Murder of a Bookstore Babe

CHAPTER 8

The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde

Chase Wren wailed, sounding like a wounded wildebeest, then charged toward Kayla’s body, tears running down his chiseled cheeks.

“Stop.” Simon stepped into his path. “I’m sorry to tell you she’s dead.” He grabbed the distraught young man by his shoulders and attempted to turn him around. “You have to leave immediately.”

Chase shook him off like a bull with a rodeo rider, and when Simon hit the floor, Anthony stepped in front of Chase. The hulking ex–baseball player stumbled but quickly regained his footing.

“Whoa there, son.” Wally got behind Chase, grabbed both his arms, and twisted them up his back. “Let’s all calm down. We can talk outside.”

Chase continued to lunge toward Kayla’s body, struggling to break Wally’s hold. Wally tightened his grip, then shot Skye a meaningful look.

She immediately said in her most soothing tone, “Come on, Chase. I know it’s awful to see Kayla like that, but there’s nothing you can do for her, and she wouldn’t want you to get into trouble.”

Chase went rigid when Skye spoke Kayla’s name. Then he slumped and started to sob. “What am I going to do without her? She was my whole world.”

“I know.” Skye moved closer and patted the young man’s biceps. “Let them finish in here while we go sit outside and talk about it.”

“Okay, Ms. Denison.” He hiccuped. “I can’t stand seeing her like that.”

“That’s right.” Skye took his hand and led him toward the door. “Try to forget, and remember her the way she was the last time you two were together.”

“She was so beautiful. All the guys were jealous of me.” Chase’s blue eyes glazed over in pain. “I was so proud of her.”

Wally had followed them to the exit, and Skye jerked her chin up, signifying that she had everything under control, as she seated the young man at one of the outdoor tables. Wally sketched a question mark in the air, indicating she should interview Chase, then went back inside.

Skye nodded and turned her attention back to the sobbing young man. He gulped a couple of times, took out a large hanky, and blew his nose. She waited, content to let him establish the pace of their conversation.

Finally, he said, “Kayla’s the only girl I ever loved. We were going to get married next month.”

“I’m so sorry.” Skye leaned forward. “When did you two start dating?”

“Our freshman year in high school.” He gazed over Skye’s head.

“That’s a long time to be together.” Skye said in a comforting voice. “I’m sure it’s a shock.”

“I just can’t believe it.” Chase buried his face in his hands.

Skye searched her mind. What would Wally want her to ask Kayla’s boyfriend? “What made you come here this morning?”

“I was worried about her.” Chase rubbed his eyes with his fists. “She never showed up at my place last night.”

“Were you expecting her?” Skye asked, wondering why it had taken him so long to check the store for her.

“Not exactly.” Chase shook his head. “She spends most nights with me, but she technically still lives with her parents.”

Skye nodded, remembering Kayla’s explanation of her living arrangements. “So you called her folks this morning and found out she wasn’t there either?”

“Actually,” Chase admitted, “I called them around midnight, after I tried her cell a few times and it went straight into voice mail.”

“And when she wasn’t there . . . ?” Skye trailed off, confused. Why hadn’t Chase come to Tales and Treats at that point?

“The thing is”—Chase frowned—“sometimes she spends the night with Xenia. She has all the latest film-making gadgets, and I knew that Kayla had a big project she was working on for school, so I thought she might have crashed at Xenia’s.”

Skye nodded again. That, too, fit in with what Kayla had said. “Did you call there?”

“I tried, but the machine picked up, and Xenia didn’t answer her cell.”

“Is that unusual?”

“Not really.” Chase’s neck turned red. “Xenia doesn’t like me.”

Skye tucked that information away and was considering what else Wally would want to know, when a silver Toyota Prius zoomed up and parked behind Chase’s SUV. It was beginning to look like a parade lineup with all the cars double-parked bumper to bumper.

Risé threw open the driver’s door and exploded out of the car. She was wearing a short pink T-shirt with the words PARDON ME WHILE I SLIP INTO A GOOD BOOK emblazoned across her chest, and she tugged at it as she tore toward Skye and Chase.

She skidded to a stop inches from Skye’s chair and demanded, “Okay, I’m here. What’s the big emergency?” Her tone was stiff, but her expression was worried.

Before Skye could answer, Chase howled and lunged at Risé, shouting, “This is all your fault.”

It took both Wally and Skye to subdue Chase, but he finally calmed down enough to be sent to the police station with Anthony. Wally had decided they would continue questioning the young man after they were finished at the scene. Soon afterward, Xavier and Simon left with the body, and now Skye, Wally, and Risé were staring at the shards of glass and scattered books on the shop floor.

“That poor, poor girl.” Risé’s skin was ashen, and she blinked back tears. “I should never have left her alone yesterday to close up.”

“What time did you leave here?” Wally asked.

“We close at eight on Fridays and Saturdays,” Risé answered mechanically. “I left about fifteen minutes later. Kayla wanted to finish vacuuming, so I told her to lock the door when she was finished. I took Beelzebub and Cherub and headed for the motor court.”

“Her pet chinchillas,” Skye explained when she noticed Wally’s puzzled expression.

“Oh.” Wally made a note on the pad he took from his breast pocket. “Did you and your husband leave here together last night?”

“No.” Risé’s mouth twisted. “He couldn’t wait for me to count the cash drawer. He had a meeting to attend over in Laurel and took off right behind our last customer.”

“Where is he now?” Wally looked up from his notepad.

“I have no idea.” Risé’s tone was tart. “He never made it back to the cottage.”

“Is that usual for him?” Wally raised a brow.

“No, not anymore. It used to be, a long time ago, but he’s been sober for nearly fifteen years. He’s never slipped and taken a drink in all that time.”

“But he used to get falling-down drunk?” Wally asked.

“He preferred to call it becoming accidently horizontal.” Risé sighed. “But yes.”

“Was he going to Laurel for an AA meeting?” Skye asked quietly.

“Yes.” Risé nodded. “He attends meetings a couple times a week, and they have one especially for vets over there.”

“And when he failed to return to the motor court, you didn’t look for him or try his cell phone or call someone to find him?” Wally’s tone was skeptical.

“He refuses to carry a cell. And I didn’t know where to go or who to call.” Risé shrugged. “Everything in AA is confidential, and since we only recently moved here, he hasn’t found a sponsor in the new group yet.” She whispered half to herself, “I should have known the recent stress about my previous job and then opening up a business might push him over the edge.”

“I’m sure it’s not your fault,” Skye said.

“Excuse me a minute.” Wally pulled out his phone and dialed. “Silvia, get ahold of the Laurel police and the county guys, and ask them to be on the lookout for Orlando Erwin. Pull his description from his driver’s license.” He listened a minute, then turned to Risé. “What was he wearing and driving?”

“He had on jeans, a navy T-shirt, and a leather jacket,” Risé reported. “And he was on his motorcycle. A ’sixty-eight Harley.”

Wally relayed the information, hung up, and said, “Now, Ms. Vaughn, without touching anything, do you see any sign of a burglary?”

“Not at first glance.” Risé looked around. “Can I go into the other rooms?”

“Yes, but keep your hands in your pockets.”

After she made the rounds, the store owner shook her head. “It seems as if everything is just like I left it. I took the cash.” Risé paused, then said thoughtfully, “The only things that anyone could get some real money for are the first editions and rare books.” She pointed to the smashed cabinet that Wally and Anthony had leaned against the wall. “And they were in there.”

“Could that cupboard have fallen on its own?” Wally asked. “Maybe if it were bumped?”

“I doubt it.” Risé’s voice was bitter. “I told Orlando that it wasn’t fastened to the wall securely enough because I was worried about an earthquake. But otherwise, it’s so heavy, someone would have had to shove it over on purpose.”

Skye touched her arm. “Do you have an inventory of the valuable books?”

“On my laptop.” Risé gestured with her chin. “It’s in my car.”

Skye and Wally waited while Risé fetched her computer, booted it up, and compared the list to the volumes scattered on the floor. Wally had supplied her with a pair of rubber gloves but cautioned her not to move anything from where it lay.

Finally, Risé straightened and said, “At least seven books are missing.”

“Are those missing the ones that are worth the most?” Skye asked.

“Not all of them.” Risé tapped the laptop’s screen. “But this one, a nineteen twenty-two first edition of The Velveteen Rabbit, is worth eight thousand dollars.”

Wally had been inspecting the place on the wall where the cabinet had been fastened, but when he heard Risé’s claim, he said, “Okay. Everyone out. I’m requesting the county crime scene techs.”

Skye, Wally, and Risé trooped outside. While Wally made his call, the women sat at an outdoor table. Skye thought how lucky they were that the weather was still mild. Early-September temperatures in Illinois could range from eighty degrees during the day to freezing at night.

A few minutes later, Wally joined them. “It’ll take the techs forty-five minutes to an hour to get here.” He turned to Skye. “Sugar, if you want to take off, that’s fine.”

Skye nodded and started to rise, but before she got to her feet, Risé grabbed her hand. “I’d appreciate it if you stayed.” Her cheeks reddened. “But I understand if you can’t.”

“Of course I’ll stay if you want me to.” Skye looked at her watch; it was only a little past twelve thirty. “No problem.”

“Thank you.” Risé slumped back in her chair. “I’m not usually this needy.”

They were sitting silently when Skye’s stomach growled. “Hey, I just had an idea.” She realized the only thing she’d had to eat all day was a cup of gas station coffee. Now she sort of wished she’d taken Simon up on his offer of breakfast. “How about I go get takeout from McDonald’s? I’m starving, and I bet the chief is, too. How about you, Risé? Could you do with some lunch?”

“Well.” Risé hesitated. “I did skip breakfast, hoping Orlando would show up.”

“What would you like?”

“I try to eat vegetarian, but I think considering the past twenty-four hours, today I’ll call a Big Mac a vegetable.” Risé smiled for the first time. “What the hell, get me fries and a chocolate shake while you’re at it.”

“Wally?” Skye looked at him.

“Sounds good.” He took out his wallet and handed her a twenty. “Chow’s on me.”

When Skye arrived back from her food run, Wally had cordoned off the block. She rolled down her car window and said to Anthony, who was watching the south entrance, “What’s up?” It was unusual to barricade a whole section of street for anything less than a hostage situation or a shoot-out.

“When I got back from the station, the chief told me to set up the barricades. He wants to keep out any onlookers.” Anthony was a nice-looking young man with sandy brown hair. He worked part-time for the PD and part-time for his father, who owned an appliance repair business. “The bookstore is scheduled to open any minute.”

“What are you supposed to tell people who show up?” Skye was trying to figure out what story would cause the least amount of harm to Tales and Treats’ reputation.

“Chief Boyd never mentioned that.” Anthony puckered his brow. “Any idea what I should say?”

“Hmm.” Skye tapped her chin. “Will everyone have heard it on their scanners?”

“No.” Anthony gave her a shy smile. “We kept it off the radios.”

“Excellent!” Skye wrinkled her nose. “Then you can just say a possible gas leak is being investigated.”

“And the real truth is?” a sharp voice asked.

Skye turned and stared into Orlando Erwin’s bloodshot eyes. “Mr. Erwin, am I glad to see you.” Skye had been half afraid he was lying dead somewhere.

“And why is that?” Orlando sat astride his motorcycle, pulled up next to the Bel Air’s rear passenger door.

“Because—”

“Shit!” He cut her off. “I was supposed to look at some old books for you, wasn’t I? Sorry. I was chemically inconvenienced.”

“Yes, but that’s not what’s important now.” Skye said to Anthony, “This is the missing store owner we’ve been looking for. Let him in.”

The young officer moved one of the sawhorses so she and Orlando could get past the cordon. They pulled in behind Risé’s Prius. Skye got out of her Chevy, balancing the cardboard drink carrier and three white McDonald’s bags. Squinting, she could see Zelda Martinez, the newest Scumble River police officer, guarding the other end of the street.

Curious as to where Orlando had been, Skye hurried to catch up with him as he strode over to where his wife and Wally were sitting.

She arrived in time to hear him say, “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

Risé remained seated. Ignoring him, she thanked Skye, who had handed her a paper cup and a sack of food.

Skye looked at Wally, who shook his head. He wanted to hear what the couple might say in the heat of the moment.

“I slipped.” Orlando took a deep, harsh breath. “The pressure got to me.”

Risé unwrapped a straw and stuck it into the opening on the milk shake’s plastic lid.

“With our grand opening ruined, it suddenly hit me that we didn’t have the cushion of your salary or a fat savings account anymore. I couldn’t take it.” Orlando’s tongue darted out, and he ran it over his chapped lips. “I thought after fifteen years I could take just one drink, but I woke up this morning in the drunk tank at the county jail, with no memory of how I got there.”

Skye whispered in Wally’s ear, “Why didn’t County report that Orlando was in their jail when you told them to be on the lookout for him?”

“They don’t formally process the drunks,” Wally said in a low voice. “They just let them sleep it off and then release them once they’re sober.”

“Oh.” Skye turned her attention back to the store owners.

Orlando was still trying to explain. “They let me out about an hour ago.” He shoved a hand through his brown hair. “I tried to call you, but your cell is off, and you weren’t answering at the motor court or at the store, so I came straight here.”

“Shut up!” Risé’s face was set in hard, tight lines. “Just shut up! We’ll talk about this later. Kayla’s dead, and we’ve been robbed.”

“Oh, my God!” Orlando sank to his knees. “Poor thing. She was such a sweet girl.”

“Yes, she was.” Risé blinked back tears. “She really was.”

For a long moment no one spoke; then Orlando broke the silence. “That’s it, then.” He uttered a string of vivid and anatomically detailed invectives. “We’re ruined. We’ll lose everything. Who’ll want to come to a store where someone has died?”

Skye caught her breath. Was Orlando right? Would people hold the death of a local girl against Risé and Orlando, as Chase had? Would they boycott the shop out of fear or revulsion or just plain spite? Was this the end of Tales and Treats before its story even got started?