Also by Denise Swanson
Welcome Back to Scumble River
Dead in the Water
Die Me a River
Chef-to-Go Mysteries
Tart of Darkness
Leave No Scone Unturned
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Books. Change. Lives.
Copyright © 2020 by Denise Stybr
Cover and internal design © 2020 by Sourcebooks
Cover design by Adrienne Krogh/Sourcebooks
Cover image © Traci Daberko/Rapp Artist
Sourcebooks, Poisoned Pen Press, and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.
Published by Poisoned Pen Press, an imprint of Sourcebooks
P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410
(630) 961-3900
sourcebooks.com
Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
About the Author
Back Cover
Chapter 1
I’ll Be Home for Christmas
Monday morning, school psychologist Skye Denison-Boyd stood on the small metal porch in front of the RV she had been living in with her husband, Wally, and their twins, CJ and Eva, since a tornado destroyed their house last June. No matter how hard she stared across their property at the construction site near the river, there was no sign of the silver pickup that belonged to their general contractor, Beilin Quinn.
Sighing, Skye stepped back inside the motor home and took a quick peek at the babies, who were napping in their bassinets. They were getting so big that they would need to move to a crib soon, but there wasn’t room for two in the RV’s small master bedroom.
Their new house was supposed to be finished the Friday before Christmas, but the holiday was only a bit more than five weeks away, and their general contractor kept making excuses. First, it was the building inspector who didn’t show up, then it was the well guy, and finally Beilin claimed that he and his wife were fighting over their daughter’s education and he couldn’t concentrate.
While Skye was sympathetic, by the time Beilin called with his latest excuse—the painter had mixed the wrong color—her inner psychologist turned off, and she wasn’t listening anymore. In truth, by then, all she wanted was to get the GC off the phone, find the nearest cookie jar, and drown her sorrows.
She was ready to kidnap any stray inspectors, use whatever shade of paint was available, and, if necessary, start couples counseling with Beilin and his spouse. To say spending the holidays in an RV with three-month-old twins would be a challenge was like declaring that the Scumble River was a little wet.
The thought of trying to celebrate the babies’ first Christmas in such crowded conditions was enough to make her cry. But what she really dreaded was the holiday’s aftermath. Between May, Skye’s grandchild-obsessed mother, and Carson, Wally’s über-rich father, there were sure to be more packages under the tree for the twins than snowflakes on the ground. And the meteorologists were all predicting a very white December 25.
Frowning, Skye looked outside one more time and groaned. Still no sign of Beilin. You would think that if he and his wife were fighting, he’d want to get out of his own house and work on Skye and Wally’s. She just hoped he wasn’t in a bar somewhere drowning his sorrows.
Skye was reaching for her phone to text the missing contractor when she felt it buzz in the pocket of her jeans. She dug it out and slid her finger across the picture of her handsome husband’s face.
Instead of a greeting, she blurted out, “He’s not at the house.”
Her voice held a hint of hysteria, and Bingo, their enormous black cat, hopped off the windowsill and streaked under the couch.
“Beilin didn’t show?” Wally’s baritone went up a notch. “Again?”
“Nope.” Skye sucked in a deep breath to stop herself from whining. “And it’s past ten. He promised he’d be here first thing in the morning to get the kitchen ready for the cabinet guy.”
“Son of a bi…bishop!” Wally corrected and Skye snickered. They were both trying to stop swearing before the twins started talking, but it was a lot harder for Wally. “I’ll get ahold of Beilin. Or since he was my father’s suggestion, maybe I’ll let Dad deal with him.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Skye grinned. “Remind your dad that he can only buy CJ and Eva one Christmas gift each if we’re still living in the RV.” That would make Carson light a fire under Beilin’s butt for sure.
“Okay. Back to the reason I called.” Wally’s tone was brisk. “Are you still planning to take the twins over to your mother’s today for her to watch?”
“Yes,” Skye answered, puzzled that Wally would telephone her about that. “I promised Piper that I’d come by the school to give her a hand with a parent meeting scheduled for one o’clock, so I told Mom that I’d drop the babies off at her house around noon.”
Officially, Skye still had six weeks left of maternity leave. She wasn’t due back at school until January 2, when classes resumed after winter break. However, because her psych intern, Piper Townsend, wasn’t getting as much help or supervision from the special education cooperative’s psychologist as he’d promised them, Skye felt bad for the poor woman.
While Skye was gone, the co-op had agreed to provide eighty hours a month of psych services to the Scumble River school district. It was supposed to include intern supervision as well as other duties, but after the first month, the man assigned to them rarely made an appearance, which left Piper attempting to handle the whole load by herself.
And sadly, a rural community in central Illinois had about as much chance of finding a substitute school psych as it did of being fully funded by the state or federal government. Which meant that Skye
’s conscience had her going in a few half days a week to rescue her intern from drowning in referrals and meetings.
“Do you think May would be available to babysit any earlier?” Wally asked. “Like, say, in a couple of hours? Or even less if at all possible.”
“Probably.” Skye took another peek at the babies and saw they were waking up. They’d be ready to eat soon. “What do you need?”
“I’d like you to come with me to talk to the husband of a missing woman.”
Wally was the chief of police in Scumble River, and as well as working full-time as a school psychologist, Skye also served as a psychological consultant to his department. That might make Wally her boss at the PD, but he was too smart ever to try to order her around at home.
“Anyone I know?” Dread settled like a concrete blanket over Skye’s heart.
Scumble River was a small town, just a shade over three thousand, and she was at least acquainted with most of them. Heck, she was related to half of its citizens. Then there were the people she knew from her work at the elementary, middle, and high schools and from attending church.
“I don’t think so.” Wally rustled some papers, then said, “Her name is Edie Baker. She and her husband live in Bord du Lac. They moved down here from Chicago about six years ago when Mr. Baker retired.”
“Oh,” Skye said. “You’re probably right. Unless they have kids in my schools or go to St. Francis, I probably haven’t run into them.”
Scumble River was a bit cliquish. It took more than half a dozen years to be accepted as anything but “the new people” and be invited to any weddings or parties thrown by the original town citizens. Then there was the matter of the Bakers’ address.
Bord du Lac had been built as a resort village that offered weekend and vacation cottages on the river. That was until some smart attorney discovered a loophole, and people, especially retirees, had begun to live in the holiday community full-time.
They added close to a thousand people who, while not in the city limits proper, were in the police, fire, ambulance, and school districts. Skye didn’t understand exactly how it happened, but they paid less in taxes than those living in town, and there was some unrest about their water usage as well. There had been a feud and lawsuits between the Scumble Riverites and the newcomers ever since.
“So when do you think you can get to the police station?” Wally broke into Skye’s musings. “I’d really like to get out there pronto.”
“I’ll call Mom, get CJ and Eva dressed and fed, then head out ASAP.” Skye was already packing the babies’ diaper bags. “How long has Mrs. Baker been missing?”
“The husband’s not sure.” Wally sighed. “They went to bed last night after the ten o’clock news—they have separate rooms—and she was gone when he called her to breakfast about eight thirty. He spent some time looking for her and called here a few minutes ago.”
“I thought someone had to be missing twenty-four hours before the police got involved.” Skye wedged her cell phone between her ear and shoulder as she swiftly changed Eva before moving on to CJ.
“It’s at the discretion of the law enforcement agency. In Scumble River when the missing person is under age sixteen or has mental health issues, we start the search immediately,” Wally explained. “And Mrs. Baker has the beginnings of dementia.”
“Oh no,” Skye gasped. “Okay. Let me call Mom, and if she isn’t available, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, I should be at the station in about an hour.”
“Great.” Wally paused, then asked, “When do we start interviewing nannies again?”
“The Wednesday after Thanksgiving. Remember we agreed to wait until after the holiday,” Skye said patiently, having answered that question what seemed like a million times already.
The previous nanny had only been working for them a couple of weeks when she handed in her notice. She’d said that between May’s constant advice and Carson’s security cameras, she didn’t feel trusted to do her job.
“Have you had a chance to go over their résumés?”
“Yes. I told you we’re only talking to the ones that I liked.” Skye kept her tone light even though she was getting tired of repeating herself. “We don’t really need a nanny until I return to school.”
“Right. I…” Wally trailed off.
Wally had confided in Skye that he was worried about her wearing herself out. His ears had reddened when he’d added that he missed their time as a couple too. She wanted that as well, but finding the right nanny wasn’t easy.
Making sure she didn’t sound impatient, Skye said, “I’ve got to get going. See you soon. Love you.”
“Love you too. Bye.” Wally disconnected.
Having finished with diaper duty, Skye put on black dress pants and a geometric print tunic, then called her mother, who was overjoyed to get her hands on CJ and Eva for longer than expected.
After Skye thanked her mom and hung up, she hurriedly fed the twins. Once they were burped and warmly dressed, she put on her coat, placed a diaper bag over each shoulder, and snuggled a baby in each arm. Opening and closing the door was tricky, but by now she was a pro.
Carefully walking down the metal steps, Skye smiled as she took in the shiny Mercedes SUV sitting before her. Skye’s old Bel Air and Wally’s Thunderbird had been totaled during the tornado when the garage collapsed under the impact of a blown-down tree. However, Wally had already ordered the new car for her as a surprise thank-you-for-having-my-babies gift, so they’d only been without transportation for a few days.
Once she reached the Mercedes, Skye began the task of getting the twins buckled into the SUV. She and Wally had selected a travel system that was both a double stroller and car seats. Thankfully, the seats were already in place and the frame was in the rear of the SUV so she didn’t have to monkey with them.
With the babies settled into the back of the car, each playing with spinning rattles, Skye tossed their gear onto the passenger seat, slid behind the wheel, and headed toward her parents’ place. Her parents lived a few miles outside of town. Their house was a sprawling redbrick ranch built on an acre of land carved from one of the fields that her father, Jed, farmed.
Her folks took great pride in their property. Jed kept the outside in pristine condition and May made sure that the inside was immaculate. As Skye pulled into the white pea gravel driveway, she noted that the autumn decorations were out in full force. They would be completely replaced with Christmas paraphernalia by noon the Friday after Thanksgiving, but for now the colored leaf wreath, hay bales, cornstalks, and pumpkins shone in the fall sunlight.
The SUV had barely rolled to a stop when May appeared at the Mercedes’s back door. By the time Skye grabbed the diaper bags, May had a twin in each arm and had returned to the house.
Skye strolled down the sidewalk, stopping to stare at her mother’s concrete goose. Often, the cement fowl’s costume was a good indication of whatever May was plotting. However, today, the bird was decked out as a pilgrim and Skye blew out a relieved breath.
May had been laying low since the extravagant baby shower she’d thrown for the twins. Skye crossed her fingers that the upcoming holidays would keep her mother occupied and out of her kids’ business through January.
Entering the familiar utility room, Skye stepped out of her black pumps before proceeding. May had already removed the twins’ jackets and had CJ in the swing. She was settling Eva in the bouncer as Skye entered the kitchen.
May had immediately purchased her own set of baby equipment when Skye’s brother, Vince, had presented her with April, her first grandchild. She had added another set to her collection when the twins arrived.
Once Eva was safely buckled in place, May turned to Skye and asked, “Did the parent meeting get moved up to an earlier time?”
“No.” Skye leaned a hip against the counter. “Wally needs me at the police station.”
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At sixty-three, May had the energy of a twenty-five-year-old. In addition to keeping her house immaculate, she exercised at a nearby community’s fitness center three times a week and worked the afternoon shift at the PD as a police, fire, and emergency dispatcher. Wally was technically her boss, too, but as she had told Skye more than once, mother-in-law always trumps superior officer.
May’s biggest fault was her tendency to meddle, and with both Skye and her brother Vince married and having children, her interference had only gotten worse. Between Skye’s twins and Vince’s wife Loretta ready to have a second baby any minute, May was in heaven.
“What’s up?” May wrinkled her brow. “I haven’t heard anything on the scanner.”
Many Scumble River citizens had their own personal police scanners and May’s was a top-of-the-line model. She never turned it off and listened to it every waking hour, determined not to miss any juicy tidbit of gossip.
“A woman from Bord du Lac is missing and Wally wants me to interview the husband.” Skye glanced at the kitchen clock. “So I need to scoot.”
“Those people out there are always sucking up our public services.” May tsked, and her short salt-and-pepper waves seemed to bristle with her displeasure.
Trying to change the subject, Skye said, “Your hair looks really nice. Did Vince just cut it?”
“I had the first appointment at his salon.” May frowned. “And would you believe that when the next woman canceled, your brother suggested that I let him dye my hair?” Before Skye could comment, her mother added, “I told him that I don’t have strands of gray. I have wisdom highlights.” May crossed her arms. “That shut him up.”
Skye smiled in approval. “Good one, Mom.”
With the exception of her hair, Vince could do no wrong where their mother was concerned. It was good to hear that for once he was in the doghouse instead of Skye.
“She probably had a fight with her husband and went shopping.”
“What?” Skye couldn’t always follow her mother’s leaps in conversation.
“The Bord du Lac woman.”
Come Homicide or High Water Page 1
