Murder of a Small-Town Honey

by Denise Swanson

  There was a moment of silence, then the announcer’s voice said, “Our big story for today is an explosion in a passenger train at Union Station.”

  Skye was thinking, Nowhere is safe, when it hit her: Union Station. “Union” could mean that old railroad depot on Kinsman Road. It had been vacant for years.

  Without a second thought she went through the intersection at Basin, past Center Street, and turned left on Kinsman. Four blocks down, past the railroad tracks, on the left side, was the old terminal, a small clapboard building with peeling paint and broken windows.

  Skye took the flashlight from the glove compartment and slid out of the car. She left her purse inside, locked the door, and pocketed the keys. It was a bright night and the moon was almost full, so she didn’t switch on the light. Cautiously, she picked her way across the loose boards and up the rotting wooden steps.

  Because the door was off its hinges, she was able to shove it aside. She stepped into the room, turned on the flashlight, and played it over the interior. A dirty mattress with springs poking through the torn cover lay against one wall. Beer cans and wine bottles were scattered everywhere. An old oil lantern, melted candle stubs and empty matchbooks littered the floor.

  Short of carbon dating, there was no way to tell how long this debris had been here.

  Feeling discouraged, Skye was about to leave when it occurred to her. Honey liked to hide things. Maybe she hid something here.

  She looked over everything again and thought, It can’t be in something movable. Honey would have been afraid someone would carry it off unknowingly.

  Okay, the walls and floor look solid. What else is permanent?

  A counter that ran the length of the rear wall was the only other fixed feature in the room. Skye walked around it. It was open in the back. She pointed her flashlight inside but found nothing.

  She had already made her way back around the ledge and was almost out the door when she thought, I never looked up.

  Retracing her steps, she squatted down and shone the light on the underside of the counter. Nothing. Next, she reached up into the inverted crevice at the joining of the top and the front board.

  Duck-walking the length of the shelf, Skye trailed her fingers along the vee. In the furthest corner she felt something. By turning around and sitting inside the opening, she could see a manila envelope attached to the wood with gray duct tape.

  As Skye tore it down, she heard a cracking sound, as if one of the outside wooden steps had given way. Before coming from under the counter, she took her shirttail out of her pants and stuck the bulky envelope down the back waistband of her slacks. She blessed both elastic-waist pants and oversized blouses while she tucked her shirt back in.

  A police siren sounded in the distance as she crawled backwards. It was the last thing she heard before she felt her head explode and the world disappeared.

  I can sleep a few minutes more. My alarm hasn’t gone off yet. It smells as if Mom is burning the toast again, Skye thought as she stretched her hand out, encountering rough wood instead of a smooth sheet.

  Prying her eyes open, she squinted. Where was she and why did she have such a headache? Struggling to her knees, she saw that the room was full of smoke. Nausea welled up in her throat when she started to rise, so she crawled instead.

  Skye was nearly to the entrance when she realized the fire was stronger in that direction and the door was completely blocked by flames. Concentrating, she remembered a window in the center of the back wall, but she didn’t know if it was large enough to squeeze through.

  She dragged herself back. The smoke was so thick that she began coughing and gasping for air. Without standing up, she took off one loafer and tried to knock out the remaining shards of glass from the broken window. When she was sure the space was clear, she put her shoe back on and grasped the sill.

  Skye hauled herself up and rested her midriff on the window frame. Although she had never had much upper-body strength, and couldn’t complete even one chin-up, she somehow managed to squirm through the opening. Covering her head with her arms, she thrust herself outside with her feet.

  She fell the short distance to the grass and somersaulted to a stop. She felt the small of her back—the envelope was still there. She hoped that the person who had hit her in the head was gone, because she could go no farther.

  Skye was thoroughly sick of the back of Chief Boyd’s cruiser. She had already examined every inch of the floor, seat, and ceiling, and nothing had changed from her previous occupancy. Now she sat holding a cold pack to the back of her head and watching the Scumble River Volunteer Fire Department at work.

  The squad car was parked on the other side of Kinsman. Next to it was Skye’s car. A police officer had asked her for the keys and moved it after the fire trucks started to arrive.

  Roy Quirk had been on routine patrol when he’d spotted smoke coming from the railroad station. Driving past, he saw Skye’s Impala and radioed in the fire. He was walking around the building trying to see what had happened to the car’s owner when he’d heard Skye moaning.

  When the firefighters arrived, the paramedic examined Skye and said that although she appeared to be okay, she should go to the Laurel hospital to check for a possible concussion. She had refused.

  Her head was throbbing and she was considering the possibility of retrieving some Nuprin from her purse when Chief Boyd opened the cruiser’s door.

  He slid in next to her and shook his head. “Have you always attracted this much trouble or does it only happen when you’re in Scumble River?”

  Skye bristled but held her temper. “None of this is my fault. Do you think I hit myself in the head and then set the place on fire?”

  “No, but I do think you were sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.” He turned sideways on the seat and scrutinized her.

  She met his gaze without flinching. “If you would admit that even a small possibility exists that someone other than Vince might have killed Honey, I wouldn’t be forced into these situations.”

  “We’re not getting anywhere like this. Besides, I have orders to bring you to the police station right away. We’ll talk more there.” He got out of the back and into the front of the car.

  “Wait. Whose orders? How about my car? Am I under arrest?” Her questions became more panicky as Chief Boyd started the engine and pulled onto the road before answering.

  He looked at her in the rearview mirror. “Your mother, an officer will bring it to the station, and not quite yet.”

  “This is kidnapping, and I want my purse,” Skye grumbled.

  Reaching beside him, he lifted her tote bag up so it was visible. “You can have it back when we get there . . . after I’ve taken a look inside.”

  May was waiting for them in the doorway. Seeing Skye’s soot-streaked face and torn clothes, she turned on Chief Boyd. “Walter Boyd, why isn’t this girl in the hospital?”

  He raised his hands in mock surrender. “She refused to go, and you ordered me to bring her here.”

  “I’m okay, Mom. I just need a shower and a couple of Nuprin and I’ll be fine.”

  Reaching up, May ran her fingers over the back of Skye’s head. “Well, there’s hardly any lump.”

  “Can I go home now?” Skye asked tiredly.

  Chief Boyd patted her on the shoulder. “Why don’t you wash up a little and wait for me in my office? I want to talk to the fire chief and Roy before I let you go. I don’t suppose you saw who hit you?”

  Skye shook her head, which wasn’t a good idea since that made the throbbing intensify. Once inside the ladies’ room with the door safely locked, she took the envelope out from its hiding place and examined it. It was about six inches wide by nine inches long and had two bulges in the middle. She didn’t have time to open it, so she stuck it back into her waistband.

  Along with washing her face and smoothing her hair back into its barrette, Skye brushed off her clothing. A button had been ripped from her shirt and it now gaped open,
exposing her midriff. Her elbow peeked from the hole in her sleeve, and there was a large tear across the knee of her pants. She had no cuts, so her clothes must have protected her from the exposed glass and nails.

  When she finished, Skye went to the chief’s office. It was empty and dark. Flipping on the light, she looked around. His padded chair beckoned, and she sank wearily into its cushioned depths. She noticed that his middle drawer, the one with the lock, wasn’t closed all the way.

  Deciding to test it, Skye put her finger underneath and tugged. It came open with no resistance. A white business-size envelope lay on top of the pile. Its typed label showed it had been sent to Mrs. Walter Boyd at her home address. The return address was the Carle Clinic, a large medical facility in Urbana.

  Skye got up and looked out into the hall. There was no sign of the chief. Going back, she took the envelope out of the drawer, extracted the contents, and skimmed the pages quickly. It was a medical report concerning Darleen. The gist of it was that she was infertile due to a previous infection in her fallopian tubes, most probably caused by an untreated sexually transmitted disease.

  Where have I heard that before? she wondered. Wasn’t that what Simon said about Honey?

  Hearing footsteps in the corridor, Skye hastily stuffed the letter back into the envelope and the whole thing back into the drawer. She was sliding it shut as Chief Boyd entered. She leaned against the desk and tried to look nonchalant.

  The chief walked around her and sat in his chair. Skye glanced down and saw a white corner sticking out of the closed drawer. Following her eyes, he frowned and opened the drawer, pulling the envelope out.

  As his gaze went from Skye to the envelope, his voice became dangerously quiet. “Were you snooping?”

  Her face mirrored her contrition. “I’m sorry. It was an awful thing to do. I’m just so worried about Vince.”

  Chief Boyd sighed and sat back. “Did you read it all?”

  She nodded miserably.

  “Darleen is obsessed with having a baby,” he said, almost to himself. “Oh, sit down, before you fall down,” he said when he noticed Skye swaying.

  Gratefully, she sank into a chair. “I am sorry, Chief. Does this have anything to do with why she got upset when I brought up Honey Adair?”

  He tapped the edge of the report on his cheek. “Yeah. It seems Mike Young passed the disease to Darleen in high school before breaking up with her. From Honey’s autopsy it seems that he may have given it to her too.

  “She knew something was wrong back then but was too embarrassed to go to any doctor around here for treatment. The symptoms finally went away, and she forgot about it until a few years ago when we started trying to have a baby.

  “Darleen did some reading on infertility and was afraid this might be the cause. We got this report a couple of days ago, confirming it.”

  Skye didn’t know what to say so she repeated, “I’m so sorry for you both.”

  “Can you take Darleen off your list of suspects now? If she was going to kill anyone, it would be Mike Young. Besides, she was with a group of kids from her class when the murder took place. They were staking out a good spot to see the parade.”

  Though Skye was nodding her head, she couldn’t help but think, Then why was Honey blackmailing Darleen?

  CHAPTER 24

  Photographs and Memories

  Skye entered her bedroom just as the digital display on her clock radio turned to three A.M. She swallowed some Nuprins, stuffed a handful of ice into a dish towel, and flung herself across the bed. When her alarm woke her at six-thirty, she was lying in a pool of water and her head felt as if a giant had been using it for a soccer ball. She struggled to the bathroom and took some more pills.

  She decided to take a sick day and made the necessary calls. Before going back to sleep, she took the phone off the hook. When her doorbell started ringing, she tried to ignore it, but minutes later, her mother’s voice jarred her awake.

  “Yoo-hoo, Skye, are you here?”

  Skye pushed her hair out of her face and opened one eye. May stood in the bedroom doorway.

  “How did you get in?” Skye was groggy and had difficulty focusing her eyes.

  “Don’t you remember? You gave me a key when you moved in. Maybe you do have a concussion.” May came over and perched on the edge of the bed.

  Skye sank against her pillows and pulled the sheet over her head. “I knew that action was going to come back to haunt me. I told you it was only for emergencies. Like if I locked myself out or something.”

  “This is an emergency. You didn’t answer your phone, and they said you called in sick at school.”

  Skye sat up reluctantly. “Okay, you’re here. What’s up?”

  “I wanted to make sure you were all right.” May looked hurt. “After all, I have one child in jail and then one almost gets burned up . . .”

  Skye hugged her mother. “You’re right.” Knowing what would cheer May up, she added, “Want to fix me some breakfast?”

  May bounced from the bed. “Sure, what would you like? French toast, waffles, bacon and eggs? You name it.”

  “Tea and toast would be great. I don’t have the stuff to make all those other things.”

  “How about I go and get you some groceries?”

  “No, thanks. I’ll just take a nice hot shower, and you can get my tea and toast ready. Okay?” Skye headed for the bathroom.

  Twenty minutes later, she emerged, wrapped in her robe, to find her mother sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee. Skye’s Earl Grey was in her favorite cup, two packages of Sweet ’N Low placed beside it. A plate with toast had been set next to her tea. The butter dish and a jar of marmalade were also on the table.

  “Wow, this is service. Thanks, Mom.”

  Her voice catching, May smiled angelically. “I could do this for you every day if you moved home.”

  Skye picked up her cup and drank without replying. Instead, she told May what she’d found out so far and what had happened last night, leaving out the part about finding the envelope. May was thrilled that Simon had been added to their ranks of investigators.

  “Who brought you the yellow roses?” May looked at Skye as if her prize heifer had just won a blue ribbon at the county fair.

  “Simon.”

  “Do you like him?” May started putting the breakfast things away.

  “Yes,” Skye admitted, taking a last sip of tea before her mother whisked the cup from her hand. “But we’ve only had one date.”

  “When are you going to see him again?” May asked, zeroing in on the important issue.

  “Probably tonight.” Skye stretched and yawned. “I guess I’ll get dressed.”

  “What do you mean, probably?” May seemed to see that blue ribbon disappearing in the breeze.

  “We’ve got a date, but I’m not sure if I’ll feel up to it.”

  “It would make you feel better to have some nice company, I’ll bet.”

  “I should go see Vince again,” Skye said, teasing her mother.

  “Abby is going tonight, and Dad and I are going after lunch.”

  “Well, if I can get some rest this afternoon I’ll probably feel more like seeing Simon.”

  May got the hint. “I’ll clean up here and let myself out. Why don’t you go back to bed?”

  “That’s a good idea, Mom. Thanks for taking care of me.”

  As soon as May left, Skye hopped out of bed and grabbed the envelope she’d found the night before. She carefully bent the metal clips into an upright position and eased her fingernail file under the flap.

  It opened with minimal tearing. She emptied the contents on the bed. Two small reels of home movie film and a dozen negatives landed on the blanket. Skye picked up one of the negatives. Each had four or five pictures in a horizontal strip.

  She switched on her bedside lamp and held the negative up to the light. After turning it several times and trying to look at it from the opposite side, she still couldn’t tell who the people
were, but she could see that they were definitely in the throes of some sort of passion. She examined all the negatives carefully and was pretty sure the man was the same in all the pictures. His partner appeared to be different in each one, although whenever a third person was involved she seemed to be the same person.

  The reels of movie film proved even more difficult to decipher. Skye thought the film might be eight-millimeter or super eight, whatever the stuff was they used before VCRs became common.

  When the phone rang, she was trying to figure out who would know about that sort of thing.

  Simon’s voice washed over her when she picked up the receiver. “Hi, are you okay? I just heard about your adventure last night.”

  “My head still hurts and I’m a little sore, but otherwise I’m fine.”

  “When I tried calling you at school, they said you were out sick.”

  Skye pushed the mess on her bed aside and curled up with her back against the pillows. “After last night I wasn’t up to crazy kids and demented parents.”

  “Why did you go investigating without me? I thought we were a team.” Simon’s tone was only half kidding.

  “I went to visit Vince in jail last night. After I talked to him I had a hunch.”

  “So, did you find anything?”

  Skye took the nail file she’d discarded earlier and ran it across her thumb. “Yes. I wonder if I interrupted someone else searching the station or what?”

  “What did you find?”

  “I think it would be better if you saw it rather than if I tried to explain it.” Skye put everything back into its envelope.

  “Okay. How about if I come over now?”

  “Ah, why don’t you give me an hour to . . . ah . . . do a few chores?” Skye stalled, realizing her hair was a mess and she didn’t have any makeup on.

  “All right, but make sure your doors and windows are locked. That person who conked you on the head and set the fire didn’t just happen to be there. He must have been following you.”

  Skye rushed around straightening up the cottage, doing her hair and face, and finding something suitable to wear. It was a tough choice, considering what an odd second date this was.