Murder of a Chocolate-Covered Cherry (17 page)

Skye caught her breath. Wally had been married for over ten years before his divorce two years ago. Was Darleen his true mate, and Skye just someone to meet his needs?

Before she could figure out how to phrase that question, Wally had pulled her up from her chair and settled her on his lap, tucking her curves neatly into his own contours as if they were two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

The muscles that rippled under his uniform shirt as he lifted her quickened her pulse, but she tore her gaze away and raised it to his face. Smooth olive skin stretched over high cheekbones, and his strong features held all the sensuality he usually kept hidden. He was a devastating package, and Skye yearned to tear off the wrapping.

Lightly he fingered a tendril on her cheek, then slid his hand down to caress her neck and bare shoulders. Hypnotized by his touch, she tingled under his fingertips, her growing arousal erasing all her questions and doubts.

Suddenly, as if he couldn’t wait any longer, he crushed her to his chest. Her body tightened from the contact, and
she wound her arms around his neck and lifted her face to his, basking in his hungry gaze. His kiss was urgent, devouring her and making her forget everything but him.

He freed one hand and was sliding her shirt off when she heard the first yowl. Skye stiffened, but either Wally hadn’t heard it or he was ignoring it.

A few seconds later an even louder howl, this one sounding almost like a baby’s scream, penetrated his passionate fog, and he tore his mouth from hers. “What in the hell was that?”

A third yowl ripped through the house, followed by a thud and another howl.

Skye scrambled from Wally’s lap. “I think that’s Bingo, but he’s never sounded like that before.” She raced in the direction of the noise, which seemed to be coming from above them.

Wally followed her as she ran up the stairs and into her bedroom. They both skidded to a stop and gaped at the agitated feline. The black cat’s fur was standing on end, making him appear twice his normal size. He was arched by the balcony doors, hissing at what Skye at first thought was an elderly woman, but a moment later realized was just a bunch of rags being blown against the glass by the wind.

As they stared, Bingo gathered himself up and launched himself at the door. His bounce off the pane and onto the floor produced the thud they had heard in the sunroom.

Skye leapt forward and tried to grab the cat, afraid he could hurt himself or break the window.

When Bingo evaded Skye’s grasp, Wally snatched up an afghan draped over a chest at the bottom of the bed, snapped it open, and threw it over the cat, scooping the disturbed feline up like a sack of fireworks about to go off at any minute.

Skye took the squirming cat from Wally’s hands and cuddled him to her chest, murmuring reassuring words.

Wally strode over to the doors and flung them open, surveying the balcony. He stepped outside and picked up the bundle that had been beating against the glass and examined it. It was a faded housedress wrapped around a tree branch.

Skye joined him. “Where do you think that came from?”

“It must have blown off someone’s clothesline. It’s been really windy the past couple of days.”

“It sure has.” Skye turned and leaned against the railing. “I noticed it was really bad at the factory this morning.”

“That’s the one thing I hate about Illinois springs.” Wally put an arm around her and cuddled her to his side. “The high winds drive me crazy.”

“Yeah. I can take the snow and the cold, but the wind gets on my last nerve.” She shivered. “You know, for a minute there, when we first ran into the bedroom, I could have sworn it was Mrs. Griggs pounding on the balcony door.”

“You have quite an imagination,” Wally teased.

“True, but that’s the kind of dress she wore, and I find it odd that one so similar not only got wrapped around such a large branch, but also found its way to my balcony.”

“You live on the river in the middle in a flat area. All sorts of trash blows through here.”

“Maybe.” Skye shrugged.

They were quiet for a few minutes; then Wally said, “I bet this is old Mrs. Calvert’s dress. She’s your nearest neighbor, and she wears clothes like this.”

“Sure. It couldn’t possibly have been another of the house’s attempts to keep us apart.”

“Of course not.”

“It’s getting cold out here.” Skye separated herself from Wally. “I’m going back.”

“Yeah.” Wally opened the door for her and stepped inside as she crossed the threshold.

Bingo had recovered from his trauma and was curled in a ball on top of the bed, snoring lightly. Skye gave him a pat as she walked by, and Wally followed suit.

Once they were resettled in the sunroom, Skye felt restless. Wally tried to resume their kissing, but she shrugged him off and paced. Finally she said, “Let’s get out of here for a while. The paint smell is driving me crazy.”

“Okay. Where do you want to go?”

She was about to suggest they get a drink somewhere, but caught back the words when she remembered that Wally was
still in his uniform. Where could they go? There weren’t a lot of entertainment options in Scumble River.

“How about McDonald’s?” Wally asked. “I’ll buy you a hot-fudge sundae.”

“Perfect.”

McDonald’s was crowded. It was a favorite hangout for the teens, several of whom greeted Skye. It was nice to see that quite a few of them also said hi to Wally, and that none of the kids seemed to feel awkward in their presence.

After getting their sundaes, Skye and Wally settled into a back booth. They were still in the process of taking the lids off their ice-cream containers when Skye stiffened and put her finger to her lips.

Wally shot her a questioning look.

She jerked her chin to the booth on the other side of theirs, then cupped her ear.

He nodded and leaned forward.

A group of girls from the high school was seated there, and two were arguing. Skye immediately identified the dominant voice as that of Bitsy Kessler, a preppy cheerleader who wrote an advice column for the school newspaper. Skye didn’t recognize the other girl.

Bitsy’s tone was scornful. “I can’t believe you losers think that Ashley has really been kidnapped. I’ll bet you still leave milk and cookies for Santa, too.”

The other girl murmured something too low for Skye to hear, but Bitsy’s next words were loud and clear. “Yeah, right. Poor little Ashley. The victim of the Scumble River Snatcher. She’s probably holed up in a motel room with some guy, laughing her ass off at all of us.”

“Why would you think that?” the other girl challenged.

“Ashley’s the biggest social climber since Cinderella. This whole negative article in the newspaper and her parents’ insisting on suing over her little indiscretion with the basketball team pissed her off.

“It just pointed out that her family is so blue-collar. You don’t see Paris Hilton’s mother suing when her sexploitations are printed in a newspaper. All the knockoff Vera
Bradley purses and last-season Emma Hope sneakers in the world can’t change who your parents are. Even her North Face jacket is last season’s from a secondhand shop.”

“But how does running away help?” The other girl sounded confused.

“What better way to get back at everyone? Her parents are worried sick. The girl who wrote the nasty stuff about her is suspected of the kidnapping. And the superintendent is threatening to shut down the newspaper. All things Ashley would love to see happen.”

Skye shot Wally a meaningful glance.

His look said it
was
a plausible explanation.

“But where would they be hiding?” Ashley’s defender sounded less sure than she had at first.

“Where else is there around here but Mr. Patukas’s motel?” Bitsy paused, and Skye heard the sound of a straw sucking up air rather than liquid. “It’s not like Ashley would go camping.”

Once the teens moved on to another subject, Skye scooped a spoonful of ice cream covered in chocolate into her mouth, then asked in a low voice, “What do you think?”

Wally finished his sundae, wiped his mouth on his napkin, and answered, “Maybe we should stop by Charlie’s and see if Miss Ashley is in residence.”

“All but one of the cottages are rented for contest personnel, and don’t we think your father has that one?”

“Who knows?” He lifted a shoulder. “Someone could have canceled.”

“True.” Skye plucked the cherry from the bottom of her dish. “Doesn’t it seem like the contest and the kidnapping and the murder have all been going on forever?”

“Uh-huh. Hard to believe how short the time really has been. Ashley’s only been gone a day and a half, and the murder took place this morning.”

Skye popped the cherry into her mouth, slid out of the booth, and walked toward the wastebasket with their trash. “And with that in mind, I think we should get moving and kill two birds with one stone.”

Wally followed her to the exit. “You mean …?” He held open the door.

“Exactly. Let’s go look for Miss Ashley and then pay your father a little visit.”

S
kye and Wally pulled into the Up A Lazy River Motor Court a few minutes after ten. The red neon NO VACANCY sign glowed steadily, and of the dozen cabins that formed a horseshoe around the parking lot, the front windows in all but number twelve were pitch-black. Scumble Riverites went to bed when the WGN nine-o’clock news ended, and visitors soon fell into the same routine.

Skye stared at the darkened motel, feeling her investigative fervor waver. “Maybe we should come back tomorrow morning. We don’t want to wake people up, do we?”

Wally jerked his chin toward the well-lit office-bungalow that blossomed like a pimple on the lip of the frowning row of cottages. “Looks like Charlie’s still up. Let’s see what he has to say.”

“Right. Surely he knows who he rented his cabins to.”

When there was no response to her first knock, Skye hesitated. Maybe Uncle Charlie had fallen asleep in front of the TV. She hated to wake him.

Wally clearly had no such concern and reached around her to knock a second time on the old wooden door. This time they heard the creak of the La-Z-Boy as the footrest
was lowered, then heavy steps approaching where they stood. The blue gingham curtain was snatched aside, and Charlie’s face appeared in the little window, his round head looking like a jack-o’-lantern floating in the glass.

Abruptly the cotton cloth dropped back into place and the door was swung open. “What’s wrong? What are you two doing here at this time of night? Is it May?”

Skye had never quite figured out how her mother and Charlie had become so close. In the past she’d even wondered if they’d once had an affair, but she’d finally realized that Charlie’s love for May was paternal, and May recipro-cated with daughterly affection. Both fulfilled a need in the other. Charlie had never married or had children, and May’s father had died while she was still a teenager.

“Mom’s fine, Uncle Charlie,” Skye hurried to reassure him. “Sorry to give you a scare. We just have a few questions about a couple of your guests.”

Charlie stepped away from the doorway and gestured for them to come inside. “This have something to do with the murder?” He pointed to the sofa and settled himself in his lounger.

“No, with the missing girl.” Wally sat down and leaned forward with his hands dangling between his legs.

Skye sat next to him. She watched her godfather as Wally told him what they had heard at McDonald’s. Charlie had been one of the very few people in town who had not expressed his views about Skye breaking up with Simon and starting to date Wally. It had been unusual for him not to wade in with an opinion, and now she wondered what he thought and why he had kept silent.

Something flitted through her mind, but before she could figure out what, she tuned in to what Charlie was saying.

“There’s no way that girl could be here, unless one of those contest people is hiding her, and I can’t quite see Grandma Sal stashing her in her bathtub, can you?”

Skye started to shake her head, but then took a second to think of the people involved before saying, “Well, you know, those media people would hide a teenager in a flash if she could convince them there would be a big story. And Brandon
and JJ might have other reasons for sharing their room with a cute cheerleader. But you’re probably right about the judges, Grandma Sal, her son, and her daughter-in-law being in the clear.”

Before Charlie could respond, Wally asked, “Wouldn’t the lady who cleans the cabins for you mention an extra person? I mean, I know you charge more for additional guests.”

Charlie nodded. “That’s true normally, but Grandma Sal is paying for the whole block of cabins, so I gave her one rate. And I had to hire a couple extra ladies to help with the cleaning, so they might not think to mention something like that. I can give you their names and you can ask them.”

“I’ll have Quirk talk to them tomorrow morning. What time do they get here?”

“They start at eight.”

Charlie picked up a cigar and ran it between his sausage-like fingers. He had given up smoking a couple years ago after a health scare, but Skye knew he still liked to hold a cigar, especially when he was agitated. What could be bothering him?