Murder of a Stacked Librarian (19 page)

Trixie interrupted Skye’s thoughts by poking her in the shoulder and said, “Owen’s family drove me freaking crazy this year. I’m not big on Christmas anyway—I mean, basically it’s sitting in front of a dead tree eating candy out of your socks.”

Frannie snickered.

“You owe me big-time for making Owen and me postpone our trip until after your big day,” Trixie informed Skye. “I could have been in the Caribbean for the holidays instead of in the middle of an Indiana cornfield with people who think underwear and towels are fun gifts.”

Trixie’s husband, Owen, had surprised her with a Christmas-week cruise, but he’d agreed to rebook it for the week after so Trixie wouldn’t miss Skye’s wedding. At the time, Trixie had been happy to delay her vacation. Apparently, after spending several days with her in-laws, she’d had second thoughts.

“Sorry you had such a bad holiday,” Skye said. “But it wasn’t much fun around here either.” She explained about the murder and the investigation, concluding with, “Wally missed Christmas Eve and has been preoccupied with the case ever since.” Realizing how bad that sounded, she added, “Not that I don’t understand that a murder preempts everything, but it has been a little hard doing all the stuff for the wedding by myself.”

“You poor thing.” Trixie hugged Skye again and whispered into her ear, “You’re always so independent, it never occurred to me, but this is really an emotional roller coaster for you, isn’t it, sweetie?”

“More than I ever expected.” Skye sniffed. “Getting married changes so much.”

“I’m sorry.” Frannie put her arm around Skye’s shoulder. “I should have been helping you since I got home from school instead of being so selfish and spending the time with Justin.”

“That’s okay.” Skye shook her head. “It’s not so bad getting all the little details and arrangements done; it’s just dealing with the mood swings that I hate.”

“Well, we’re here now.” Trixie stepped back and took Skye’s hand. “You can tell us all about it while we get to work on those favors.”

“Right this way.” Skye beamed at her friends. She felt better already.

The three of them dove into making the 390 hot cocoa giveaways. As Skye filled disposable, cone-shaped cake decorating bags with instant hot chocolate mix, she poured out her heart to her friends. She rarely talked about her feelings. Most of the time hers was the shoulder everyone cried on, and it felt good to let go and talk about what had been running through her mind for the past week. She told them about all her doubts and fears.

Trixie and Frannie listened and made sympathetic noises, but didn’t comment on anything until Skye said, “It’s just that I suddenly realized that with Wally being the chief of police, I’ll never be able to count on him for the holidays or any of the special occasions in our lives. His job will always have to come first.”

“Right.” Trixie tied a red ribbon around one of the sheer plastic bags where the chocolate mix ended, leaving room to add the next ingredient. “But a lot of the time you’ll be working with him on the investigations.”

“True.” Skye’s teeth caught her lower lip and worried it for a moment before she said, “And one of the things that I love about him is what he stands for, that he always tries to do the right thing.” She frowned, then added, “At least almost always.”

“Almost?” Frannie asked as she began scooping a quarter cup of miniature marshmallows into each bag and securing the second bow. “Is there something you haven’t told us?”

“Well.” Skye debated, admitting her jealousy. “Maybe one little thing.”

“Oh?” Frannie and Trixie said in unison, both raising their brows. “What’s that?”

“It’s not a what.” Skye passed the last of the bags with the hot chocolate mix to Trixie, then began fastening the completed bags with the third red ribbon, this one with a heart-shaped tag attached that read: OUR WARMEST THANKS, SKYE & WALLY. “It’s a who.”

“That sounds bad.” There was a worried look in Frannie’s brown eyes.

“Yes, it does.” Trixie thrust out her pixielike chin and demanded, “Spill.”

“Her name is Emerald, aka Emmy Jones, and she’s an instructor at my aunt Olive’s dance studio.” Skye wrinkled her nose. “She’s also the daughter of a friend of Bunny’s and is living with her above the bowling alley.”

“Uh-oh.” Frannie shook her head. “What has Miss Bunny done now?”

“Not Bunny; it’s Wally and Simon.”

“Oh?” Trixie’s voice held more than a hint of curiosity.

Skye started to explain about Wally knowing the dancer from his gun club, but Frannie interrupted, “I didn’t know Wally liked to shoot.”

“Duh.” Trixie sniggered. “Of course he likes to shoot. He’s the chief of police and he was born and raised in Texas. What do you think his hobby would be? Collecting stamps?”

“Anyway,” Skye said, steering the conversation back to what she’d been saying. When she was finished, she summed it all up with, “So apparently Emmy and Wally have developed quite a friendship.”

Trixie said, “And you’re jealous?”

“Not really,” Skye protested, then admitted, “Maybe a little, but I trust Wally. I know he’d never cheat. I’m just hurt that he didn’t tell me about her. Why would he keep that a secret?”

“He didn’t. Guys just don’t always think to share stuff like that.” Trixie tossed her head. “Get used to it.”

“Yeah.” The furrows in Skye’s forehead smoothed out. “You’re right. Any other time, I don’t think it would have upset me. My hormones seem all out of whack.”

“Maybe you have bridal PMS.” Frannie giggled.

“Maybe.” Skye’s shoulder’s drooped. “But something else feels wrong.” She told them about the kiss she’d witnessed between Emmy and Simon at the fitness center.

“But that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Trixie tilted her head questioningly. “Aren’t you happy that Simon’s found someone?”

“I am.”

“And if Emmy’s involved with Simon, you don’t have to worry about her and Wally,” Frannie pointed out.

“I’m not.” Skye looked at the ceiling. “I can’t explain.”

“It’s the green-eyed monster. It has you by the heart.” Trixie gave Skye a long look. “You don’t want Simon, but it bothers you that he’s moved on.”

“I hope I’m not that petty.” Skye made a face. “But from what I’ve told you about Emmy and what you both know about Simon, don’t they strike you as an odd match?”

“He’s just proving the old saying that you marry your mother.” Trixie snickered.

“Oh, my God!” Skye fought a grin and lost. “That’s it. Emmy reminds me of what Bunny must have been like as a young woman.” Her smile faded. “And look how well that turned out for Simon’s father. Bunny ended up leaving him with a small child to bring up on his own. I sure don’t want anything like that to happen to Simon.”

Frannie and Trixie exchanged anxious glances, but didn’t comment. Clearly, they too were beginning to worry about Simon’s new relationship.

CHAPTER 17

Read Him like a Book

S
kye felt a lot better after sharing her feelings with Trixie and Frannie—even if she still had a niggling concern that Simon’s choice of girlfriend would cause him trouble. Over fried chicken at the Feed Bag—Scumble River’s only sit-down restaurant—she and her pals had a good time catching up on one another’s lives. Being around her friends lifted her spirits as nothing else had. It was almost as if they were her guardian angels and they used their own wings to help her remember how to keep aloft.

After lunch everyone went their separate ways. Skye delivered the favors, seating plan, place cards, and guest book to the Country Mansion’s reception coordinator, then hurried back to the police station.

As they headed out to question King Housley, Skye asked Wally, “Did Phoebe pick up Sugar Plum last night?”

“Yes.” Wally chuckled. “But not soon enough for your mother.”

“Uh-oh.” Skye rolled her eyes. “Did Sugar Plum pee or poop inside the station?” May didn’t tolerate messes and would have had a hissy fit if she had to clean up after an animal.

“Not that I know of, but May left me a formal note of complaint, indicating that dog sitting was not in her job description.” He shrugged. “I guess it’s a good thing the dispatchers aren’t unionized or I’d be in trouble.”

“Mom doesn’t need a union.” Skye adjusted the seat belt, which was cutting into her neck. “If she’s upset with you, you’re already in hot water. You’d better watch your back.”

“Right.” Wally snorted, plainly unconcerned. “The dog weighed less than six pounds. How much bother could she have been?”

Skye recognized a rhetorical question when she heard one and instead of answering, said, “So did Zuchowski show up?”

“With his bleached blond alibi in tow.” Wally’s expression hardened. “He’s in the clear for the murder—both the woman he was with and the airline ticket receipts prove he was out of town the night Yvonne was killed—and he didn’t steal from the evidence closet. I just wish I had proof he sold drugs and could arrest him. But none of his customers will come forward and testify, so I had to settle for firing him.”

“Being let go without a letter of reference means that in all probability he’ll never work as a police officer again.” Skye gazed off into the distance. “And either he’ll continue selling drugs and eventually get caught or this whole affair will be the wake-up call he needs. One way or the other, you got a bad cop off the streets.”

“Hopefully.” Wally’s face was a twisted knot of frustration.

Skye waited a few seconds, then changed the subject. “Did your dad and cousin arrive safely?” She rubbed her hand across her eyes. “I’ve been worried a snowstorm somewhere would ground them. We’ve been really lucky with a mild winter so far.”

“Quentin texted me about one a.m.” Wally steered the Caprice over the notoriously narrow bridge leading to Cattail Path. “He and my father didn’t get in until after midnight and went straight to their suite.”

“Good thing they have today to rest.” Skye was relieved that all the out-of-town folks in her bridal party were now present and accounted for. “Trixie’s back in town, I picked up the cash and checks, the favors are done, and everything has been dropped off at the Country Mansion.”

“You got a lot accomplished.” Wally shook his head and muttered, “More than I did—that’s for sure.”

As they drove slowly past the Doozier property, Skye noticed that, as usual, the yard was littered with car parts, dead appliances, and broken-down furniture. A new addition to the mix was a desiccated Christmas tree lying by the driveway and twinkle lights spelling out MARY KRISMAS adorning the wire fence.

Skye barely blinked at Earl’s slaughter of the English language. “Sorry you didn’t have a more productive morning. Were you at least able to talk to Dutch and Artie?” When Wally nodded, she questioned, “How did that go?”

“It went.” Wally’s lips tightened. “Neither had much to add to what they originally told Quirk. Yvonne was a pain in the butt, but they hadn’t had to deal with her since their accident. And they figured since Judy was due back soon, Yvonne wouldn’t be working at the library anymore by the time they recovered and went back to work.”

“Which leaves us with King Housley and Neil Osborn as our remaining suspects.”

“That about sums it up.” Wally was silent, then shook his head and forced a smile. “Do you have anything else you need to do today?”

After visualizing her schedule, Skye answered, “Just finish packing for our honeymoon. I had a mani/pedi at five, but I postponed that until tomorrow.”

“Good.” Wally nodded, then pointed and said, “That’s the vic’s place.”

Skye examined the librarian’s rental. It was a nondescript ranch-style house with gray siding and white trim. Its decorations were limited to a tasteful evergreen wreath on the door and white candles in the windows. How sad that Yvonne would never spend another holiday with her daughter.

A minute later, Wally pulled the squad car into a short driveway that led to an iron gate blocking the entrance to an oak-lined lane. He turned off the Chevy and gestured to the padlocked entrance. “Looks as if Housley doesn’t want any unexpected visitors driving up to his place.”

“I’m surprised he doesn’t have a fence.” Skye examined the heavily wooded area in front of her. Each of the houses on Cattail Path was situated on several acres of property and surrounded by trees.

“Me too. Maybe he figures that most salesmen and Jehovah’s Witnesses are too lazy to hike in.” Wally got out of the cruiser and opened the passenger door for Skye. “We’ll have to walk from here.”

Trudging up the long dirt track, Skye was glad she’d worn flats. Wally held her elbow, making sure she didn’t trip on the rutted surface, but it was rough going. Thank goodness the lane wasn’t covered with snow and ice, or they’d really have had a difficult time. They were both silent, as if they’d agreed it was best to approach the house without announcing their presence.

Just before they rounded a slight bend in the lane, Wally stopped suddenly, pulled Skye closer, and asked quietly, “Do you hear that?”

Skye nodded and kept her voice low as she replied, “It’s sort of a
ch-thunk!
Cer-rack
.” She tilted her head. “Do you know what it is?”

“I can’t put my finger on it, but it sounds familiar,” Wally whispered before taking the lead. He moved noiselessly toward the sound. Abruptly, he pulled Skye behind a huge Douglas fir. She peered between the branches and saw a guy chopping wood. He was facing away from them, but a second later, he turned to pick up another log, and she recognized King Housley. He no longer appeared to need his cane.

She turned to Wally and mouthed, “That’s him.” Putting her lips to Wally’s ear, she asked, “But what happened to his injury?”

“Good question,” Wally murmured almost inaudibly. He got out his phone, thumbed the video button, and aimed it at King as the miraculously healed man swung his ax, splitting the huge piece of wood in half with ease.

Once Wally had recorded King bending, chopping, and carrying a heavy load of kindling toward the house, he and Skye returned to the driveway and approached the residence from the front.

There was no doorbell, but after three or four loud knocks, Housley yanked open the door and snarled, “Yeah, what do you want?”