“Nah.” He gave a quick shake of his head and then mumbled, “Your Crock-Pot.”
Jed’s steel-gray crew cut was hidden by a plaid cap with the earflaps folded up. His brown Carhartt jacket was open, revealing a blue flannel shirt, and his hands were bare. No farmer ever buttoned a coat or put on a pair of gloves until the mercury stayed below the zero mark on the barn thermometer for at least a week.
“Mom was worried about my slow cooker?” Skye asked. Even for May that was a bit much. “What? Did she think we wouldn’t eat without it?”
“You ran off so lickety-split yesterday, Ma thought something might be wrong.”
Jed’s faded brown eyes squinted as he gazed out the windshield. Only citified wimps wore sunglasses. His face was tanned and leathery. It looked as if he should be out in the summer heat, not driving around in the snow.
Skye chuckled. “Tell Mom we’re all fine. You know the older I get, the earlier it gets late.” She tightened the red wool scarf she had wound around her throat and adjusted her earmuffs. “And I wanted to get home before the roads got any worse.”
“I figured that was it, but you know your ma. That woman’s a champion worrier.” Jed pushed Chocolate aside and handed Skye her Crock-Pot, then before cranking up his window, he said, “Stay warm.”
As she watched her dad leave, Skye muttered, “I’ll try, but twenty-eight degrees is too dang cold for November.” Instead of climbing back up the RV’s slick steps, she put the slow cooker on the floor in front of the Mercedes’s rear seat, slid behind the wheel, and said to herself, “If this keeps up, we’ll be frozen by Christmas and living in igloos by the time spring rolls around.”
Instead of turning on the radio, Skye drove in silence past the ice-encased trees and snow-covered fields. It was nice to have some time to herself with nothing but the sound of the SUV’s tires rolling over the blacktop.
A few hardy souls were out sprinkling their driveways and sidewalks with salt, but most of the houses were surrounded by pristine white yards untouched by man or beast.
As she turned toward the police station, Skye glanced at the downtown area. There wasn’t a single car parked along Basin Street. Evidently there was no Black Friday open-at-dawn nonsense for the Scumble River stores.
To Skye’s right, the spire of St. Francis Catholic Church seemed to float above the commercial buildings, sparkling as if dusted with powdered sugar. Listening closely, she could hear the bells calling the faithful to the daily morning mass.
Skye turned into the PD’s parking lot, and when she drove near the front of the station, she saw Wally jogging out of the building. He gestured for her to pull up to the curb, and when she complied, he opened the rear door and threw a backpack with evidence collection kit stenciled across it into the back, then hopped into the passenger seat.
As he buckled up, he said, “Beilin called a few minutes ago and asked that we not arrive in a squad car. It seems Jenna refused to stay with his folks. Her cousins have her scared to death that the cops will arrest her for killing her mother.”
“But she was at school during the TOD.” Skye wrinkled her brow, trying to come up with a likely scenario where a five-year-old committed matricide. “What the heck did they say to her?”
“No idea.” Wally shrugged. “But Beilin mentioned that the cousins in question are teenagers, so the possibilities are endless.”
Skye was about to question Wally further when a snowplow rumbled past them in the opposite lane and Wally said something under his breath.
“What?” Skye shot him a questioning glance before turning her gaze back to the road.
“Plowing is a waste of city money,” Wally grumbled. “We only got a couple of inches and all the plow does is make the road slipperier.”
“Isn’t it laying down salt?” Skye squinted into the rearview mirror.
Wally shook his head. “Nope. The only reason that snowplow is even out is that Hizzoner wants everyone to see their tax dollars working. You know, he barely won the election a couple of weeks ago. And that was with only a write-in candidate opposing him.”
“Really?” Skye knew Dante had won, but not that it had been so close.
As Skye guided the SUV onto the Quinns’ street and slowed in front of their house, Wally said, “Park in the cul-de-sac at the end.”
“Why not at Beilin’s?” she asked, but complied with his directive.
“Another one of Beilin’s requests,” Wally said as he slid out of the SUV and grabbed the evidence collection kit from the back of the car before jogging around the Mercedes to open Skye’s door. “Even though we aren’t in a marked car, he doesn’t want us to park in his driveway.”
Wally held Skye’s elbow as they hiked the two blocks to the Quinn residence. Once they had safely navigated the icy front steps, he rang the bell and waited. There was no answer and he rang it again, then once more.
When there was still no response, Wally snarled, “Golldang it! If Beilin’s made a run for it—”
“Wait.” Skye pointed to a note taped to the window. She retrieved the paper, scanned it, and said, “According to this, the door’s unlocked. Beilin and Jenna are waiting in the playhouse and he wants us to text him if we have any questions. He’d also like us to let him know when we leave so they can return to the house.”
“Seriously?” Wally shook his head. “Beilin’s demands are starting to tick me off.”
Skye didn’t respond to Wally’s comment. She could understand his frustration, but also could see Beilin’s point of view. He was trying to protect his child from a truly awful situation.
As she and Wally entered the home, Skye asked, “Won’t Beilin and Jenna be cold out in the playhouse?”
“Nah,” Wally answered absently as he scanned the foyer. “It has gas, electric, and running water. They spared no expense for that child.”
“Oh.” Skye sincerely hoped that Carson wouldn’t try to spoil the twins with a similar model. Then when Wally didn’t move, she asked, “What exactly are we looking for?”
“Any kind of notes or letters that might explain why Jerita thought moving here would protect Jenna from whatever she feared in Chicago.”
“Okay.” Skye glanced around the open-concept house. From the foyer area, it was one huge room. A kitchen occupied a third of the space and the rest was furnished with couches, chairs, and occasional tables. One end held a huge stone fireplace with bookcases on either side. “I’ll start by going through the books. Lots of people stick things between the pages.”
“I’ll search the bedrooms.” Wally handed Skye several evidence bags. “Put anything you find in these.”
“Gotcha.” Skye headed toward the shelves. Over her shoulder she asked, “How many bedrooms are there? Oh. And should I search the kitchen?”
“Three, plus two offices.” Wally stepped into a hallway, but his voice floated behind him. “And yes, when you finish with the great room, see if there’s anything in the kitchen or the powder room.”
Skye put on a pair of plastic gloves, then spent the next hour picking up books, holding them open, and shaking them. She thanked her lucky stars that neither of the Quinns appeared to be big readers and the shelves were far from crowded.
When she finally reached the last volume on the bottom shelf, she saw that there was a cabinet underneath and opened the door. Inside was a stack of albums.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Skye pulled the top album onto her lap. As she flipped through its vinyl sleeves, she noticed that there were random pockets throughout the scrapbook that were empty. Examining them closer, Skye saw that several of the plastic pages had been ripped from the binding, then repaired with clear tape and replaced.
Of the seven albums, two were devoted to Jerita and Beilin’s wedding and their honeymoon. However, the five remaining books represented each year of Jenna’s life. And those were the one
s with missing pictures.
Getting to her feet, Skye went in search of Wally. She found him in what she guessed was Jerita’s office. Although there was nothing on the screen, he was staring at the desktop computer’s monitor as if in a daze.
“Wally,” Skye called to him from the doorway, unwilling to startle a man with a gun. “Beilin said they’d been vandalized, right?”
Turning toward her, he blinked, then said, “Yes. I believe he told me it happened a few weeks ago.”
“Did he say what had been damaged?”
“No.” Wally stepped closer to her. “Why?”
Skye held up one of the albums that was labeled Jenna Age One. “There are missing pictures in five scrapbooks and some of the pages look as if they were torn from the album. I just wondered if these were the items that were damaged when their house was broken into.”
“I’ll text him and ask.” Wally unhooked his cell phone from his belt.
While Wally tapped in Skye’s question, she gazed around the small office. Jerita’s paralegal certificate hung on the wall alongside several other credentials. It seemed that she was also a licensed esthetician and travel agent.
As they waited for Beilin’s answer, Skye walked around the room. A pile of empty frames with smashed glass were stacked on top of a filing cabinet. Frowning, she took a quick tour of the rest of the house.
Several exposed hooks were scattered among the master bedroom and the great room walls. Skye bit her lip. What was with all the absent pictures?
Wally’s phone chirped and he read the text to Skye, “Albums were torn up and framed photos were smashed. Snapshots were missing.”
“I wonder what that means,” Skye murmured softly, then looked at Wally. “It has to have something to do with why they moved here.”
Wally was busy tapping the screen of his cell and explained, “I’m asking for details about the missing pictures.”
Skye joined Wally at the computer and peered at the monitor. Although she could hear a whirring sound, nothing seemed to be happening.
“Why isn’t it turning on?” Skye asked. Her grasp of how computers worked was weak at best, but she knew something should be on the screen. “Shouldn’t there be a twirling hourglass thingy to tell you it’s loading or booting or…”
“I have no idea.” Wally frowned, then said, “I’ll have to get it over to the crime lab and have the techs take a look at it.”
Wally’s cell cheeped again and he read out loud, “The pictures were all of Jenna. Just her alone. The ones with Jerita and Beilin weren’t touched.”
“Hmm. That’s got to mean something.” Skye tapped her fingertips on the computer tower, then jerked them away and warned, “Maybe you better turn this thing off. It’s getting really hot.”
Wally leaned forward, sniffed, and quickly pressed the Off button. The evidence collecting kit was on the desk chair and he dug through it. After a second, he plucked a small flashlight from its depths, switched it on, and shined it into the tower’s vents.
“Do you see anything?” Skye asked.
“I think so.” Wally quickly unplugged the computer from the electrical outlet, then disconnected all the cables running from the tower and the monitor.
After taking a multipurpose tool from his utility belt, Wally used its tiny screwdriver to remove the tower’s hard plastic casing. A few minutes later he slid it up and Skye’s mouth dropped open when she looked over his shoulder and saw what was there.
A folded sheaf of papers had been stuffed on top of the fan. The pages had a blue backing just like every legal document Skye had ever seen.
Wally put on the pair of gloves he’d discarded while he’d worked on removing the casing, then carefully lifted up the pages and placed them on the desktop. Once they were flattened, he began to flip through them.
Skye crowded next to him and gasped. It was a surrogacy contract.
Wally huffed out a surprised breath. “Well, that explains the autopsy results.”
“What do you mean?” Skye asked without looking up from the document.
“This morning, just before you got to the station, I was rereading Doris Ann’s final report and saw something that I hadn’t noticed before. It stated that Jerita had never given birth. I thought it was an error and intended to phone the doc after we finished here and ask her to reexamine the vic.”
“Hmm. Let me see something.” The contract’s fine print was difficult to make out and Skye had to squint. “Look at the name of the surrogate.”
Wally leaned closer and read, “Kristina Ficher Hovery. So what?”
“Isn’t Edie Baker’s caretaker named Krissy Ficher?” Skye asked. Then when Wally didn’t react, she said, “As in Kristina.”
“Sh…shoot!” He continued to read, then said, “According to the contract, the surrogate must be married and have already had a successful pregnancy. Romano Hovery signed in the spot designated for the surrogate’s husband.”
Skye had continued to flip the pages of the contract and froze when she saw a section highlighted in bright yellow. Pointing to it she read out loud, “Upon the birth of the child, the surrogate and her husband shall immediately relinquish full custody of the child to the intended parents. In addition, it is the specific intent of each and every party to this agreement that the surrogate and her husband shall not have any legal rights toward the child and that neither party is the legal parent of any child conceived and born pursuant to the conduct contemplated by this agreement. Any child born pursuant to the conduct contemplated by this agreement shall be morally, ethically, legally, contractually, and otherwise the child of the intended parents for all purposes.”
“If the surrogate tried to get the child back, that would explain why Jerita was anxious to get Jenna out of Chicago. She might have thought that the woman wouldn’t find them here.”
Wally tapped his cell phone screen, then said, “There’s an obituary for a Romano Hovery that states he died nine months ago and his wife is listed as Kristina Ficher Hovery. But there’s no mention of a son or daughter. Of course, Krissy could have lied about having had a successful prior pregnancy.”
“Oh my gosh! I’ll bet when her husband died, Krissy went looking for her child.” Skye covered her mouth. “Remember what Edie told us Krissy said to her?” When Wally shook his head, Skye reminded him. “Edie said that Krissy told her that everyone deserved to be with the people they loved, and not just who they were stuck with because they made one bad choice.”
“So if Jerita refused to allow Krissy to take Jenna, Krissy might feel justified in killing the woman keeping her from her daughter.”
Chapter 24
Won’t Go Home Without You
Skye and Wally just stared at each other for a couple of seconds before Skye finally asked, “Do you think Beilin knew about Krissy?”
Wally raised an eyebrow and gave her an Are you seriously asking that? look.
Skye blew him a raspberry and said, “I didn’t mean about the surrogacy. Of course he knew about that. I meant did he know that Krissy was in Scumble River? And if what we think happened really happened, did Beilin know Krissy was trying to get Jenna back?”
“It’s possible he didn’t.” Wally pursed his lips. “I’m thinking that Jerita could have taken the surrogacy contract from their safety deposit box to show Krissy that she had no legal rights, then hidden it in the computer until she could return it. But why keep it a secret from her husband?”
“Because he might have allowed Krissy to be a part of their lives?” Skye guessed. “It wasn’t the same for him as it was for Jerita. There wasn’t another man saying he was Jenna’s father, but Krissy would certainly be trying to claim the role of Jenna’s mother.”
“I just texted Beilin to come in here.” Wally crossed his arms. “It’s time he answered all our questions honestly and in person.”
They waited several minutes, but Beilin didn’t respond. With each passing second, Skye could see Wally getting angrier and angrier.
Finally she said, “I’ll just go outside and get him. Jenna has seen me at school with Piper, so I shouldn’t scare her.”
“Fine.” Wally followed Skye to the French doors leading from the kitchen out to the deck. “But if he’s not in here in five minutes, I’m coming out there and arresting him for obstruction.”
Skye nodded her understanding, stripped off the plastic gloves she’d been wearing, shoved them in her pocket, and headed out toward the playhouse. Making her way through the gate, she walked up to the cute little door with the heart-shaped window and knocked. When there was no answer, she stepped inside.
She hadn’t realized the playhouse was so large. Not only could she stand upright, it appeared to have two or maybe three rooms. The one she was in at the moment was furnished like a parlor. There was a child-sized sofa with a coffee table set for a tea party. On the table were two cups: a small one that still held a bit of chocolate milk and a larger one with a moist film on the bottom.
Calling Beilin’s name, Skye followed a narrow hallway toward the rear of the structure. Suddenly a shiver ran up her spine. Something didn’t feel right. It was too quiet. Even if Beilin wanted to protect Jenna, he should have responded to Skye’s shouts.
Before she could turn to leave, a woman stepped in front of Skye. The woman held a softly snoring Jenna draped over her shoulder and a gun in her free hand.
She scowled at Skye and demanded, “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’m…I’m…” Skye tried to come up with an answer that wouldn’t get her killed, but her mind refused to cooperate. Although she had never seen the woman before, Skye was certain the woman was Krissy Ficher.
“You’re what?” Krissy walked around Skye, blocking her exit.
Come Homicide or High Water Page 23
