Murder of a Stacked Librarian (27 page)

Jed and May had different methods of attacking the unfamiliar food. Jed popped a whole crab beignet into his mouth; then, with his jaw moving as speedily as a sewing machine needle, he chewed and swallowed the delicacy. After a moment, he grunted his approval and reached for another beignet.

May, on the other hand, approached her sweet red pepper panna cotta like a finicky feline presented with a new cat food. Using her spoon, she broke off a tiny piece of the custard, then took rapid little bites like a chipmunk eating an acorn. Once she had sampled the dish, she switched to her fork and dug in.

Ten minutes later, Charlie finished his bruschetta salad, wiped his mouth on his napkin, and said, “For fancy crap, that was pretty darn good.”

After Charlie’s pronouncement, they progressed through the remaining three courses without incident, and even those who had seemed daunted by the menu were
ooh
ing and
aah
ing over the food. Conversation was lively, and everyone appeared to be having a great time.

Two hours later, dessert was served. Skye gasped when hers was placed in front of her. Four dark chocolate walls bordered a flourless chocolate cake foundation, and the entire towering structure was filled with raspberries and whipped cream. Her plan to take just a tiny taste flew out the window at the first spoonful. Lord have mercy, she hoped she could get into her wedding dress the next day.

Most of the party had finished eating when Skye and Quentin simultaneously excused themselves to freshen up. They chatted as they walked toward the bathrooms, and Skye found herself enjoying Quentin’s company. She wondered about his relationship with Wally and hoped that after spending time together during the wedding activities, the two men would become closer.

As Skye and Quentin paused outside the restrooms, she said, “I’m so glad Wally asked you to be his best man. It’s nice that he has his family to support him tomorrow. Sometimes I feel bad that there’s no one who lives closer to him since I have so many relatives within a five-mile radius.”

“That’s his choice.” Quentin’s expression was hard to read. “He could be in Texas working at CB International with me and his dad. His father has been trying to persuade him to do just that ever since we got here.”

Skye was about to defend Wally’s choice when something clicked, and instead she said, “But you wouldn’t want that, would you?”

“Truthfully?”

Skye nodded.

“No. And not because he’d be stepping into my shoes.” Quentin made a face. “I just don’t think he’s cut out for that kind of job, which is what I was telling him after the rehearsal.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He’s too honest.” Quentin raised a brow, clearly daring Skye to make a comment. When she didn’t, he continued. “Wally is too much of a Dudley Do-Right. There aren’t a lot of shades of gray in his world.”

“I see.” Where had Skye heard that before? “And that would be a problem why?”

“Because it would threaten the business. Which means not just the Boyds but thousands and thousands of employees and their families.”

“Can’t you do the right thing as a company?”

“Not always.” Quentin shook his head, a stubborn look on his face. “Sometimes you have to do what you have to do to keep the business in the black and beat your competition.”

“And Wally would never be comfortable cutting those kinds of corners.”

“Forget comfortable.” Quentin laughed. “He just plain wouldn’t do it.”

“True. And he wouldn’t allow you to do it either.” Skye narrowed her eyes. “Which would be the real problem, right?”

“Absolutely.” Quentin thrust out his jaw. “And I could never allow him to threaten our company. So it’s just as well that he keeps turning down Uncle Carson.”

Skye contemplated Quentin’s words while she used the facilities. Something about what he had said niggled at her subconscious, but when she returned to the table, Grandma Denison struggled to stand in order to give one last toast before the group left the restaurant, and her words pushed aside what Skye had been pondering.

Cora Denison was Skye’s only remaining grandparent. At eighty-six, she had buried a husband, two stillborn babies, and a teenage grandson. Up until a year ago, she’d made a batch of her famous Parker House rolls nearly every Sunday, but she had been failing for quite a while, and Skye was thrilled that her grandmother had felt well enough to attend the rehearsal. Now she gazed tenderly at the old woman who was such an important part of her life.

Cora leaned heavily on her cane, but her voice was strong. “Skye and Wally, my wish for you is a long and happy life, with few cares and sorrows and many friends who are faithful and true.” She paused, then added, “And may your voyage through life be as happy as the dancing waves on the deep blue sea.”

At Cora’s last few words, May snickered and Skye looked at her mother. What was so funny about that?

• • •

A little before seven a.m. Saturday morning, Skye bolted upright in bed. Yawning and stretching, she quickly glanced out the window. Although all the local meteorologists had promised it would reach fifty degrees today, with only a slight chance of drizzle, she was beyond reassured to see that there was no snow falling or ice crystals coating the glass.

For the past six months, May had been hyperventilating about a blizzard shutting down the wedding. After hearing her mother’s dire prediction so many times, Skye had almost begun to believe it would come true. But May had been wrong. The weather would be just fine. In fact, it might be a tad too warm for the bridal gown Skye had chosen, which was something she could deal with in exchange for a nice day.

Once Skye had showered and put on her favorite blue tracksuit, she strolled downstairs. Bingo was waiting in the kitchen by his food bowl, and before she put the kettle on to boil, she took care of his needs. As she sipped a cup of tea, she realized that it felt funny not to be rushing somewhere. But as far as she could tell, everything was ready. She had nothing to do for nearly two hours, until her hair and makeup appointment at nine.

Still full from last night’s amazing dinner, Skye was trying to decide if she should eat something despite her lack of appetite when the doorbell rang. Setting her mug on the table, she headed down the hall. Her aunt had picked up the ceremony and reception boxes yesterday, so she wasn’t expecting anyone. A ripple of apprehension flashed down her spine as she peered out the window and saw Frannie and Justin on her porch. What in the heck were
they
doing here?

“You’ve got to see this.” Justin rushed inside as soon as Skye opened the door.

“Sorry,” Frannie apologized. “I know this is probably the last thing you want to do the morning of your wedding, but Wally’s not at the police station and we felt kind of funny going to his house.”

“Look what I found.” Justin thrust the laptop at Skye and kept talking as she squinted at the small screen. “I finally got into the files this morning, and I totally understand why she had them password protected.”

“Let’s go sit in the kitchen.” Skye gave up trying to read the wobbly monitor. “I have a feeling I’ll need coffee for this.”

Once they were settled around the table with cups of French Roast at their elbows, Skye studied the documents that Justin had brought up on the computer. She read each page several times before she fully understood what she was seeing. According to Yvonne’s notes, Neil Osborn’s so-called ecofriendly housing development was built on contaminated acreage.

“Now, this is something that a person would kill over,” Skye muttered half to herself.

“That’s what we thought.” Frannie reached across Skye and brought up another file. “See, here it says that Yvonne gave her ex-husband until the day after New Year’s to own up to what his company was doing or she was going to the authorities. She states that he claimed she was mistaken about the property being polluted, but she thought he was just trying to wiggle out of taking responsibility for what he’d done.”

“I wonder how she found out about the tainted land,” Justin said, taking a sip of coffee.

“I bet I know.” Skye got up, ran upstairs, then returned with the suede ankle boots she’d been wearing when she and Wally had visited the development. “I thought these were grass stains on my shoes, but I bet they’re some kind of dye Neil was using to make the turf look green.”

“Why do you think that?” Frannie asked.

“Because the lawn around the construction trailer was brown. Only the playground and the finished houses had green grass.” Skye scraped a fingernail along the marks and sniffed. “This smells like chemicals.”

“There was an exposé that I used for a talk in one of my journalism classes about a developer who built on a contaminated site and it was discovered because the grass would never grow right.” Justin wrinkled his brow. “In fact, I made Xeroxes of the article at the Scumble River Library a month or so ago to include in my handouts. I was one short, so maybe I left it in the copy machine.”

“And Yvonne could very well have found the article, read it, and remembered it when she visited her ex’s development.” Skye tapped her mug with her spoon. “And I know she was there a couple of weeks ago because her daughter said they drove out together to show Phoebe’s father her college acceptance letter.”

“So Neil Osborn had a zillion-dollar motive to shut up his wife,” Frannie said excitedly.

“There’s only one problem. He has an alibi.” Skye explained about the recording. “Unless it was somehow altered.” She turned to Justin. “Can that be detected?”

“Yes.” Justin nodded, then added, “But faking something like that would be pretty difficult. You’d have to have really sophisticated computer graphic equipment and know how to use it.”

“Most likely not something a kindergarten teacher or a contractor could do without help.” Skye sagged in her chair.

“Sorry. No.” Justin shrugged. “Not unless they had a digital recording background. And anyone they asked to do it for them would probably want to know why.”

“Yeah.” Frannie put her chin in her hands. “Would they trust someone to keep quiet? Especially after the murder made the news?”

“That’s a good point.” Skye checked the wall clock and was surprised to see it was only quarter to eight. “I’d better let Wally know what we’ve found.”

When Wally didn’t pick up his home or cell phone, she left a message for him to call her back. Then Skye checked with the PD, but the dispatcher said she wasn’t expecting him. Realizing she’d just have to wait for Wally to return her calls, Skye pulled up a chair and asked Frannie about college.

“I really like it at U of I.” Frannie beamed. “And it will be even better next year with Justin there.”

“Oh?” Skye glanced between the two young people. “I’m glad to hear that. You know, earlier I had the distinct impression that there was some kind of problem. Has it been settled?”

“Well . . .” Frannie snuck a peek at her boyfriend, who gestured for her to go ahead. “The money Justin was counting on for school didn’t come through, and since his folks can’t afford to help him, it looked as if he might not be able to go.”

“So what happened?” Skye was well aware that Justin’s parents could barely manage their own bills. Mr. Boward was in constant pain, and his wife suffered from a debilitating depression, which meant neither was able to hold down a job.

“Uh . . .” Frannie bit her lip. “Uh, someone agreed to pay for his next two years.”

“Great!” Skye smiled. “Who?”

“Uh . . .” Frannie hesitated again.

“Simon,” Justin blurted out, then said a little defiantly, “I know you didn’t pick him, but he’s still a nice guy.”

“Of course he is. And although I don’t feel about him the way I do Wally, I still love him as a friend.” Skye patted Justin’s hand. “I’m just surprised he has that kind of ready cash. He’s not superrich.”

“No, he isn’t,” Frannie said. “But he makes quite a bit of money from the funeral home and earns a salary as the coroner, too, so he’s better off than most people around here.”

“Still, even though I agree he’s a nice guy and has the money, why would he pay Justin’s tuition?” She turned to the young man. “You’re not related to Simon, are you?”

“I wish,” Justin muttered, then explained, “Simon told me that he’d done really, really well in the stock market the last few years and he’d been considering setting up a scholarship for local kids. So when Frannie told him my problem, he decided that I would be the first recipient. His only condition is that I earn at least a B average, and when I graduate, I have to mentor another Scumble River student who wants to attend U of I.”

“That’s just incredible.” Skye was overcome at Simon’s altruism. “I had no idea he was so generous.”

“Well, he is.” Frannie thrust her chin out. “And he feels bad that you didn’t invite him to the wedding. Why didn’t you?”

“It would have been awkward,” Skye explained. “Are you sure he would want to come?”

“Yes. That way he can show everyone he’s not a loser and you two are okay.” Frannie ducked her head. “And I think his new girlfriend really wants to go, so he feels bad he can’t take her.”

“Why would Emmy want to come to my wedding?” Skye asked, confused.

“Duh.” Justin grunted. “’Cause it’s the place to be.”

Frannie translated her boyfriend’s observation. “She’s new in town, and she wants to be accepted as part of the community. Being at your wedding would give her a chance to meet people and mingle.”

“I see.” Skye thought about what Frannie and Justin had said and something clicked in her head. Simon and Emmy both had a similar motive for wanting to attend her wedding, although Emmy’s was less obvious.

“You could still invite him,” Frannie prodded. “I could let him know right now.” She whipped out her cell, her fingers flying over the tiny keyboard.

“Sure,” Skye murmured absently, still thinking about motives. Who else, besides Neil, would lose millions if Yvonne revealed the company’s use of contaminated land? “Oh, my God!” Skye squealed.

“What?” Frannie and Justin asked simultaneously.

“Hank Gaskin.” Skye reached for her phone just as it rang. “Hank Gaskin killed Yvonne.”