Murder of a Bookstore Babe

CHAPTER 14

The Turn of the Screw

Skye was still smiling when she arrived at work Tuesday morning. Her night with Wally had been fabulous. They’d gotten a lot of issues between them cleared up, and the rest of the time they’d spent together was better than she’d thought possible. Even the ominous note she found in her mailbox from Neva Llewellyn, the junior high principal, couldn’t wipe the grin off her face.

“Why are you so happy?” Ursula Nelson, the school secretary, watched her with suspicious beetle brown eyes. “Didn’t you see that message from Neva?”

“I saw it.” Skye refused to give the older woman the satisfaction of appearing concerned. “Please tell her I’m available anytime she’s ready to see me.”

“Go right in.” Ursula rose from her chair like a bird of prey and flapped her wing toward the principal’s closed door. “She’s been waiting for you.”

Skye glanced at her watch. It was barely eight o’clock and the staff wasn’t required to be at the school for another half hour. What in the heck had gotten Neva in such a state? She searched her mind for any recent offenses, but the first few weeks of classes had gone smoothly. Surely Neva didn’t share Homer’s aversion to Skye’s work with the police.

When Skye entered the principal’s office, Neva, seated at a gleaming cherrywood writing table roughly the size of a cruise ship, looked up and said, “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Uh.” Skye was immediately wary. Neva had never offered her any refreshment before. “Sure.”

“How do you take it?”

“Cream and two packages of Sweet’N Low, if you have it, or three sugars.”

Neva made a moue of distaste but rose and walked over to a sideboard that contained an elaborate apparatus. As she pressed various buttons, Skye took a seat on one of the pair of Queen Anne chairs facing the desk. She fished in her tote for her calendar, a notepad, and a pencil, then put the bag by her feet.

“Enjoy.” Neva handed Skye a delicate cup and saucer decorated with tiny pink roses.

“Thank you.” Skye breathed in the wonderful aroma, then took a taste. Wow! “This is fantastic.”

“Yes, it is.” Neva sat back down and straightened the immaculate leather-bound blotter on her desktop. “I’m very particular about my coffee. One needs the right machine, filtered water, and of course, the best beans to make a good cup.”

“I see.” Skye wondered where Neva was leading. She wasn’t usually inclined to waste time chatting. “Any particular brand you prefer?”

“I usually order my beans directly from Kona, Hawaii, but these are from Tales and Treats.” Neva took a sip. “Mr. Erwin suggested it, and I must say, he was correct in his assessment.”

“He seems very knowledgeable about that sort of thing,” Skye agreed.

“Which, in a way, brings me to why I wanted to see you this morning.” Neva ran a fingertip along the rim of her cup. “I understand both you and Tales and Treats had a difficult weekend.”

“Yes, that’s true.” Shoot! Was Neva also going to yell at her about being the pied piper for the dead? “The protesters on Saturday were bad enough, but finding that poor girl on Sunday was awful.” There. Maybe if Skye made it clear she didn’t enjoy discovering bodies, Neva wouldn’t berate her for doing so.

“I imagine it was,” Neva whispered. A single tear slid down her cheek, and she wiped it away, then cleared her throat. “You’re probably unaware that Kayla Hines was my goddaughter.”

“Oh, my.” Skye swallowed hard. “You’re right, I didn’t know. I’m so sorry for your loss. Would you like to talk about her?”

“Thank you for your condolences.” Neva leaned forward. “But I didn’t bring you in here for sympathy or grief counseling.”

“Oh?” Skye’s heart jumped in alarm, but she forced an unperturbed look on her face.

“From what I’ve been told, the authorities are claiming that Kayla’s death was a result of a break-in gone wrong.” Neva’s intense gaze bore into Skye. “Which means the police will use that as an excuse to limit the investigation.”

“No, but—”

“You’ve got to find out who killed her,” Neva interrupted Skye. “The murderer must be punished.”

“Do you suspect someone?” Skye asked. “Was there anyone who hated Kayla or had it in for her?”

“No.” Neva shook her head. “Everyone loved her. There was something about Kayla that drew people to her.” She frowned. “And that’s the problem. There’s no obvious villain, so the police will give up after only a cursory investigation and blame it on the burglary.”

“I’m sure the officials will use every means available to find Kayla’s murderer.” Skye hadn’t asked Wally whether she should mention that he no longer considered burglary the motive. “And since I do work as the police consultant, I will offer any help I can.”

“That’s not enough.” Neva tapped a manicured nail on the desktop. “As I understand it, the police only seek your advice if the crime was psychologically motivated.”

“That’s often true.” Skye searched for a way to set Neva’s mind at rest without revealing anything Wally might want kept quiet. “But since I found her, I’m already involved, and I will be working the case.”

“Kayla’s parents won’t push.” Neva shook her head, clearly not accepting Skye’s reassurances. “My cousin is under her husband’s thumb and too busy with her second family to spend any energy on Kayla. And Kayla’s stepfather doesn’t care what happened to her.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. It sounds as if Kayla had to grow up fast and rely on herself and her friends to get by.”

“Kayla had such talent and ambition,” Neva explained. “But she was torn because she yearned for a real home but wanted a career that would make it difficult to settle down.”

“That’s a tough choice.” Skye’s tone was soothing.

“I’m counting on you.” Neva gazed at Skye unblinkingly. “You seem to have a special talent for solving mysteries.”

“Not really.” Skye stood up. “The Star has exaggerated my part in previous investigations.” She backed away from the desk, bumping into a delicate butterfly table and leaving a scuff on the ivory wall.

Neva rose, too. A line appeared between her brows as she contemplated the scrape on her formerly pristine paint, and Skye winced. That mark was undoubtedly going straight onto Skye’s permanent record. The one Neva kept in her head.

“The police department does a great job,” Skye babbled, knowing she should shut up. “I’m happy to help, but they don’t need me.”

“Be that as it may.” Neva jerked the cuffs of her taupe wool suit jacket for emphasis. “My goddaughter deserves an advocate.”

Skye reached the door. Tasting freedom, she put her hand on the knob, but Neva grabbed her wrist, thwarting her escape. “And I’m going to see she has two—you and me.”

“I’ll do what I can.” She freed herself from the older woman’s grasp, unsure how else to respond. The junior high principal had never shared anything personal with her before—which, come to think of it, wasn’t an altogether bad thing.

Neva murmured, “It isn’t right, how her parents ignored her.” As Skye stepped over the threshold and started down the hall, she heard the principal mutter, “They treated her like a servant. Worse, like a ghost. Why didn’t I ever do something about that?”

Skye blew out a breath of relief as she rounded the corner and was out of the woman’s sight. She felt sorry for Neva, but there was no way she was going to question the principal’s past inaction regarding her goddaughter. At the moment, the best Skye could do was pass the information about Kayla’s neglectful family to Wally and see whether he wanted to pursue it. She couldn’t think of any reason her parents would want Kayla dead. Heck, it sounded as if they barely knew she was alive.

A few minutes later, Skye sat in her office staring at the brown stains on the white ceiling tiles. She often thought those blots could be used to administer a Rorschach test. Too bad that was an assessment tool rarely used by school psychologists anymore.

The windowless room was painted yield-sign yellow and was no bigger than a walk-in closet. Skye had attempted to dispel the claustrophobic effect by arranging crisp white curtains around a travel-poster scene of the mountains. The custodian had originally used this space to store cleaning supplies, and there was nothing she could do about the faint lingering smell of ammonia. The pine-scented air freshener she’d plugged into the only outlet had made her sneeze, so she’d discarded it, preferring the stench to the sniffles.

Still, she was grateful for the private office. Not having to share or beg for a room every time she came to the building was a blessing. Many school psychologists would give up both their sick days and their retirement funds to have that luxury.

Skye’s thoughts were interrupted by the jangling of her newly installed telephone—a perk she still wasn’t sure how she’d gotten. She stared at the blinking light, trying to remember whether she was supposed to pick up the receiver, then press the button, or vice versa.

Mentally flipping a coin, she did the former, then crossing her fingers, said tentatively, “This is Skye Denison. May I help you?”

“It’s about time.” Her mother’s voice blared from the handset’s speaker. “I’ve been calling since six o’clock. I tried you at home and on your cell. I finally remembered this number a few minutes ago.” She paused for breath. “Why aren’t you answering your phones? Is something wrong?” May didn’t wait for any real troubles; if circumstances weren’t exactly as she expected them to be, she made up problems.

“Everything is fine.” Skye twisted the phone’s cord. “Why do you always think the worst?”

“Because then I’m pleasantly surprised if it doesn’t happen.” May’s tone was tart. “If everything is so hunky-dory, why couldn’t I reach you?”

“Uh.” Should she admit she’d spent the night at Wally’s, which would send May into a diatribe of how wrong he was for Skye, or should she fib? She chose a middle path. “I left early this morning to go swimming,” she said, which was true. She just hadn’t left from her own house. “And you know I can’t have my cell on when I’m at school.”

“Humph.” May made an unhappy noise.

“You know, Mom . . .” She paused, aware that what she was about to say wouldn’t make a difference but unable to stop herself. “Being out of touch for a couple of hours does not automatically mean that I’m dead. I’m sure if I was, one of the town gossips would inform you.”

“That isn’t funny, missy. I’ve had a bad morning. First, the phone rang at three a.m., scaring me to death. Then when I answered, someone giggled and hung up.”

“Well, Mom”—Skye couldn’t resist giving May a little zinger—“there are worse things than getting a call for a wrong number at three a.m.”

“Like what?”

“It could have been the right number.”

Without missing a beat, May continued. “Next, I find out your brother’s bought an engagement ring. And to top it all off, you disappear.”

Yikes! How had May found out about Vince? “Are you sure?” Skye stalled, wanting to hear exactly what her mother knew about Vince and Loretta before responding. “Could Vince have just been helping a friend pick one out?”

“No.” May was adamant. “Aunt Kitty’s sister saw him over in Kankakee at a jewelry store in the mall last Friday.”

“Maybe it wasn’t him.” Skye was surprised the news had taken so long to reach her mother.

“It was him.”

“Is she sure what he was buying was an engagement ring?” Skye kept trying to poke holes in the story. “Could it have been some other kind of ring?”

“It was a two-carat diamond solitaire set in platinum,” May stated flatly.

“How the heck did Aunt Kitty’s sister find that out?” Skye couldn’t imagine someone being able to provide such detail with just a visual.

“The jeweler is her second cousin’s niece by marriage on her father’s side.”

Holy mackerel! If Homeland Security had the spies that Skye’s family had, America would never have to worry about terrorists again.

“Look, Mom, I’m sure there’s some explanation.” Skye thought fast. “I bet he was picking it up for someone. I think he mentioned one of the guys in his band was getting married.” Which was technically true, since Vince was a member of the group.

“If Vince is engaged, I’d better be the first to know and not the last.” May’s voice held the outrage of a teenage girl being denied an iPod. “I want you to go talk to him and find out what’s going on.”

“Mom.” She tried to figure out how to respond to May without admitting anything. “He’s nearly forty years old. He deserves some privacy.”

“It’s not like I’m asking him for a list of the sexual positions he uses.” May snorted. “I just want to know if my baby’s engaged.”

Ew! Skye nearly dropped the receiver. May was really upset if she was talking about sex.

“So, you have to find out,” May finished saying. “I’ve been so worried; I couldn’t get a thing done today. I’m lucky I got the bed made, the breakfast dishes washed, and the carpet vacuumed.”

“Mom, it’s not even nine o’clock.” Skye blew out an exasperated breath. “The day is hardly over.”

“Whatever.” May shrugged off Skye’s comment. “Just find out what’s going on with your brother.”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself when you feed him today?” Skye continued to be miffed that her mother delivered meals to Vince at his hair salon. She never brought food to school for Skye.

“He said he didn’t need lunch this week because salesmen were bringing pizza and subs a couple of days, and he’d have the leftovers the rest of the time.” May’s voice held disbelief that her son would prefer takeout food to her cooking. “In fact, he said he was superbusy this week and probably wouldn’t talk to me until after Sunday.” She paused for breath. “Which is why I can’t call him, and you need to speak to your brother, then report back to me.”

“I’ll try.” Skye poised her finger over the disconnect button. “Listen, Mom, I’ve got to go. I’ve got a lot of kids to see today.”

“Whoa, Nelly, not so fast.” Apparently May was far from finished. “A little bird said that you and Wally were talking to Father Burns.”

“We told you, he’s filing the papers to get an annulment.” Skye stiffened. Now what?

“And how’s that going?” May sounded like she already knew the answer.

“Fine.” Skye silently counted to ten, then did it again. “Why?”

“I heard that they can’t find that ex-wife of his.” May’s tone was gleeful. “What if he killed her and the body is buried in his backyard?”

Skye took a deep breath before answering; screaming at her mother would only mean she’d have to go to confession. “You know darn well Darleen moved to Alaska. Why would you even say something like that?”

May had talked herself into a corner but rallied. “You never know. Look at all those people on TV who live next door to serial killers without ever realizing it, then claim their neighbors were so nice.”

“Mom, leave it alone.” Skye’s voice was firm. “Or do you want Wally and me to elope?” Oops! She probably shouldn’t have mentioned the E word.

Her mother’s scream was loud enough to be heard in Chicago; luckily Skye had moved the receiver away from her ear. “Now, there’s someone knocking on my office door and I really have to go.” Skye didn’t wait for her mother to respond. “Love you. Love to Dad. Bye.”

She kept her finger on the disconnect button while she tried to figure out how to have her calls sent directly to voice mail. Skye knew her mother would call back as soon as she figured out a comeback.

Skye was chewing over the fact that she and her mother could keep several psychiatrists busy well into the next millennium when the PA system squawked, “Ms. Denison, please come to the office.” Ursula’s voice was both formal and annoyed, which meant someone was with her, and he or she was making a request of which the secretary didn’t approve.

She felt a frisson of unease. Had May decided to come in person to harangue her further? Her mother and Ursula had some longtime feud going, Skye had no idea what about.

“Ms. Denison, please come to the office.”

Yikes! Ursula hadn’t even given her a minute to get there before repeating the message. Skye wasn’t expecting any parents, and if one had come without an appointment, that usually meant trouble.

Skye grabbed her key, locked the door behind her, and rushed toward the front of the school. When she entered the main office, she hurried to the counter and asked Ursula, “Why didn’t you use the intercom?”

“Your line was busy.” Ursula clipped off the words, giving them an impatient edge.

“Sorry.” Skye had long ago stopped trying to defend herself to Ursula. “What’s up?”

“Her.” The secretary pointed behind her to where Risé Vaughn stood in the health room doorway chatting with Abby Fleming, the school nurse.

“She”—Ursula’s pause was almost imperceptible—“insisted on seeing you.”

“Oh.” Skye looked toward Risé. “You wanted to talk to me?”

“Is there somewhere we can speak in private?” Risé glanced pointedly at Ursula.

“Is this about one of our students?”

Risé ignored Skye’s question. “I’d prefer to speak to you alone.”

“Okay.” Skye gestured over her shoulder. “We can use my office.”

“Thank you.”

Now what? This day was going downhill fast. Skye led the way and Risé followed, the only sound the squeak of the bookstore owner’s tennis shoes on the worn gray linoleum.

Once they were seated, Skye behind her desk and her visitor on a folding chair, Risé said, “I hope this isn’t a bad time. You seem a little tense.”

“No. It’s fine.” Skye rubbed the back of her neck. “I just got off the phone with my mother.”

“Did you two have words?” Risé’s expression was sympathetic.

“Yeah.” Skye made a wry face. “But I didn’t get to use mine.”

“Ah.”

When Risé didn’t go on, Skye asked, “What can I do for you, Risé? I don’t have any information I can share with you about your burglary or Kayla’s death.”

“I’m not here about that.” Risé flipped her ponytail over her shoulder. Today she was wearing blue jeans and an orange T-shirt with FICTION REVEALS TRUTHS THAT REALITY OBSCURES—JESSAMYN WEST printed on it.

“Then how can I help you?” Skye wondered what Risé was doing at the junior high. “Do you have a student here?”

“No, Orlando and I never had children,” Risé stated, almost daring Skye to comment.

“I see.” Skye tilted her head. Why was the bookstore owner pussyfooting around? Risé had struck her as someone who was more direct.

“Anyway.” Risé cleared her throat. “I don’t generally like to ask for favors . . .”

Oh-oh.

“But I’m in a bind.” Risé reached into her shoulder bag and handed Skye a flyer. “Part of Kayla’s duties was to lead our teen book club.”

“I remember seeing a notice for the book club, and having Kayla lead it was a terrific idea.”

“Thanks. I thought having someone younger would encourage the teens not only to participate in the group, but also to express themselves more freely.”

“That makes sense.” Skye sneaked a peek at her watch. She really needed to get to work. At this rate, she’d be up until midnight doing paperwork, trying to make up the time she’d already lost this morning. “Did a lot of kids sign up for the club?”

“I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I’d say yes. We have twelve on the list and sold nearly twenty copies of the book, so more may show up.”

“That’s great.” Skye beamed. She’d been correct in thinking the bookstore would promote reading among the teenagers. “Will you be leading the discussion since Kayla is, ah . . . not available?”

“That’s my problem.” Risé’s shoulders drooped. “Not only haven’t I read the book, but I don’t have any relationship with the kids.”

“But—”

Risé cut Skye off. “If they don’t enjoy themselves this first time, they won’t come back.” She straightened. “My husband and I have put all our money into this business. We need the teens’ support.”

“That’s true.” Skye knew Risé was right. Teens could be unforgiving if they were disappointed. “But what do you think I can do?”

“You can lead the group.” Risé held up a hand to stop Skye’s protest. “My new employee tells me that the kids all like you.”

“I don’t know about that.” Skye’s cheeks turned pink. She didn’t handle compliments well. Changing the subject, she asked, “Who have you hired to replace Kayla?”

“Xenia Craughwell.”

“Really?” Skye was shocked. Xenia didn’t need the money, and it was hard to imagine the girl in a position where she would have to be pleasant to people. “How did you find someone so quickly?”

“She came to me yesterday and filled out an application. She passed my little reading and math test with flying colors and really seems to love books.” Risé looked at Skye with a curious expression. “Why do you ask?

“Uh . . .” Skye thought fast, not wanting to give her real reasons. “She just never mentioned that she was looking for a job.”

“Oh.” Risé seemed satisfied. “So, will you take over the teen club?”

Skye wavered. “I’d really like to help you out, but my plate is pretty full right now.” She hated to see the teen book club die out before it even got started. “Isn’t there someone else you could ask?”

“Not at this late date.” Risé shook her head. “The group meets Thursday night.”

“Well . . .”

“Last Saturday, at our grand opening, you mentioned you had read If I Have a Wicked Stepmother, Where’s My Prince?, which is our selection.”

“True,” Skye admitted. “But . . .”

“You’d be perfect.” Risé’s tone was cajoling.

“I don’t know.” Skye tried to avoid looking into the woman’s desperate eyes.

“Maybe your friend, the school librarian, would co-lead with you,” Risé coaxed. “She seemed really excited that Scumble River finally had a bookstore.”

“Okay,” Skye gave in. “But you need to find someone else for next month. I already have two jobs, not to mention a fiancé and my family to deal with, so I can’t take this on permanently.”

“That’s all I ask. Next month Xenia can take over. We couldn’t afford to pay someone on a permanent basis, but”—Risé pulled a checkbook from her open purse—“name your fee.”

“A white chocolate mocha latte and some of Orlando’s amazing shortbread.” Skye smiled. “I know Trixie will work for treats, too.”

“We’ll supply you both for a year.” Risé got up. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“How’s Orlando doing?” Skye wondered whether his falling off the wagon had started him on a downward spiral.

“He’s working on remaining sober.” Risé’s face was hard to read. “He says he wants to win back my trust, but we’ll see.” She opened the door. “We’re having one of his favorite authors for a book signing on Saturday, and that’s helping him stay positive. I just hope we get a decent turnout.”

“A book signing?” Skye clapped her hands. “How exciting. I’ll definitely be there.”

“Good.” Risé smiled wryly. “Bring a lot of your friends.”

Skye accompanied Risé to the school’s front door. As she watched her walk into the parking lot, she thought how similar to Risé Kayla had looked from the back. Which one had really been the intended victim? The young girl whom no one had any apparent reason to kill, or the woman with a lot of enemies?