Murder of a Stacked Librarian (5 page)

“That’s nothing new.” Wally scooped the last crumbs of the zuppa Inglese onto his spoon. “He’s been complaining about the police department budget breaking the city bank for as long as he’s been mayor.”

“So you don’t think he’s up to something?” Skye poured boiling water over the dry mixture and stirred.

“Who knows with Dante?” Wally got up and put the empty bowl next to the plate in the sink. “It sounds as if you and Yvonne had quite a conversation.”

“We did.” Skye added milk to the pan. “You sure you don’t want a cup?”

“Nah. I’d rather have this.” Wally opened the fridge, grabbed another bottle of Sam Adams, and opened it. “What else did you and Yvonne talk about?”

“That men judge women by how they look and teenagers need consequences.” Skye poured the hot chocolate into a mug, then drizzled vanilla extract over the surface. “Oh, and that her ex-husband taught her how to take care of herself.”

“I wonder why he felt the need to do that.” Wally swigged his beer.

“I’m not sure.” Skye sipped her cocoa. “At the time, I wondered whether he was the person who had instructed her on self-defense techniques, or the reason she needed to learn them.”

• • •

Skye woke to rain pelting her bedroom windows. Wally slept peacefully beside her, and she debated whether to wake him up to give him an early-morning Christmas present. He’d been too exhausted last night to do more than snuggle for a few seconds before he fell asleep—which, considering her ghost problem, was probably for the best.

When Skye had inherited the house from Alma Griggs, she’d been both thrilled and dismayed. Thrilled that the elderly lady had thought so highly of her that she had entrusted Skye with her beloved home, but dismayed at the building’s state of disrepair and the cost of renovating it.

Soon afterward, it became apparent that there was more wrong with the house than just a leaky roof and rusty pipes. The real drawback of the place was that the previous owner had never really left. And Mrs. Griggs’s spirit clearly didn’t like it when Skye entertained men in her home. Either that or she disliked Wally. Skye wasn’t sure which, since he was the only guy she’d dated since moving into the haunted house.

As long as she and Wally only kissed and cuddled, everything was fine. But the minute they went any further, something in the place inevitably blew up, ignited, or malfunctioned. Having spent a small fortune on remodeling, and with the home-improvement loan to show for it, Skye was determined to live there once they were married. She had even tried to purge the house of the ghost.

Skye and Trixie had performed a ritual that Skye had found on the Internet, which involved salt and burning sage branches. However, instead of leaving, Mrs. Griggs had pushed the television off its stand, smashing it to smithereens. After that, Skye had been afraid to try another cleansing.

Since Father Burns had been skeptical and refused to do an exorcism, and Trixie had suggested that maybe Mrs. Griggs just didn’t approve of premarital sex, Skye had been avoiding the situation. It was tricky, but somehow she had maneuvered things so that she and Wally made love only when they stayed overnight at his cottage. This had cut down considerably on her need to go to confession, but it hadn’t been pleasant for either of their libidos.

With Mrs. Griggs’s likely retribution in mind, instead of kissing Wally awake, Skye reluctantly got out of bed, slipped on her robe, and went downstairs to feed Bingo. Once the feline had his Fancy Feast, fresh water, and a clean litter box, she put on a pot of coffee. She’d planned a special breakfast, and while the French Roast was brewing, she set the dining room table with a white linen cloth, her Grandma Leofanti’s Jadeite dishes, antique pink depression crystal goblets, and the sterling silver flatware that Wally’s father had sent them as an engagement present.

Much to Skye’s surprise, after May had forced her to compete in a culinary contest, she had found that she actually liked to cook. Not that she would ever admit it to her mother, but she found the planning and preparation satisfied her need for order, and Wally’s appreciation of the results appealed to her nurturing instinct.

While Skye whisked together eggnog, eggs, and cinnamon for the French toast, she thought about Yvonne Osborn. The librarian had been a complex woman. From what Skye had heard and observed, she had a keen sense of right and wrong and was extremely impatient with those who didn’t.

Cutting croissants in half lengthwise, Skye wondered if Yvonne’s drop-dead-gorgeous exterior had led people to believe she would be laid-back, which made them resent her when she wasn’t. Certainly, Chip Nicolet had been angered by Yvonne’s refusal to go out with him.

When Skye heard Wally walking around upstairs, she put a pat of butter on the griddle to melt, then arranged slices of bacon on a rack and popped it into the microwave. While the French toast was frying and the bacon was being zapped, she split a red grapefruit, sprinkled brown sugar on top, and put the halves under the broiler.

A few seconds later, Wally walked into the kitchen dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt. He kissed Skye. “Merry Christmas, darlin’.”

Skye hugged him, wished him a merry Christmas, and directed, “Go sit down in the dining room. I have a surprise for you.”

He sniffed appreciatively. “Is that what smells so good?”

“I sure hope so.” Skye sent him off with a mug of coffee in one hand and a pitcher of spiced cranberry-apple juice in the other.

Once she had everything on the table, she sat down next to Wally and said, “Dig in before it gets cold.” She waited impatiently while he ate the grapefruit, tasted the French toast, and took a bite of the bacon, then asked, “What do you think? Is it better than your usual Cap’n Crunch?”

“A thousand times better.” He took her hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed her fingers. “Sugar, I’ve known you were the right woman for me since you were sixteen, but I had no idea how right you were. These past three years we’ve been together have been the happiest time in my life, and every day just gets better.”

For a moment Skye couldn’t speak. She had loved this man for more than two-thirds of her life, but until now, something had always kept them apart. Finally, she swallowed the lump in her throat and said, “Me too.”

The remaining food forgotten, Wally stood, drew her to her feet, and claimed her lips. As their kiss deepened, he peeled off her robe and nightshirt. Then, once she was naked, he backed her against the wall. Skye was fumbling with the drawstring on Wally’s sweatpants when the thunderous sound of dishes, crystal, and silverware crashing to the floor made her jerk her hand away.

She and Wally sprang apart, both gazing in disbelief at the sight of the overturned dining room table and the remains of their breakfast smeared across the Oriental rug. Skye clenched her fists, barely stopping herself from screaming at her resident ghost.

Before Skye could think of a reasonable explanation for the table’s sudden ability to levitate—one that didn’t involve a pain-in-the-butt poltergeist named Mrs. Griggs—the cell in Wally’s pocket started to play “Hail to the Chief,” the PD’s emergency ringtone.

Cursing, Wally reached for the phone. He spoke briefly to the dispatcher, then clicked it off and turned to Skye. “Yvonne’s death was no accident. Her car was forced off the road.”

CHAPTER 5

Don’t Be Shelfish

“G
o.” Skye pulled a winter white sweater dress over her head.

“There won’t be anything I can do today.” Wally zipped his pants.

Most of his clothes and personal belongings were already at Skye’s house. He would bring over the rest of his things when they got back from their honeymoon. Then, once he was completely moved out of his bungalow, he’d list it with a real estate agent.

“But you’ll feel better if you go into the PD and make sure.” Skye smoothed on a pair of black tights. “You can drop me off at church.”

“Well, I would like to take a look at the report that the lab sent over.” Wally sat on the bed and put on his socks. “And maybe talk it over with one of the crime scene techs.”

“Of course you would.” Skye tugged on a pair of black knee-high boots.

“But I promised to go to Mass with you.” Wally bent to tie his shoes.

“It’s not a problem.” Skye attached a red and green holly pin to the cowl of her dress. “I don’t mind going to the service alone.”

“Well . . .” Wally shrugged on his black-and-white herringbone blazer. “Okay, but I swear I’ll only stay at the station until you get out of church.”

“Great.” Skye fluffed her chestnut curls and turned away from the mirror. “It’s eight thirty. If I want a seat, we’d better get going.”

It was drizzling as they walked out to his car, and he held an umbrella over her head. As she slid into the passenger seat, she smiled her thanks at him, assuring herself that she was happy the call from the PD had come in when it had. The news that Yvonne had been forced off the road had distracted Wally, and he hadn’t questioned how the dining room table had tipped over on its own. The last thing Skye wanted was for him to begin to believe in Mrs. Griggs’s ghost and change his mind about them living in her house after they were married.

She also understood—or told herself she did—why Wally needed to go into work even though it was Christmas Day. There had been a suspicious death, and he was the chief of police. It would be selfish of her to demand that he forget his job and stay with her. Wouldn’t it?

The only sound during the ten-minute drive was the wipers sweeping back and forth. Out of the corner of her eye, Skye watched Wally navigate the slick roads. It was clear that his thoughts were already on the case, and she sighed. Would the rest of her life be like this? Always alone on special occasions?

When Wally pulled up in front of the church, he leaned over to kiss Skye before she got out of the car and said, “I’ll be back at ten to pick you up.”

“Perfect.” She forced a happy note into her voice. “Then we can go home and open our presents.” She put up the hood of her coat to protect her hair from the rain. “We don’t have to be at Mom and Dad’s until one.”

As Wally drove off, Skye headed toward the white-steepled structure, ran up the steps, and entered the narthex. St. Francis had been built in the 1940s and renovated in the seventies, but in response to popular demand, the pastel walls and plain wooden altar had been restored to their previous gilded glory several years ago. Thank goodness the original stained-glass windows had been spared in the parish’s earlier quest for modernization.

The interior looked festive with pine boughs, poinsettias, and a life-size Nativity. For a moment, Skye closed her eyes and imagined the same scene next Saturday. She had chosen a winter wonderland theme for her wedding, and while the pine boughs would be staying, the other decorations would be removed. The florist would string fairy lights against the back wall to resemble a starry night, loop white satin ribbons along the sidewalls to mimic snow, and place large hurricane vases filled with cranberries, oranges, and pears in front of the altar.

Focusing back on the present, Skye saw that the pews were already full, but she didn’t see any of her relatives among the worshippers. May would have attended the six o’clock Mass and Skye figured Vince would go to the noon service, but she had hoped that some of her Leofanti cousins would be there.

Her father and his side of the family were Presbyterians—an irony that hadn’t been lost on Skye when her mother had been so upset that Skye wanted to marry a non-Catholic. But then, May adhered to the Aldous Huxley quote, “Consistency is contrary to nature, contrary to life. The only completely consistent people are dead.”

Skye dipped her fingers into the holy water and made the sign of the cross, then scanned the nave for an empty seat. Just as she was about to give up and climb the stairs to the choir loft, where folding chairs were set up for the holiday overflow, she saw an usher motioning to her. She hesitated. He was standing by a row near the altar. Parishioners were generally gracious and sweet unless someone tried to sit in what they considered “their” pew, and the front and back ones were usually the most highly prized and fiercely defended.

Still, most of the regulars were already seated, so Skye nodded to the usher and quickly walked toward him. While she genuflected, the rail-thin man sitting next to the aisle slid over and made room for her. She smiled her thanks, sat down, and shed her coat, then got to her knees and cleared her mind. She made herself forget about Yvonne’s death, Wally’s preoccupation with work, Mrs. Griggs’s ghost, and her upcoming wedding.

When she finished her prayers, she eased back onto the pew and examined her neighbor. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t remember where she’d seen him before. Was he a parent of one of the kids she had in counseling or one of the students she had evaluated? Or maybe he was just someone she’d seen around town.

Before she could figure it out, she heard music and the processional started down the aisle. As Father Burns began the Mass, Skye concentrated on the service. In a few moments, her worries drifted away, and it was a relief to allow the true meaning of Christmas to wash over her.

After communion, Father Burns made a few general announcements, concluding with, “Remember, it’s smart to pick your friends—just not to pieces.”

Rumor had it that some in the congregation didn’t appreciate that the priest closed Mass with his words of wisdom, but Skye always found something to think about in his mild humor. She pondered today’s message as they stood for the recessional. Friendships could be difficult enough, but for a person like Yvonne, who felt so strongly about right and wrong, relationships had to have been even tougher. Had one of her pals gotten fed up with her principles and killed her?

As “Joy to the World” was sung by the choir and Skye made her way down the aisle, she noticed a large cluster of parishioners having a heated discussion at the rear of the church. Nearing them, she heard Yvonne’s name being mentioned, so she stepped out of the stream of worshippers heading toward the door and slipped behind the gossiping group.