The Murder in Skoghall (Illustrated) (The Skoghall Mystery Series Book 1) (23 page)

She unlocked the door and pushed it open. It creaked as it swung into the vestibule. The house was quiet. The floor was as it should be with no sign of bloody footprints. Jess called Shakti out of the yard and they went inside together. Her heart beat fast with nervous anticipation. Jess walked through the first floor and found nothing more upsetting than a fruit fly infestation in the kitchen. She had left several ripe bananas to turn black and ooze onto the counter. As Jess headed upstairs, images from all the movies she’d seen flashed through her mind and she expected something horrifying to rush her each time she rounded a corner or opened a door.

The house was still.

Jess went into her office last and sat at her roll top desk. The cowboy stood in his usual spot, six shooters pointed right at her. She picked him up and turned him over in her hand, examining the wear, the tiny face with two black pin-dots for eyes. Jess didn’t know what he meant, but he was obviously important. She set him back down, turning him so his guns pointed at a wall.

She glanced over her shoulder to make sure she was still alone.

Shakti ambled into the hallway from the bedroom, following her nose, then trotted into the office.
If she’s not anxious, Bonnie’s not here,
Jess told herself. She’d been waiting to read the articles closely, thinking if she read them in the house, Bonnie would know she was helping her. Bonnie would be pleased by that, surely. She took the articles out of her bag and flipped through them, ordering them by date, looking again at the photograph of the coroner’s wagon parked in front of her house with Bonnie laid out in the back.

Jess set the copies aside so she could move her typewriter off the writing deck, making room for her research. She paused and tilted her head, a question forming in her mind. She didn’t remember writing that much last time she used her typewriter, so why was the page full? She lifted the paper that draped over the back of the roller.

find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him find him

She released the paper and laid it face down on top of her desk, then stood the cowboy on it like a miniature paperweight. Deciding not to think about it, she focused on her research.

Being a small paper, the Bay City Gazette only came out twice a week. The first article was dated June 14, 1973, a Thursday. Jess read the article, highlighting certain details: Bonnie was discovered the previous day, Wednesday, June 13
^th
, by her husband, John Sykes. Police suspected foul play, but had no suspects. She was survived by her husband, young son, and parents. The sensational article used the large photo of the property to pique interest and made mention that Bonnie was found hanging in the smokehouse three times, yet it was annoyingly slim on specifics. Jess wondered if the police had told the journalist, one Melvin Sharpe, not to reveal too much. Jess hoped the next installment would yield more information.

Tuesday, June 19
^th
. Four whole days had passed, four days of investigation and plenty of time to write an article. “Come on, Melvin,” Jess said as she picked up the next piece of paper.

“Mrs. Marlene Wilkins, friend of the deceased, has told this reporter that she did not believe anyone would want to harm Mrs. Sykes. ‘Bonnie is just the sweetest person you’ve ever met…was. Bonnie
was
the sweetest person you ever met. I feel so bad for her little boy,’ Mrs. Wilkins said in our interview.” Jess highlighted the name Marlene Wilkins. She read on. “Baffling local authorities is the lack of apparent motive. Nothing is missing from the home and there are no signs of forced entry or a struggle, which lead this reporter to suspect Mrs. Sykes knew her attacker.” Jess scowled. She disapproved of Melvin’s inserting himself in the investigation. It was one thing for a police officer to say she must have known her attacker, another for the reporter to assume the voice of authority. Still, if there was no sign of forced entry or a struggle, Jess had to agree with his conclusion.

A week later, on June 26
^th
, Melvin reported that police had arrested John Sykes for the murder of his wife. Jess already knew he had been arrested, yet reading the article filled her with an inexplicable sense of grief. She lifted Shakti off the floor and held her, kissing her head while thinking about Bonnie’s little boy.

It was a month later that John Sykes was convicted of the murder of his wife. In the final article, dated July 31
^st
, Melvin stated, “Mrs. Sykes, a small woman, was hung in the smokehouse on the property while her child slept in the nursery. This reporter cannot help but wonder at the significance of the smokehouse and the natural associations it raises. It would have been an easy matter for Mr. Sykes, who, while no Hercules, is nearly six feet tall and a man of some strength, to overpower his wife and force her from their bedroom in her nightgown.” Jess was furious with Melvin Sharpe. The man, claiming to be a reporter, dressed every fact of the case in his personal flourishes. It must have been impossible for public opinion to be anything but hostile toward John Sykes. She read on, “Due to the heinous nature of the crime, John Sykes was sentenced to life in prison at the Waupun facility.” Melvin continued to editorialize, “It is a sentence fitting the crime and, in this reporter’s opinion, nothing less would bring justice to the loss of Mrs. Sykes.”

Jess leaned back in her chair and gazed out the window into the branches of the sugar maple. Two squirrels ran in a dizzying spiral up the trunk and out a large branch, then leapt for another branch and disappeared down the trunk below the line of the porch roof. Jess was glad Shakti was curled on her lap, unaware of the frenetic activity outside. She probably would have launched herself at the glass. Jess let her gaze settle beyond the branches of the tree on the smokehouse. It angered her. It angered her that Bonnie died in that structure and it angered her that Melvin had planted certain associations in his readers’ minds, which were, Jess knew, unfounded. She didn’t know how she knew, but she was certain, as though Bonnie was the source of this anger. Tears began to fall from Jess’s eyes. Tears she could not explain, but she let them come and wept silently until they splashed on Shakti’s head. The puppy looked up, saw Jess’s wet cheeks and rose. Shakti put her paws on Jess’s chest and licked eagerly at her face, enjoying the saline taste of her tears. Jess laughed. She couldn’t help herself. The anger and grief over Bonnie’s loss mixed with the joy of puppy kisses.

The paper was now face up, though the cowboy had not moved. Jess stopped laughing. She hadn’t been paying attention to it,  but she was certain she would have noticed the movement in her peripheral vision if the paper had lifted and turned over. And yet, there it was, row upon row of those two little words: find him.

“Okay,” she said. Then louder, “Okay. I’ll find him.” She flipped over the last article and wrote at the top, “Find him. John Sykes: life Waupun. Little Boy Sykes: ???” She tapped her pen against the desk while she thought. “Marlene Wilkins?” She would know something, like the boy’s name.

Jess had an idea.

She set Shakti on the floor and gathered up the articles. She moved the Underwood to the center of the desk and inserted a fresh sheet of paper. At the top, she typed:

What is his name?

Chapter Fifteen

Jess and Beckett sat on his couch with Shakti wedged between them. When the puppy slipped into dream sleep, her face and paws began to twitch, paddling against Jess’s leg. She stroked Shakti until the feet quieted. Beckett reached over to pet her and his hand touched Jess’s, then settled on top of it. Beckett’s fingers laced through hers on top of Shakti’s soft fur. Jess kept her eyes on the television screen, but she wasn’t watching the movie anymore. She felt the pressure of Beckett’s hand on hers, the slightly rough feel of his fingers against her skin, and the warmth of his grasp. She felt her cheeks begin to color as she imagined what she wanted.

Beckett pulled against her hand, drawing her toward him. Jess leaned across Shakti, and he met her above the sleeping puppy. Their lips touched at last. Beckett’s were surprisingly soft and fuller than Jess had imagined. When they turned their heads, his goatee rubbed her chin, a slight scratching sensation she did not mind. Her hair was pulled back into a braid. It was his hair that swung forward to brush her cheek. Jess put a hand to his face, pressed the pads of her fingers to his warm skin. He put a hand to her neck beneath her braid, and with the slightest pressure signaled her to stand up with him. They left Shakti to watch the movie and went into the bedroom.

The small room was dimly lit by the gloaming light outside. A double bed and a dresser, a single nightstand, and a coatrack filled the space—hardly luxurious or romantic, but it would do. Beckett sat on the edge of the bed and let his gaze travel over Jess in a way that made his desire clear. If he had looked at her like this before, she hadn’t noticed. She felt like the answer to a prayer.

Beckett kissed her again, this time bringing his tongue to probe her mouth. His hands moved to her neck. He found her braid and undid her hair so it draped her shoulders, then put his hands to her temples and slid his fingers over her scalp. His touch explored with a tender appreciation.

Beckett removed his shirt.

Staying with him had afforded her the opportunity to see his bare chest before, but never like this. Jess studied the pale hairs, discovering a mole midway down his torso on the right, perched on his ribcage like a beauty mark. She put her hands on his chest and ran them over the firm rise of pectoral muscle, feeling his nipples brush against her palms. She stroked his body, feeling each rib down to his waist. Jess remained clothed while he removed his shorts and stood before her as an offering of the flesh.

Jess woke up sandwiched between Shakti and Beckett. They had fallen asleep without closing the blinds and sunlight fell bright across the bed. She turned toward him and snuggled closer. He readjusted himself and opened an arm to accept her. She put her head on his shoulder and laid her hand on his chest. Beckett wrapped his arm around her and she breathed in the smell of his skin.