Murder of a Chocolate-Covered Cherry (32 page)

Skye pushed a double filing cabinet under the window bank. Next to it she shoved a desk and a chair; then she went to work piling boxes full of paper on the desktop. Once she figured she had enough, she got onto the desk and transferred the cartons onto the file cabinet. She followed this system until she had steps that reached nearly to the sill.

She took her car keys and the factory key from her tote and stuffed them both down her bra, then stripped off her
blazer. When she was down to slacks and a cami, she considered her shoes. They were loafers with an inch-and-a-half heel; was she better off with or without them?

Deciding to try the ascent with the shoes and discard them if they got in the way, she started up the shaky box staircase. With each step she felt as if the whole structure were about to come tumbling down, but she reached the top unscathed.

Taking a deep breath, she grasped the handle of the window and pulled. Cool, fresh air poured into the dank basement. Skye took a greedy breath before placing her foot on the ledge and heaving herself upward.

She teetered—caught halfway between the top box and the windowsill.
Crap.
If she made it out of here alive, she really had to work on her upper-body strength. Steeling her arms and praying to the gym gods, Skye pulled.

Suddenly she was on the sill, then through the window. Stunned, she stood there for a moment. A few seconds later she was running toward the parking lot, keys in hand. She skidded to a stop by the Bel Air and suppressed a scream of frustration. Someone had slashed all four tires—probably Brandon.

Okay, plan B. The guards Mrs. Fine had mentioned earlier that afternoon. She had said they had a booth near the road. Skye jogged the quarter mile down the lane, gasping for breath. She really needed to get more exercise if she was going to keep running away from killers. Now she knew why Charlie’s Angels were so skinny.

Skye arrived at the security booth, only to find it empty. Now what? Plan C was to wave down a car, but who would drive by on a road that dead-ended at the gate? That left plan D, otherwise known as Dumb Move—go back to the building and try to use Grandma Sal’s phone. But she couldn’t think of a plan E—it would take her at least half an hour to walk into town, which was just too long to leave Ashley alone with Brandon on the prowl. If only she knew whether she had incapacitated him in the mixer.

Maybe she could find a guard patrolling the factory’s perimeter. Summoning up the last of her energy, Skye ran
back down the lane and around the building, but there was nothing stirring, not even a mouse. Where were the fricking guards? If she got out of this alive, she would make Mrs. Fine fire them all.

Finally she faced the fact that there was no one to help her; if she wanted to save Ashley, she would have to do it herself. Having come to that conclusion, Skye knew she had to go back inside and get to the telephone. Too bad Ashley had used up her cell phone’s battery trying to get a signal.

With no other choice, hoping she wasn’t being as stupid as she felt, Skye used the key Mrs. Fine had given her and slipped back inside. She stopped briefly to wedge the door open with a flattened soda can she had found in the parking lot.

She kept to the wall, edging around the lobby and down the hall to the offices. She eased into Mrs. Fine’s office, closed and locked the door, then grabbed the phone and dialed.

The dispatcher answered on the first ring. “Scumble River police, fire, and emergency. How may I help you?”

“Thea, this is Skye. I’m in the Fine Foods factory and need backup right away. I’ve found Ashley Yates, who is injured. Cherry Alexander’s killer is in the building trying to find and kill both of us.”

Thea gasped and dropped the receiver. Before she came back on the line, Skye heard the sound of splintering wood. The office door crashed down and Brandon rushed in. His maniacal grin reminded her of Jack Nicholson in
The Shining
, except that instead of brandishing an ax, he was wielding a wooden mixing paddle, and instead of his being covered in blood, batter dripped off him like alien sweat.

Skye grabbed one of the chrome-and-leather chairs and backed toward the window, wondering if she could break the glass and escape before Brandon reached her.

He advanced, yanking the phone cord from the wall, then swung the paddle at Skye. She leapt to the side and he missed, cracking the windowpane.

Backing away, she kept poking the chair at him as if he were a lion and she his tamer. Her goal the door, she moved around the desk, trying to keep it between her and her attacker.

Unfortunately Brandon had not read the same self-defense book that Skye had, because instead of chasing her around the desk, as he was supposed to, he employed a flying tackle that would earn him a place on the Chicago Bears football team, if they ever decided to recruit homicidal maniacs. Landing on top of her, he wrapped his hands around her neck and squeezed.

Skye tried to pry his fingers from her throat, but he tightened his grip. She knew she had only a few minutes before she lost consciousness, and she groped blindly behind her in search of a weapon.

Just as she was starting to black out, her hand encountered the rolling pin trophy. With her last bit of strength she grasped the handle, dragged it off the desktop, and brought it down on Brandon’s skull.

His hands relaxed a fraction, but he didn’t remove them from around her neck. She didn’t have the strength to lift the heavy trophy and hit him again. This was it. She would die. She would die at the hands of a wannabe lawyer who couldn’t even pass the bar exam, and was willing to kill in order to ensure the huge salary he couldn’t earn anywhere but in his family-owned business.

Suddenly he stiffened, then collapsed on top of her. When his fingers fell away from her throat and she was able to draw in desperate breaths, she shoved him off of her and got unsteadily to her feet.

He lay limp, unmoving. Had her blow killed him? Skye wasn’t taking any chances. She had to get away from him. She limped toward the exit, and had just put a foot on the downed door when the thunder of pounding footsteps was followed by a blur of navy blue uniforms rushing through.

Wally was in the lead, and he swept her up in his arms and out of the way of the column of officers swarming the room. He helped her out into the hallway

“Are you okay?” His dark gaze searched her face.

She nodded, gulped in more air, and managed to get out, “Now I am.”

Wally’s arms tightened around her. “Forget about me buying you a cell phone. I’m having a GPS chip implanted in your butt.”

A
s per tradition, May and Jed entertained his side of the family for Easter. Also, as per tradition, May invited anyone she thought might be alone for the holiday. Which meant that in addition to the Denison clan, Frannie, Xavier, and Uncle Charlie were also present. Mr. and Mrs. Boward had declined, but allowed Justin to attend without them.

Vince was absent, as well. He and Loretta had opted for her family’s celebration. It was clear to Skye that her mother was torn regarding that situation. On the one hand, this was a first for Vince and showed that he was serious about his relationship with Loretta. On the other hand, Vince was not at May’s table—nor under her control.

Knowing her mother as she did, Skye had wondered briefly if May would invite Simon and Bunny. After all, she had included them in the past. But thank goodness, there was no sign of either Skye’s ex or his mother.

Dinner was over, and the men who had followed Jed to the living room were sprawled in various stages of digestive stupor, watching—or at least snoozing in front of—the television set, which was tuned to a baseball game.

Skye had stayed in the kitchen with her mother and most of the other women, having long since given up on the notion of ever achieving equality between the sexes in her
family. As she helped clear the table, she thought of the hope and renewal she’d felt while attending Easter Sunday Mass.

After she’d spent the past week enmeshed in the greed and despair that had ultimately resulted in the murder of Cherry Alexander and the attacks on Ashley Yates and Dante Leofanti, the service had been exactly what she needed.

As usual, Father Burns had ended with a bit of gentle wisdom. “If you’re having trouble sleeping at night, don’t count the sheep; talk to the shepherd.”

Skye smiled, thinking of the priest’s advice. May asked, “What are you so happy about?”

“I was just thinking about Father Burns’s comment at the end of Mass.”

“Yeah, that was one of his better ones.” May nodded. “At least he didn’t try to be funny.” She took a breath and changed the subject. “I’m glad I took this week off from work. Thea tells me it’s been crazy around the station.”

“That’s for sure. Even though Brandon is still in the hospital under guard, his lawyers have been all over us.” Skye delivered another pile of dirty dishes to the sink. “Thank goodness that at least Ashley is okay, her parents have dropped their lawsuit, and the school newspaper is up and running.”

“Why are Brandon’s lawyers all over you?” Uncle Charlie marched in and pulled out a kitchen chair. “They caught the little bastard red-handed.”

“Not exactly.” Skye wiped the table with a dishrag. “I had already hit him over the head with the trophy by the time the police arrived—though, luckily, I had the bruises around my throat to prove he had tried to strangle me.”

“Yeah.” May snorted. “That was real fortunate.”

“Ms. D.” Frannie walked into the kitchen and sat next to Charlie. “I know at first you said you didn’t want to talk about it, but can you tell us now how you figured out who the murderer was and why he did it?”

Justin had followed Frannie, and now sat on her other side. “Yeah. We’re dying to hear what happened.”

“Okay.” Skye wasn’t really ready to discuss the subject, but there was no escaping some things in life. “Since you
and Justin have been so good about visiting Ashley while she recovered this week, and have promised to help her get around once she comes back to school, I’ll tell you the whole story.

“Let’s see, it all started when the Fines decided to sell their company to CB International. All the ‘real’ Fines would make a lot of money from the deal, but Brandon, being only a stepson and not owning any of Fine Foods, would get nothing. Worse than that, he would lose his position as head of the legal department. Where else could an attorney who couldn’t pass the bar be put in charge and earn such a huge salary from the very start?”

“So, his motive was to stop the sale?” Uncle Charlie spooned sugar into the mug of coffee May had put in front of him.

“Right, and being family and head of the legal department, he was aware that the sale would go through only if Fine Foods’ reputation was squeaky clean. So he set out to sabotage the contest.” Skye took a seat on Charlie’s other side. “Then, when Cherry caught him switching the temperature-control knob on the oven in my cubicle so I would burn my dish, he lashed out with a meat mallet and knocked her out, then held her down in the fountain.”

“How do you know that?” Justin demanded.

“Before Brandon’s mother stepped in and got him a team of criminal lawyers to defend him, he claimed he was going to defend himself, and he told Wally everything to ‘explain’ his actions. His attorneys are now claiming that he wasn’t thinking straight due to his head injury and are trying to get the confession suppressed.”

Charlie harrumphed. “You’d think a lawyer would know enough to keep his mouth shut.”

“Yeah.” Justin shook his head. “That guy has to be really stupid to think he could justify murder.”

“Well, that would explain why he couldn’t pass the bar exam,” Frannie pointed out.

From the sink May said, “He could have just bribed Cherry with winning the contest.”

“He didn’t know she’d be receptive to that, and besides,
he wasn’t thinking at that point, just reacting to what he perceived as a threat. The problem was, Brandon had counted on the warehouse being empty, not realizing that in Scumble River ‘on time’ is actually fifteen minutes early.”

Frannie snickered.

“So, Dante was nosing around before the official start time and discovered Cherry’s body in the fountain. Brandon saw him and threw a tablecloth over Dante’s head so he couldn’t identify him. Then Brandon stabbed Dante in order to distract him while Brandon made his getaway. Incidentally, they found the pocketknife on Brandon. He’d tried to clean it up, but it contained traces of Dante’s blood type. A sample has gone for DNA analysis.”

“That’s got to be one for the good guys.” Charlie sipped his coffee.

“Anyway, as he stabbed Dante, Brandon heard a scream and realized there was another witness—Ashley Yates, who had spent the night in the factory because she couldn’t face her parents’ knowing there was proof of her sexual escapades. He hit Ashley with the meat mallet, stowed what he thought was her body in a company van, and went to get the keys to the vehicle. While he was gone, she came to and climbed out of the van. Unfortunately he returned at that precise moment. She ran away from him, and he chased her back toward the factory.”