Murder of a Sleeping Beauty (27 page)

“Yeah, I get too involved sometimes.”

“I’ve been thinking about things, and caring too much isn’t the worst trait for a girlfriend to have.”

Skye’s face flamed at the word “girlfriend.” Was she ready to make up with Simon? What about Wally? She just wasn’t sure. What response would keep Simon interested, but not lead him on? “What a sweet thing to say.”

“Why don’t we get together sometime next week, and talk about the youth committee . . . and other things?” Simon’s voice dropped to a seductive tone on the last few words.

“That’d be great.” Skye was stunned by his change of attitude, and a little distrustful. What was he up to? Had he heard about Abby and Wally and felt sorry for her?

“How’s Friday?”

She slid into the car and closed the door. “Fine.”

He leaned into the Bel Air. “Six, okay?”

“Sure.”

“Good.” He placed a sweet kiss on her lips and strolled away.

 

Skye couldn’t believe how hard it had been to find someone to go to Meijer Superstore with her. Normally she would have gone alone, but she was still leery of the Bel Air and wanted someone along in case it quit running or she went in the ditch or something.

Trixie had her in-laws to entertain, and May was going with Jed to a farm auction. Charlie was still in Bloomington. When she’d called to check on him, he had said he was feeling fine, Priscilla VanHorn had been released by the police to her husband, and a girl from Clay Center had won the pageant title.

Skye finally telephoned Vince and was shocked to learn he was free. Skye looked over at her brother as they sped north on Interstate 55, and sighed. He was way too good-looking and charming to be wasting his life in Scumble River. His butterscotch-blond ponytail flew in the breeze, and his year-round tan enhanced the muscles on his forearms and thighs.

“Vince?” Skye asked.

“Mmm?” He adjusted his sunglasses and turned toward her.

“Why do you stay in Scumble River?”

He shrugged. “Why not?”

“Don’t you ever want to see what it might be like in a bigger pond?”

“Nah.” Vince leaned against the headrest. “See, Sis, you’re never satisfied. You always want more. I figure right now I’ve pretty much got everything I want.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. I own my own business. I date the most beautiful girls around, and I’ve got my family close by.”

Skye struggled to keep the big car between the lines. “And that’s enough for you?”

“What more could I want?”

“Maybe if you opened a salon in Chicago, you could do hair for the rich and famous.”

“And maybe I could spend a lot of money on rent to cut the hair of people that I wouldn’t like or be comfortable with.”

Skye let his words sink in as she took the Weber Road exit and followed it until it curved left onto Naper Boulevard. “You don’t want fame and fortune? You don’t want to be someone?”

As she maneuvered the huge aqua vehicle into a parking spot, Vince patted her knee. “I am someone. I have a feeling fame and fortune aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.” He bounded out of the car. “Besides, now that I’m drumming again, maybe I’ll hook up with a band and we’ll become the next teen craze.”

Skye joined her brother, and together they walked into Meijer Superstore. She had never been there before, although she had heard a lot about the megamart. It was gigantic. People were stationed every few feet, holding red flags to direct customers to the correct section of the building. They looked like the flight crew on the deck of an aircraft carrier.

Vince went to price supplies for his shop. Skye followed the greeter’s directions to the beverage aisle. Twin walls full of every kind of soda, juice drink, and specialty water made her gape. She had never seen so many different ways to say “fruit juice.” She was midway down the second side when she spotted the bottle she had seen next to Lorelei’s dead body. She picked it up off the shelf. It was clear with a rounded bottom, a slight indentation about a quarter of the way up, and a neck that appeared to have been twisted several times. The cap was gold.

Eagerly, Skye turned the label toward her. It was blue, and printed in yellow letters were the words SEA MIST. Right beneath were smaller black letters that said: “ginseng, astragalus & agave.” To the right of those words was a sailboat and farther down was the single word VAPOR.

Besides Vapor, it also came in three other flavors—Shore, Star, and Blaze. She took one of each and went in search of the store manager. He confirmed her suspicions. Meijer’s was the only chain in the Chicago area that sold the Sea Mist brand.

 

It was nearly five by the time Skye got home from the megamart. After putting away the Sea Mist and changing into slacks and a twin set, she immediately began preparing supper. The doorbell was ringing as she slid a tuna casserole into the oven. It had to bake for half an hour. She hoped Kent was starving.

“That color suits you. It must be
sky
blue,” Kent said as he strolled into the foyer and pecked her on the cheek. Always well dressed, tonight he wore gray wool slacks and a matching silk shirt. Skye figured they cost more than her weekly salary.

“Thank you.” She guided him into the back half of the cottage, which consisted of an open area lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, intermixed with bookcases and a set of French doors. “How were rehearsals?” She wanted to keep the discussion away from their relationship until she had a chance to question him about Lorna.

“Fine. Zoë has more talent than I gave her credit for. She makes a fine little Sleeping Beauty.” He settled into Skye’s newest piece of furniture, a cream-colored recliner.

“Would you like a drink? I have soda, Sea Mist, wine . . .” She wanted to see if he’d react to the name of the drink found beside Lorelei’s body.

Kent didn’t appear to notice. “No whiskey?”

She shook her head.

“Damn, I could do with a whiskey. Wine it will have to be.”

Skye’s mouth tightened. She’d been taught it was impolite to ask for something the host didn’t offer. “Coming up.”

In the kitchen, she poured the cheap wine into a crystal goblet, put it on a silver tray, and carried it out to him. She watched closely as he took a healthy swallow.

“This is awful.” Kent plunked down the glass with such force Skye was sure it would break.

“Really? I’m so sorry.” Skye played innocent. “And it’s the only liquor I have in the house. Would you rather have a soda?”

He took another sip and grimaced. “No. I need a drink.”

Skye saw her opening. “Has that VanHorn woman been bothering you again?”

“She’s relentless. She wants her daughter to win. It doesn’t matter if it’s a quiz worth ten points or a national beauty pageant; Zoë must have it all.” Kent drank steadily and Skye kept topping off his glass.

“Isn’t that typical of most moms?”

“It’s the length she and some of these women go to that’s astonishing.”

“I suppose some have even offered to sleep with you,” Skye said casually.

He smirked. “It goes with the territory. Of course, I’ve always turned them down.”

Skye moved into the kitchen to check on dinner.

Kent followed. She handed him the platter of Jell-O. He held it as if it were alive. “What is this?”

“Surely you’ve seen blue Jell-O before.”

“But what’s suspended inside?” Kent swallowed hard. “They look like . . .”

“Gummy worms. See how the Jell-O mold is sitting on shredded cabbage? It’s supposed to look like a pond in the middle of the field.” Skye bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “Go ahead and put the platter on the table by the French doors. I’ll be right there.”

She took the casserole and bowl of mashed potatoes in herself.

After they had helped themselves to the food, Skye continued, “What’s your opinion of Zoë?”

“A mouthwatering little morsel with the morals of an alley cat.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I hear the kids talk. She’s slept with the entire football team, except Troy, and she’s working on him.” Kent took a bite of the entrée. “What the devil is this?”

“Captain’s casserole.”

“Huh?”

“Tuna with cheese, noodles, peas, and potato chips crumbled on top.”

“You’re kidding.”

“It’s an old family recipe.” Skye fought to keep a straight face.

“What’s this orange stuff?” Kent thrust his fork toward her.

“A cheese that is in the recipe.”

“It looks like Velveeta.”

“Yes, doesn’t it?” Skye hurried with another question, hoping to get in a few more answers before Kent realized he was deliberately getting a miserable meal. “So, did Lorelei have a reputation for sleeping around like Zoë?”

“No, very different. She didn’t seem to be that attracted to teenage boys. They called her the ice queen.” Kent forked up some mashed potatoes. “Where’s the gravy?”

“Sorry, no gravy. Here, try some butter. How about some pickled beets? They’re Midwest soul food.”

Kent shook his head and muttered. “I see why we’ve always gone out to eat.”

“What?” she asked sharply.

“Just wondering what’s for dessert.”

“I’ll get it. I’m sure you’ll like it.”

She returned carrying a full glass bowl.

Kent leaned forward eagerly. “Is that my favorite?” He took a big spoonful, put it in his mouth, and frowned. “That’s not Tiramasu.”

Skye pasted on a sad expression and allowed her shoulders to slump. “Not exactly. I had to use banana pudding for the custard and vanilla wafers for the lady fingers.”

“Ah, Scumble River’s grocery store doesn’t carry the real ingredients, I suppose.”

Why had she ever dated this guy? Skye wondered. Her taste in men was truly atrocious. So far this week one had trapped her in a coffin, another had arrested her, and now this jerk had insulted her cooking
and
her hometown. It was dawning on her that whereas she felt free to denigrate Scumble River, she didn’t like it when anyone else did.

She said coolly, all traces of her fake remorse gone, “That’s not it at all. I just didn’t think you deserved a good meal.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Skye ignored his question. “I’ll bet Lorna Ingels would serve you a meal more to your tastes. She seems pretty sophisticated.”

To Skye’s surprise, Kent allowed her previous comment to drop, and answered, “So she fooled you, too. She has a veneer of culture, but it doesn’t go very deep, and she’s always afraid of what might show through if she lets go.”

“Really? What is her background?”

“Lorelei told me her mother grew up in the trailer courts. In fact, Lorna’s mother still lives there.” His mouth puckered in disapproval. “I think that’s why she buys so many things.”

Skye held her temper. This man badly needed to be taken down a notch, but she still had questions. “Is that so bad? The Ingels certainly can afford it.”

“That’s not what I hear. Lorelei said her parents always fought about money and that Allen claimed Lorna would put them all in the poorhouse.”

“Lorelei sure told you a lot. You must have been close.” Could Kent have been the teacher Lorelei was sleeping with?

He became interested in his glass of wine and shrugged. “No more than any other student.”

Skye decided to let that obvious prevarication slide for the moment. “Do you know the younger daughter, Linette?”

Kent moved back to the lounge chair, leaving Skye sitting at the table by the French doors. “I’ve met her. She’s like Lorelei, but without a conscience.”

“Interesting observations. Perhaps you should have been a psychologist.”

“No offense, but why would anyone want to spend her life listening to other people talk about themselves?” Kent held out his wineglass for a refill.

Skye grabbed the bottle from the table and headed toward the lounge chair in which Kent had flung himself, not noticing that Bingo had chosen to stretch out in the middle of her path. Her foot thudded into something solid, and she pitched forward. She and a shower of wine landed squarely in Kent’s lap.

He sprang up, swearing, and dumped her to the floor. “My trousers! My new trousers.”

That did it. The oaf hadn’t even asked if she were alright. She struggled to her feet. Still no assistance offered by Kent, who was scrubbing the wine stain on the front of his pants with a hand-crocheted lace scarf he had grabbed from the end table. She snatched the doily from his hand and screamed, “This was my grandmother’s, my dead grandmother’s! Don’t you dare use it for a rag.”

Kent look dumbfounded for a moment, then retorted, “Look at my trousers. You’d better hope the dry cleaner can get the stain out or you’ll have to pay for them.”

Skye was about to tell him where he could stick his pants when a thought occurred to her. If she offered to clean them herself, she could go through his pockets and wallet. Maybe there’d be something interesting in them. Men seemed to like to collect trophies of their conquests.

Biting back the words she wanted to speak, Skye said, “Take off your pants, and I’ll see if I can clean them. I have some really good dry-cleaner-strength stain remover.”

Kent, still swearing, disappeared into the bathroom.

Skye checked to see that Bingo was okay, then found a terry robe she’d never worn and pushed it through the bathroom door to Kent. She certainly didn’t want to see him in his Jockeys. He handed her his pants.

She took the offending article of clothing into her tiny utility room. It had space for a washer/dryer and ironing board, but little else. She threw the pants on a small counter and felt around in the pockets. She retrieved a wallet, fifty-six cents in change, a comb, and a handkerchief.

Skye put his personal items aside, and grabbed a bottle from the shelf. After following the directions, which included waiting several minutes for the solution to work, she turned her attention to the wallet. It contained a twenty and two singles, the usual credit cards, insurance identifications, and other paraphernalia.