Murder of a Smart Cookie: A Scumble River Mystery (29 page)

He leaned his forehead against hers. His breath was warm and moist against her face, and her heart raced, sending warning flashes to her brain.

“But he hurt you, and that’s enough.” His last words were smothered against her lips.

Skye was stunned by her reaction to Wally’s kiss. It sent a shock wave through her entire body, and she instinctively responded.

Wally deepened the kiss, crushing her against him and running his hands up and down her soft curves.

Skye’s emotions spun out of control. She threaded her fingers through his hair and caressed his broad back.

Suddenly a voice penetrated their passionate fog. “I thought Thea said Skye
had been
attacked, not
was being
attacked.”

Skye leapt back. Wally reluctantly let her out of his arms, trying to hold on to her hand, but she pulled it away. She looked into her mother’s outraged eyes and felt her face flush with humiliation and anger. She was supposed to be in a monogamous relationship with Simon, so what the heck was she doing kissing Wally? More important, why was she enjoying it?

M
ay drove Skye home, Jed following in the Bel Air. After Skye showered, her mother rubbed ointment and antibiotic cream into her various bruises and scrapes, clucking about doctors, X-rays, and hospitals throughout the process. Skye steadfastly refused formal medical treatment, knowing that a long wait in the emergency room would result in little more than the first-aid measures her mother was already providing. Both women avoided the subject of Wally and the kiss.

When May finally left Skye alone, sleep wouldn’t come. Her mind played tag among guilt, fear, and anger. How could she have responded to Wally that way? What if the murderer came after her again? And how could she figure out who was behind the killings?

Finally Skye resolved not to deal with the issue of Wally until the murder was solved, Justin was back safe and sound, and she’d had a chance to talk to Simon in person.

Having tucked guilt away, she was left with fear and anger. No way was she living her life afraid. If the murderer thought Skye would run and hide, he or she had severely underestimated her. Fear was also pushed away to be dealt with later.

Which left anger. Skye tested it out. Yes, anger was the emotion she needed to keep. She was tired of being the victim, of being framed for Mrs. Griggs’s murder, being attacked, being beaten. It was time to kick some butt.

Skye eased out of bed, wincing with every movement. From her tote bag she retrieved a yellow legal pad and pen. She couldn’t turn on the lamp or her mother would spot the light shining under the door and come to see what was wrong. Instead, she flicked on the closet’s light switch and sat in the doorway using the dim glow to examine the list she had made after discovering Mrs. Griggs’s body.

1. Who were Cookie’s friends? Did she have a boyfriend?
   
2. How did the murderer get Mrs. Griggs’s pin?
   
3. How did the murderer get the sword from Cookie’s store?
   
4. What does anyone gain from either woman’s death?
   
5. ?
   

Skye chewed the end of her pen. She had only partially figured out number one and hadn’t made a dent in the rest. How could she find the answers to two, three, and four? And what was the question for number five?

As she stared at the paper, a plan began to form. It wasn’t exactly legal, but after tonight she felt as if she’d been pushed beyond playing by the rules.

By ten o’clock Saturday morning the temperature was already in the nineties. Skye had begun to worry about heatstroke and dehydration among the yard sale customers. She checked with Abby, the school nurse she had hired to staff the first-aid tent, and was assured that there was an abundant supply of salt tablets, bottled water, and cold packs.

Skye had just hung up the phone after listening to the weather forecast—no break in the heat—when Dante yelled for her. She reluctantly limped into his office, hoping he wouldn’t notice the bruises that decorated her arms and legs like prison tattoos.

“I hear you were attacked last night.” Dante sat behind his desk, swigging from a can of Pepsi.

So much for keeping anything around here secret. “Mom?”

“May called me early this morning. I hadn’t even had my coffee yet.”

Skye raised an eyebrow but didn’t answer.

“I was thinking. You must be on the right track if the killer is nervous enough to assault you.”

“Could be.” Was he saying he was pleased she had made herself a target?

“So, who is it?”

“Darned if I know.” Skye wasn’t feeling particularly communicative this morning, but she noticed her uncle’s face turning red and added, “I talked to a lot of people yesterday. It could be any one of them. I must have asked a question that made the guilty party worried, but I have no idea what the question was or who I asked it of.”

“Give me a rundown of your day.”

Skye obliged, ending with, “Then I talked to the singer and watched Faith’s assistant go into his room, so they’re the only ones in the clear, unless they’re in on it together.”

“At least Wally is taking over. Maybe now we’ll get some results.” Dante threw away the empty soda can and wiped his hands on his pants’ legs. “Buck Peterson couldn’t find his ass with both hands. With him, the wheel is spinning but the hamster is dead.”

Skye froze. How much did her uncle know about the Wally situation? How much had May told him? She asked cautiously, “What do you mean about Wally taking over?”

“I mean, Wally was up here first thing this morning and told me that since you were assaulted within the city limits, he’d be investigating that case, and if he ‘happened’ to come across the murderer, that was how the cookie crumbled.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s good.” Skye scrutinized Dante, who didn’t seem to be hiding anything—like knowing that May had caught Skye and Wally kissing last night. Not that Dante had any right to judge Skye, but she didn’t think that would stop him from doing so. “It looks like the yard sale is under control—only one day to go. You’d better have my check, including the bonus, written out and ready to hand to me on Sunday afternoon.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’ll be ready,
if
nothing happens to ruin the sale between now and then.”

“Fine. I’m going to get back to finding the murderer this afternoon. Like you told me to. Okay?”

“Sure. Just keep me up to date.” Dante waved her off, but then stopped her. “Wait. You’d better take this.”

Skye accepted the rectangular object her uncle handed her. It looked a little like a large electric razor, but had two silver prongs sticking out on one end and something like a trigger on the handle. “What is it?”

“It’s a stun gun,” Dante explained. “It shoots two hundred thousand volts and is guaranteed to disable an attacker for several minutes, giving you time to run away.”

“Uh, thanks, Uncle Dante.” Skye kissed her uncle’s cheek and went back to her office.

She dug out her fanny pack, strapped it on, and put the weapon inside. At first she hadn’t been thrilled with Dante’s gift, but the more she thought about it, the more she figured it might come in handy after all.

Skye contemplated what she was about to do—search Cookie’s apartment. Initially she had planned to do it at night, after the yard sale had closed down for the day, but as she considered it, she realized that it would be safer to look around when there were a lot of people on the streets.

Still, she didn’t want to advertise her presence, so she tucked a pair of latex gloves and a flashlight in with the stun gun, then she dug a small key ring from the bottom of her purse and put it in her pocket.

If she was lucky, Cookie had never gotten around to having the locks changed on her store after firing Skye. And if she was really lucky, Cookie had continued to keep the key to her apartment in the drawer of the cash register.

During the short trip from the city hall to Cookie’s store, Skye told herself it wasn’t really breaking and entering if she had a key. Right?

She parked the golf cart on the corner and made a big deal of greeting people and looking over the sales booths. She spoke to Jody, who was manning Cookie’s table, and noted that she was mobbed with customers, so she shouldn’t notice much going on behind her inside the actual store.

This next part was dangerous. Hoping no one would notice, Skye crept around to the rear of the building and waited. No one followed her.

She slipped on the latex gloves and inserted the key into the back-door lock, praying that it would still work. It clicked open on the first try, and Skye darted inside, closing and relocking the door behind her, then stood still, straining to hear if anyone else was in the building.

After the noise of the yard sale, it was eerily quiet inside—these old structures had great soundproofing. Skye unconsciously held her breath as she mounted the staircase to the second floor. If she were to turn left, there would be the door to Cookie’s apartment. Instead she kept right, walked along a small landing and down another set of steps that led directly into the storage room of the shop.

The darkness spooked her, and she quickly fumbled for her flashlight. As she groped through her fanny pack, something brushed her cheek, and she screamed. Locating the Mag Lite, she thumbed the switch, revealing a stuffed owl with its wings spread, ready to swoop down on its prey.

Skye closed her eyes for a second, waiting for her pounding heart to return to its normal beat, before entering the shop. The blinds were tightly drawn on the front window and door, making the interior dim and giving it a surreal feeling.

With the collectibles arranged in tableaux, Skye felt like she was coming into a house that had been abruptly deserted by its occupants in the middle of their everyday lives. It had been only a few days since Cookie’s death, but already dust covered most of the surfaces and an occasional spiderweb decorated a delicate teacup or porcelain figurine.

Skye shivered, although the shop was hot and stuffy. This desolate room brought the reality of Cookie’s murder home to her like nothing else
had. All of a sudden, she wanted to be out of there, and she quickly moved to the old-fashioned cash register and pushed the NO SALE button.

When the bell rang it seemed abnormally loud, and Skye jumped back, her pulse racing. Taking a steadying breath, she grabbed the key and eased the drawer shut, steeling herself this time for the bell’s shrill jingle.

Her main objective was Cookie’s apartment, but she took a few minutes to look quickly through the woman’s office. As she suspected, the sheriff’s department had taken everything from the file cabinet and desk. Skye could only hope they hadn’t been quite as thorough with her personal items.

The key from the cash register unlocked the apartment door, and Skye was inside within seconds. She had never been to Cookie’s apartment but wasn’t surprised to see it was decorated in the same manner as her office—Victorian lady’s parlor.

It appeared as if the deputies had been fairly neat in their search. Drawers were pulled out, but their contents weren’t strewn around the room. Skye chewed her lip. It would be so much easier if she knew what she was looking for.

What would indicate who Cookie’s friends and lovers were? No doubt the sheriff’s department had taken her calendar and address book. What else would have that information?

The foyer contained nothing but an empty coat tree. In the tiny living room were a sofa, two chairs, and a coffee table, as well as an étagère with shelves full of a variety of figurines and glassware, but no pictures. This was clearly not a room Cookie spent much time in.

Nevertheless, Skye felt along the cushions of the chairs and couch and looked underneath the furniture. She found only two dimes, three pennies, and a pack of matches advertising some cigar bar in the city. She left the change but placed the matchbook in her fanny pack.

The kitchen was even tinier, having only a hot plate, a dorm-size fridge, and a microwave. Skye scanned the cupboards and drawers, opened the refrigerator and microwave, and examined the walls. Nothing.

All of a sudden she felt foolish. Who did she think she was? Whatever the deputies hadn’t found, surely Nick would have discovered after he learned he was the executor of Cookie’s estate. He’d obviously been there—there was no rotting food, and the trash cans were empty. This had been a stupid idea. She should just leave.

Skye started for the door but paused. On the other hand, it seemed a little silly to leave without taking a quick peek in the bedroom and bath. After all, that was where most women kept their really personal items.

The bedroom was larger than Skye expected. It was painted a rich lapis blue with ivory satin curtains covering the windows that overlooked the street.

A queen-size white wrought-iron bed, swathed in a tent of lace, stood in the center of the room, looking like something from an Arabian Nights tale. The mattress was slightly askew on the frame, and the spread, linens, and heaps of decorative pillows were scattered on the cream-colored carpet.

A marble-topped table beside the bed held a crystal carafe, a lamp, and a pair of reading glasses, none of which had been disturbed. But the contents of both the dresser and the armoire had been emptied onto the floor. Either the deputies hadn’t been as careful in here or someone, maybe Nick, had conducted a second search. Had they found what they were looking for?