to honor Honey, but Charlie is reluctant to give us the go-ahead, and we thought maybe you could explain it to him.” Blanche moved closer to Skye. “See, the thing is, the terms of Honey’s will give Charlie the rights to her life story.”

  “I really don’t think I should get involved.” Skye tried to move away, but both the producer and the publicist blocked all possible avenues of escape.

  “Just listen.” Adrian adjusted the cuff of his lilac shirt. “It’s a fabulous idea.”

  Roxanne whipped open her notebook. “We think the Honey/Mrs. Gumtree story would be a marvelous made-for-TV movie. It has everything: sex, violence, deception. The murder scene with that hairdresser plunging his scissors into Honey’s throat would be boffo.”

  Skye shook them off like raindrops. “ ‘That hairdresser’ is my brother, and he did not kill Honey. Any suggestion in a book, movie, or cartoon that he did and you’ll be speaking with our attorney.”

  No one blinked. Finally Blanche said, “Does this mean you won’t help us get Charlie to sign a release?”

  The last of the crowd was slowly taking their leave. Charlie and May stood by the door, easing them out. After the ceremony at the cemetery, Jed had dropped Skye off at the funeral home to get her car, then gone to the farm to work on some machinery. She was to drive May home after they finished cleaning up at Charlie’s.

  Skye grabbed a tray from the kitchen and started fetching dirty plates, silverware, and cups. The places where people crammed them were amazing. Someone had even deposited their debris in a file drawer in the desk.

  Skye put her tray on the floor and knelt down. Warily she picked out the dirty plate. Several papers clung to it. She put them aside, meaning to wipe them with a damp cloth. The knife and fork were easily retrieved, but the cup had spilled its liquid dregs into the bottom of the drawer.

  Taking out the wet papers, Skye added them to the soiled pile. She picked up the pages in her left hand and then used her right hand and the edge of her left to lift the tray.

  Once in the kitchen, she ran hot water and squeezed dish soap into the sink, placing the dirty dishes, cups, and utensils in the water to soak. After clearing the table of containers and serving dishes, she spread the moist papers from the desk on the tabletop and started to blot them with paper towels.

  As she was doing this, the letterhead caught her eye. It depicted a stylized drawing of a woman’s face with an elaborate crown and read: “Baroness Riverboat Casino.” Alarmed, she looked closer. Most of the papers bore the same insignia, although a few were from other riverboat casinos in the area. All were letters demanding payment of credit extended for gambling. Some were over a year old.

  Skye debated returning for a look at the files remaining in the drawer, but before she could decide, Charlie and May walked in.

  Charlie’s eyes were immediately drawn to the papers on the table. “What are you doing with those?” he roared.

  “Someone opened the drawer of your desk and stuffed their dirty plate and cup inside. Coffee and food were spilled on some of the papers so I took them out to wipe them off.” Skye felt her face turn red and looked away. “I’m sorry, Uncle Charlie.”

  Coming around Charlie, May put her arm around Skye and quickly skimmed the papers. “Charlie Patukas, what’s the meaning of this, yelling at Skye like she was the one who did something wrong.”

  Charlie pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down heavily in it. He buried his face in his hands.

  Skye knelt beside him and hugged him. “Tell us about it. You’ll feel better.”

  He sighed. “It started a few years ago. I always did like a good poker game, but stakes around here are usually pretty low and I never lost more than I could afford. Then I started going to the boats. They had senior citizens’ day and free breakfast for the early-bird cruises and this and that until I was so far in debt I didn’t know what to do.”

  “That’s why you couldn’t lend Vince the money,” Skye murmured.

  May gave her a funny look. “So, what did you do, Charlie?”

  “I sold everything I could—my car, my investments, everything but the motor court, and they wanted that too.” Charlie looked down and rolled the edge of the nearest letter. “Finally, I asked Honey for a loan.”

  “I thought you didn’t know where she was.” Skye pulled up a chair and sat down next to him.

  “She wrote me a few years ago and gave me a post office box address, in case of an emergency. I figured this was as close to an emergency as I was likely to get.”

  “Did she give you the money?”

  “No, she said she didn’t have it.” Charlie wouldn’t look up.

  “So then what did you do?” May walked to the sink and started to wash the dishes.

  “Before I could decide what to do, she was murdered and I inherited that money. The casino is glad to wait until the will is probated.”

  “I’ll bet they are. What have you done about this gambling problem of yours?” Skye looked at him sternly, forcing him to meet her eyes.

  He put his right hand over his heart. “You don’t have to worry. I started going to Gamblers Anonymous in Joliet three months ago and haven’t placed a bet since.”

  Skye gathered up the letters and stooped to kiss him on the cheek. “Good for you.”

  They remained quiet for a moment.

  “I didn’t kill Honey.” Charlie looked from May to Skye.

  “We don’t think you did.” May turned away from the sink.

  “Good, because I have an alibi. Fayanne Emerick was with me from nine o’clock until Skye found me at eleven. I wish you’d ask her.”

  Skye squeezed his hand. “We believe you.”

  The phone rang, startling them all. Charlie answered, then handed the receiver to Skye. “It’s Loretta Steiner.”

  May rushed to the phone, trying to hear what Loretta was saying.

  After a few “okays” and
“ahas” Skye hung up. She turned to May and Charlie. “They’re charging Vince with first-degree murder. They just got verification of a letter they found in Honey’s condo last week. It’s in Vince’s handwriting, and he threatens to get rid of her if she doesn’t leave him alone.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Jailhouse Rock

  First thing the next morning Skye phoned Fayanne and confirmed that the liquor store owner and Charlie had been together during the time he claimed.

  Fayanne’s exact words were, “Nope, the man never left my sight. I stuck to him like the printing on a T-shirt.”

  Skye sat in the high school guidance office chewing on the end of her pencil. Her appointment book lay open on the desk, a sprinkle of eraser crumbs scattered like dandruff across its pages. Shit, there is no way I can avoid the junior high. I’ve got to finish testing Zach today or everything else gets screwed up. She dreaded coming face-to-face with Lloyd after yesterday’s confrontation.

  The warning bell rang, startling her out of her reverie, and she quickly got ready for her first student. In rapid succession Skye saw a girl with a habit of hiding in the rest room during her afternoon classes, a young man caught wearing gang colors, and three teens who had long-standing problems.

  Skye hypothesized that the girl might be bulimic and was hiding in there to make herself vomit or use laxatives after eating lunch, the boy was a wannabe gang member, and the remaining trio probably knew more about therapy than she did. Nevertheless, she put them down for weekly appointments.

  Instead of eating lunch, Skye telephoned Loretta Steiner.

  The lawyer dispensed with the normal chitchat. “He can have one visitor from two to four and another in the evening from six to eight.”

  “You mean both of my parents can’t see him? Can one go in for the first hour and another for the second?”

  “Probably. Small-town jail. Upstanding local family. Yeah, they’ll probably cut you some slack.” Loretta paused. “Of course, you could always get some hard-ass guard. No way of telling.”