Murder of a Small-Town Honey

Skye was gone less than five minutes. She handed May her change before putting the brown plastic tray on the table and settling back on her side of the booth. While May put away the money, Skye unwrapped her Big Mac and took a bite.

May removed a foil pack of moistened towelettes from her purse and tore it open. She shook out the paper square and thoroughly wiped the tabletop. After flattening the wrinkled paper from her sandwich into a makeshift place mat, she took a handful of Skye's fries and put a straw in her cup. She smoothed a napkin on her lap.

Skye watched this ritual with interest, having seen it only a million or so times before today. "Are we comfy yet?"

May looked up, but did not respond to Skye's sarcasm. "That's a pretty outfit. Don't forget to put your napkin in your lap."

Having forgotten momentarily what she'd put on that morning, Skye looked down at what she was wearing—a deep blue wrap-style dress with a cascade collar. "Thanks."

"Why don't your shoes match?"

Since the pumps she was wearing were made for walk­ing, Skye walked away from that booby trap. "If we're through with our housekeeping chores and fashion bloop­ers, perhaps we can discuss what I've uncovered so far this morning."

"Shoot."

Leaning forward, Skye lowered her voice, even though there was no one anywhere near them. "Okay, you remem­ber the things you're supposed to research for me tonight?"

May nodded impatiently. "Yes, I wrote it all down. I'm not senile. What else have you found out?"

"After my meeting this morning I chatted with Abby Fleming, the school nurse. You know she's dating Vince now, but did you remember she went out with him a few times in high school?"

May smiled indulgently. "I couldn't keep track of all the girls Vince dated. He was so popular."

Skye wondered if her mother was reminding her that she had not been very sought after in high school. Talking with her mother always required being on the alert for am­bushes.

She ignored that unwelcome thought. "Anyway, Vince dated her right before he got involved with Honey Adair. And Abby was really ticked off at Honey for stealing Vince."

"This all happened so long ago. She can't still be upset about it."

"Think of it this way. She's dating Vince again, every­thing is going really well, and suddenly she finds out that Honey is coming back to town. I'd say all the old resent­ment would resurface."

"How would she know that Honey was Mrs. Gumtree?" May took a few more fries from Skye's pile.

"I haven't worked out that part yet." Skye shrugged. "But she could have recognized her from her picture on those posters that were all over town."

May shook her head. "Abby is such a sweet girl. She couldn't do something like that."

"Right." Skye opened another ketchup packet. "And there were no drugs in Scumble River when I was in high school. At least that's what you always told me when I complained about the pushers in class."

"Did you find out anything else?"

"Oh, my, yes. Did you know that Chief Boyd's wife, Darleen, dated Mike Young in high school, while he was so involved in drugs? Honey broke up that relationship, too."

"No, I didn't know any of that. Well, that might explain his wanting to pin this murder on Vince without much in­vestigating. He probably doesn't want anything about his wife's past to come out." May shook some salt on her sand­wich.

"I would imagine not, but I just can't picture Chief Boyd with Darleen. She's the special ed teacher at the junior high, and there's something about her that bothers me."

"Like what?"

"Let me think. To begin with, she's emaciated, not just fashionably thin but skeletal. Also, her eyes bulge out. I keep trying to remember what medical condition causes that. But mostly it's her extremely submissive behavior around the principal that disturbs me." Taking a sip of her Diet Coke, she tried to put the pieces together.

May finished her meal and started to clean up the debris, putting everything back on the tray. "Everyone doesn't have to be as bossy as you are."

"Thanks a lot, Mom."

May got up and dumped the trash in the garbage. "You've found out a lot already."

"That's not all." Skye followed May to the door. "Abby said that Honey was very friendly with her Softball coach back then. And you'll never guess who that was." She paused for effect. "It was Lloyd Stark, the junior high principal."

"Do you really think someone like him would get in­volved with a student?"

"Remember, this was sixteen years ago. He may have changed considerably since then. Nevertheless, I'm going to talk to him too."

They walked toward their cars, parked side by side. May opened her door, then cautioned, "Be careful. If one of these people did kill Honey, they may already think you saw something, and by asking questions you could be stir­ring up a hornet's nest."

Skye hugged her mother and kissed her on the cheek. "When you asked me to help Vince, what did you think would happen?"

"I guess I didn't think, but I don't want to put one of my kids in danger to save the other."

"Sure, Mom, I'll watch it."

Skye was scheduled to spend the rest of the day at Scumble River Junior High. As soon as she arrived, she asked to speak to Lloyd but was told by Ursula, the school secretary, that he was unavailable.

Next, she went to the special ed classroom. There she found Darleen, along with eleven students, who were studying for a math quiz.

Skye whispered to Darleen from the doorway, "Mind if I watch?"

Darleen shook her head, but she kept glancing uneasily at Skye as she taught.

Making her way to the back of the room, Skye sat in a yellow plastic folding chair. From reading their files she knew the kids had a mixed bag of disabilities, with the ma­jority having either learning or behavior problems. They all had study sheets, and most had written in their solutions. Darleen was going over those answers.

Skye was visiting the classrooms in an attempt to match faces to the names on file folders, allow the teachers and students to become accustomed to her, and get a feel for the different teaching styles.

The bell rang at two-fifteen and the students piled out of the room. Gym was last period, and they had a lot of bo.t-tled-up energy to expend.

Turning to Skye, Darleen gestured to the sheaf of papers she was holding. "This is my planning period, so there won't be any more students today."

Skye nodded. She recognized a dismissal when she heard one, but she persisted. "Are you going to the teach­ers' lounge?"

Darleen gave Skye a deer-in-the-headlights look. "Yes, I thought I'd get a soda while I grade these papers."

Skye ignored Darleen's attempt to make it perfectly clear that she didn't want company. "Great. Mind if I join you? Maybe we can get to know each other."

Sighing, Darken trudged down the hall.

The teachers' lounge was decorated in Early Grandma's Attic. Nothing matched, and everything was at least fifty years old. A refrigerator had been placed in the back corner, next to a counter with a sink full of used coffee cups. The microwave, located on an old library cart, was stained both inside and out. Several tables had been shoved together, plastic folding chairs arranged haphazardly around them. A couch covered in nubby orange fabric occupied the oppo­site wall, and next to it a child-size desk held a telephone.

Darleen opened the fridge and took a half-empty can of soda from the shelf. She sat down at the table and started grading papers.

Skye looked around for the pop machine but did not see it. "Where's the soda machine?"

Darleen shrugged listlessly. "It must still be out for re­pair."

Making a mental note to bring in a few cans of Diet Coke to put in the fridge, Skye joined her. While Skye waited for Darleen to look up, she studied her. If anything, the teacher looked worse now than she did the first day of school. Her skin was pasty, and she had dark circles under her eyes. She wore an overall romper over a Spandex crop top.

Skye thought, Why would a teacher who deals with dis­turbed adolescent boys dress like that? Talk about asking for trouble.

The silence lengthened and Skye's impatience grew. "So, are you from Scumble River?"

Darleen nodded but did not look up.

This conversation was more of a chore than getting a sixteen-year-old to talk. "You must have gone to high school here then, right?"

Again a nod but no eye contact.

"That murder Sunday was awful. Did you know Honey Adair?"

Finally Darken looked at Skye and started to nibble on a fingernail. The rest of her nails showed evidence that this was a long-standing habit. Her fingers also had yellow stains, suggesting she was a chronic smoker. "No, not re­ally. Well, sort of. I mean we were in the same class, but I never hung around with her or anything. I don't think she had any girlfriends."

Skye took the opening that statement provided. "Yes, but I hear she had a lot of boyfriends."

Darleen looked down at the papers in front of her and shrugged.

"In fact, I just heard today that before she started dating my brother, Honey and Mike Young were closer than two ones in an eleven." Skye stared at Darleen, daring her to deny the truth.

"I don't remember." Darleen's face had turned an un­healthy shade of red.

Feeling as if she was pulling the wings off a butterfly, Skye leaned closer and said, "Oh, I'm surprised to hear that. I thought you and Mike were dating before Honey stole him away."

Darleen stood up so suddenly that the chair she was sit­ting on went flying back and toppled onto the floor. She was trembling when she turned to Skye, and tears were run­ning down her cheeks. "You're like all the rest of them, asking questions, prying into the past. Leave me alone. Why can't everybody just leave me alone?"

Darleen ran out of the lounge. Skye sat there, stunned. / wonder who all the rest of them are? Who else has been prying into her past?

At five o'clock, on her way out of the building, Skye stopped at the front office to try once again to talk to Lloyd. Ursula had been telling her all afternoon that he wasn't see­ing anyone. This time she found Ursula gone and the room vacant.

She called out as she walked back toward the principal's office, "Lloyd, are you busy?"

There was no answer, but she could see that the light in his office was still on. Standing at the partially closed door, she knocked. "Lloyd, it's Skye Denison. Could I talk to you a minute?"

Silence, except for the humming of a computer monitor. This was beginning to feel like deja vu. First Mrs. Gumtree's trailer, then Charlie's cabin, and now this. Skye forced her­self to push the door all the way open and stick her head in­side.

The office was trashed. All the desk drawers had been taken out and their contents strewn on the floor. Certificates and plaques that usually hung on the wall were thrown into a pile. It was clear that someone was searching for some­thing and didn't care who or what got in the way.

CHAPTER 14

As Time Goes By

Once again Skye found herself in the backseat of Chief Boyd's squad car. Scumble River had recently pur­chased all new police vehicles, which meant buying two of them. Chevy Caprice Classics had been the mayor's selec­tion after an arduous brainstorming session. This was not exactly a risky choice, since most police officers in the country drove similar sedans, and Chevrolet manufactured a special line of this model especially for law enforcement departments.

Scumble River's Caprices were robin's-egg blue with a map of the river painted in black on both front doors. Chief Boyd's squad smelled faintly of his aftershave, and some­thing else Skye couldn't identify.

The interior was exceptionally neat. No candy wrappers, empty soda cans, or other debris littered the floor. The dashboard was dust free and the windshield sparkled. Skye wondered if her mother routinely washed the windows be­fore each of her shifts.

She felt unsettled. After the initial shock of discovering Mrs. Gumtree's body had worn off, Skye had found the sit­uation fascinating, in a morbid way. Of course, she was upset when Vince was arrested, but she felt resourceful as she took charge and saved him. Talking to people was inter­esting, and she was astounded at how easily they told her their secrets. But she was getting tired of finding rooms vandalized everywhere she went.

Chief Boyd interrupted her thoughts by opening the door. "Okay, Skye, we're finished. You can come back in­side. I have a few questions to ask." He smiled. "You know the drill by now."

Slowly, Skye followed him into the school. He led her to the health room and closed the door. After they were seated, he took out his notebook and clicked his pen. "Tell me what happened. Start with why you were here after everyone else went home."

She shrugged. "What can I say? I'm either dedicated or foolish, take your pick. The school system hasn't had a psy­chologist in almost a year. They still don't have a social worker. There's a ton of paperwork that the state and fed­eral agencies require be done ... in triplicate. I'm trying to catch up so I can do my real job of working with kids."

"It sounds like my job. More paperwork than police work."

"In a small town you have to do both—be an administra­tor and go out in the field." Skye tried to gain brownie points by demonstrating her empathy.

Chief Boyd nodded and leaned toward her. "Okay, when did Ursula and Lloyd leave?"

"They usually leave between four and four-thirty. I checked with Ursula at about three-fifteen to see if Lloyd could see me. She said he was unavailable but didn't give any details. Then I got involved with what I was doing and forgot to go back until I decided to call it a day at five."

"Did you see anyone when you walked from your office to Lloyd's?"

"No, It was sort of spooky. Like someone gave a signal and the place just cleared out. Or like they'd all been beamed aboard the Enterprise."

The chief made a note. "I'll have to check and see if this is typical behavior. I don't suppose you've been around long enough to tell?"

Skye shook her head. "Was there anyone in the building when you searched it?"

"We found a custodian in the boiler room, but that was it. Tell me what you did when you found Lloyd's office trashed."

"I backed out the door, used the phone on Ursula's desk, and called you."

"What did you do until we got here?"

"Well, I knew there was no one in Lloyd's room or up here in the front office, so I sat in Ursula's chair where I could see the entrance. The only thing I touched was the telephone and Lloyd's door. Do you think this has anything to do with the murder?"

He shrugged. "I can't see how, but you never know."

Sitting silently, Skye debated whether to mention his wife's peculiar behavior and what she had found out about Lloyd. She finally decided to tell him what she knew about Lloyd but not mention Darleen. "Ah, Chief, I did happen to hear about a connection between Lloyd and Honey."

He raised an eyebrow. "How did you 'happen to hear' about this connection?"

"I was chatting with Abby Fleming, the district nurse, and she mentioned that Lloyd coached a softball team that she and Honey were on the summer before their senior year in high school."

"That's not exactly a close association. He coached vari­ous sports for several years. There are a lot of people in town who were on those teams."

Skye hesitated, not wanting to start an unsubstantiated rumor. "Abby did allude to a closer relationship than stu­dent and coach."

"What do you mean by 'allude to' ?"

"She said they seemed very close. More so than he and other students."

"This was just an opinion, right? Abby didn't actually witness any impropriety?"

"No, I think it was only an impression."

He took her hand. "I know you don't want to think that Vince could have killed her, but you have to consider the facts. They all point to him."

Skye snatched her hand from his grasp. "All the facts do not point to him. You have to consider that you haven't looked at anyone but him. Which makes me wonder why. There are a lot of people in this town who hated Honey Adair and had good reasons to want to see her dead."

She paused, knowing that if she continued she'd be sorry. Stealing a peek at the chief, she saw a look of conde­scension on his face and lost control.

Her words tumbled out with no pauses for breath. "Lloyd Stark may have been intimate with her when she was underage. Abby Fleming certainly hated her for break­ing up the relationship Abby and Vince had in high school. Charlie Patukas inherits a lot of money with her dead. Mike Young had an intense relationship with Honey until she went after Vince. And last, but definitely not least, your wife had reason to hate her for stealing Mike away."

Without giving him a chance to reply, Skye stood up and stalked out of the room. She got into her car and drove home, refusing to think about what she had just done. It wasn't until she was in her bedroom changing clothes that she allowed herself to consider the consequences of her im­pulsiveness.

She sat on the bed and pounded her knee with her fist. 7 hate it when I put my mouth in gear without first engaging my brain. What have I accomplished by provoking Chief Boyd? Nothing. Up until now he has treated me like the old friend I was. He hasn't done anything to deserve that abuse.

Then an idea crossed her mind, and she stopped hitting her leg. This whole thing could force the chief to look at other suspects. Maybe this isn't such a bad thing. Maybe he won't be angry that I threw his wife's high school fling in his face. Yeah, and maybe pigs will fly, too.

A glance at her clock radio told her it was five after seven. That Big Mac had been a long time ago. She went into her kitchen, and over to the refrigerator. The shelves were empty. It was time to go to the grocery store.

Clouds had continued to roll in, and it was beginning to get dark when Skye pulled into the parking lot of the super­market. She winced as a flash of lightning illuminated the asphalt. Hunger, stress, and heat had given her a raging headache.

As she cruised the lot looking for an open slot, her emo­tions ranged from self-pity to outrage, settling somewhere near resignation. In her exhausted state she felt as if she had been looking for a parking place for hours. She recovered somewhat when she saw someone getting into a car parked only three spaces from the door.

Pulling up almost behind the occupied vehicle, Skye put her turn signal on, indicating her intention to claim the spot. True to the tenor of her day, the people in the car took an eternity to get settled and start to move out. Finally their brake lights came on and they began to inch backward.

They were barely out of the parking place when a white Lexus zipped into the space, narrowly missing Skye's right front bumper. She pounded on her horn, which produced only a feeble whimper, but the auburn-haired driver exited his car and entered the store without glancing back.

Still fuming, Skye finally made her way into the store after being forced to park what seemed like a mile and a half from the door. By that time the rain had started and she was soaked.

Scraping her wet hair back into a ponytail, she headed for the soda aisle. It looked almost as barren as her refriger­ator.

She was reaching for the last six-pack of Diet Coke on the shelf when a long, tanned arm reached above her and grabbed it.

Whirling around, Skye came face-to-chest with the man who had stolen her parking spot. As her eyes reached his face, she realized she knew him. It was the coroner, Simon Reid.

Resentment she had only partially contained all day broke loose. "Give that back to me right now!"

"I can't give it back to you. You never had it to begin with."

Skye seethed; her voice rose. "First, you snatch my parking place when it was evident to any moron that I was waiting for that car to leave so I could pull in. Then, you rip the last cans of Diet Coke from my hands. What's next? Are you on your way to steal the Social Security checks from little old ladies?"

The man leaned on his grocery cart, completely at ease and comfortable with himself. "Boy, you sure have a tem­per. I like a woman who—"

Interrupting him in midsentence, she fought the urge to scream. "I have a temper? You ill-bred, mannerless boor. How dare you? You give that soda back to me or you're going to be sorry."

"What are you going to do? Kick me in the shins?" he asked over his shoulder as he walked around the end of the aisle. In his grocery cart, the six-pack of Diet Coke sat in solitary splendor.

Skye started to run after him but stopped before reaching the next aisle. Sagging against the shelves, she thought, He's right. What can I do? I'm powerless.

Simon reminded her of her ex-fiance—selfish and ego­tistical. It had been only a few months, and the pain he had caused her hadn't diminished. Not only had he robbed her of her dream to join New Orleans society, he had also taken her self-confidence.

Her head drooped and her shoulders bowed as she re­turned to the soda aisle and settled for a six-pack of Diet Pepsi. Just like her ex-fiance", Simon was long gone and she

had to live with the consequences. She hated men who made her lose her temper and her Diet Coke.

She finished her shopping and was headed toward the checkout when a voice stopped her. "Hey, Skye, what are you doing here so late?"

She turned to find her cousin Ginger Leofanti Allen hur­rying toward her. Ginger was dressed in a garishly striped muumuu that hung on her tiny frame and had rollers the size of juice cans on her head. Her feet were stuffed into canvas shoes that had holes in the toes, and her face was devoid of makeup.

"I got home late from school and found the cupboards bare." Skye attempted to edge around her cousin.

Ginger gave Skye a hug. "I heard the news about Char­lie's niece. That poor man. How's he doing?"

Leaning back against the cart, Skye made herself com­fortable. She knew there was no graceful way to hurry this conversation along. "He's doing okay."

"He's such a sweet guy. He conies in the bank two or three times a week, and he always stands in line for my window." Ginger absently rewound a wisp of hair that had escaped from its curler.

"So, what are you doing here so late?" Skye asked. Most people in Scumble River did their grocery shopping right after work and were tucked in watching TV by eight o'clock.

Ginger looked down at her attire. "I was just getting ready to sit down and relax when Bert spilled an entire gal­lon of milk on the floor."

"Bert's your four-year-old, right?"

"Yes, and he's not supposed to touch the gallon cartons of milk. Anyway, that meant I wouldn't have any for the kids' cereal tomorrow."

"Your other two are in school, but who takes care of Bert while you work?" Skye switched the strap of her purse from one shoulder to the other.

"Either my mom or Flip's."

"What a great arrangement. I understand good child care is hard to find." Skye judged that her social obligation was almost fulfilled. She turned and took hold of the cart's han­dle. "How are the kids and Flip?"

"The kids are growing like weeds. I had to buy them all new clothes for school. And Flip's doing real fine. This time of year he's got more construction jobs than he can deal with. How're your folks?"

Skye started to edge her cart down the first aisle. "Fine."

"How's poor Vince taking this thing about Honey?" Ginger followed closely behind Skye.

It always amused Skye the way people shied away from certain words like murder and death. "He's hanging in there, hoping they find the killer."

"At first we were all real worried about a murderer stalking the citizens of Scumble River, but now we figure it was someone Honey knew from Chicago."

"That's probably true," Skye said noncommittally. "Well, I'd better let you get going. We both have an early day tomorrow. Tell everyone hello."

Ginger was not easily dismissed. She kept pace as Skye quickened her steps. "You know, we were all real sad for you when your fiance jilted you."

Skye bit her lip. She did not want to talk about him to anyone, let alone a cousin she didn't really like. "Thanks, but I'm fine. I've put that behind me."

"Good. Then it's true. You are dating Mike Young."

"No. I mean, it's just one double date with Vince and Abby."

"Do I hear wedding bells?"

"If you do, it's time to recharge the old Miracle Ear," an­swered Skye, making her escape.

When she reached the front of the store, three of the eight lanes were open. The two nearest her had several peo­ple in line, all of whom had their carts piled high.

Skye hurried toward the farthest row, where two people with only a few items were waiting. An instant before she stepped into line someone cut in front of her. She looked up into Simon's lively gaze.

"My, you are having bad luck today," he said. "Tell you what—I'll take pity on you and let you go in front of me. After all, women are naturally slower than men."

Her head throbbed. "I wouldn't dream of taking your place or anything else of yours."

"Do you often cut off your nose to spite your face?"

"Turn around and leave me alone, or I'll call the man­ager."

"And say what? Some horrible man offered to let you go in front of him in line?" With that, he leaned back against his cart and stared at her until it was his turn at the register.

CHAPTER 15

That'll Be the Day

Timing is everything in a junior high. Too early and you have to wait around for the next bell. Too late and you have to face a hostile teacher as you interrupt his class. It's the tyranny of the forty-minute hour.

Keeping this in mind, Skye arrived at Scumble River Junior High on Friday with only a few minutes to spare before sixth period began. She hurried to the office and wrote a pass for Zach Van Stee, asking Ursula to give it to him when the bell rang. Zach was the lucky boy who had won the reevaluation lottery, his good fortune due to his parents' being the first to sign and return the consent form.

Still trying to beat the clock, Skye nabbed an additional chair and cleared a corner of her desk. A quick review of Zach's file indicated he was classified as learning disabled, but had not been assessed since second grade. Because of this, she decided to administer the full test battery, which included measures of intelligence, achievement, and pro­cessing skills.

The sound of anxious breathing caused Skye to look up from the various test protocols she was filling out. A stu­dent stood in her doorway with his mouth open and a dis­tinctive orange slip of paper in his hand.

She smiled at him reassuringly. "Are you Zach Van Stee?"

Nodding, he clutched the pass tighter.

Skye got up and motioned to the other chair. "Hi, I'm Ms. Denison. Please sit here. You can put your backpack on the floor. You're in sixth grade, right?"

Taking the seat she pointed at, Zach nodded again. He was short and stocky. This, along with his tightly curled hair, made Skye think of a Chia Pet. She jotted this down in her private notes to help remind herself of the boy when she went to write her report.

"Do you know why you're here?"

He shook his head.

"Did either of your parents talk to you about this?" she asked.

Again he shook his head.

"Okay. You know how you get help from Mrs. Boyd and her assistants?"

When he nodded for the third time, Skye was ready to recheck his file to see if he was mute.

"Well, because you get that special help, every three years we need to give you some tests to see how you're progressing. We want to see if you still need that assistance. Do you remember in second grade taking some tests with­out your classmates?"

Zach picked up a pencil and spoke to it. "Mrs. Boyd is nice. I don't think I could do junior high without help."

"It must be scary coming over from fifth grade." Skye gave him an opening to share his feelings. "The junior high is pretty big."

When Zach returned to his vow of silence, she went on. "Okay, the tests I'm going to give you are nothing like the tests you take in school. There's no grade. I want you to do the best you can, but it's all right to say, 'I don't know.' These tests are given to kids who are as old as sixteen, so I don't expect you to know all the answers."

He still looked uncomfortable.

She reached into her drawer and pulled out a bag of Tootsie Roll Pops. "How about one of these before we get started?"

Selecting a chocolate-flavored pop, he unwrapped it and began to suck contentedly.

The canvas case holding the Wechsler Intelligence Scale for Children—Third Edition, was placed next to her chair. Skye took a spiral-bound booklet from the case and opened it to a few pages from the front. "What's missing from this picture?"

Touching the button on her stopwatch, she started timing how long it took him to answer. If he took over the allowed limit, he would not get credit even if his answer was cor­rect.

Once that subtest was completed, they went on to the second, in which Skye asked Zach questions designed to measure his general knowledge. In all, there were ten re­quired subtests and three optional ones. They measured abilities ranging from attention to detail to short-term visual memory. Half the subtests were given and responded to verbally. The remaining required no language skills on the part of the student.

Since the WISC-III took ninety minutes to administer, only thirty minutes of the school day remained when they had finished. Knowing that the achievement test would take at least an hour, Skye decided to give the Bender Visual-Motor Gestalt Test instead so she wouldn't have to stop part­way through the other instrument.

She got out the manila envelope that contained the index cards and laid it on the desk in front of her. "Zach, for this measure I want you to make your drawing look as much like the one on the card as you can." She tried to avoid using the word test as much as possible, since many chil­dren become anxious hearing it.

Skye put a sheet of white paper in front of Zach. The longest side was placed parallel to the table edge. Next

she gave him a sharpened pencil with a good eraser. Fi­nally she set the first of the nine index cards in front of him.

She watched carefully as he began, making notes about how he approached the task and how long it took him to ex­ecute each picture.

After he finished drawing the last geometric shape, Skye said, "Take a good look at what you've drawn." She paused. "Have you looked it over?"

"Yes."

Taking away that paper, she replaced it with another blank sheet. "This time I want to see how many shapes you can remember. They don't have to be drawn as well as the first time, but try to remember as many as you can."

Zach drew six figures, then squirmed in his seat and chewed on his pencil before giving up. "Why did you have me do that?"

"On the first part, when you were copying the figures, I was trying to see how well your eye and your hand work together. This last portion was to measure how well you remember what you see. When I asked you to repeat the numbers after me and then say other sequences back­ward, it was to assess how well you remember what you hear."

"That number thing was hard, especially going back­ward."

"Yeah, remembering what you hear is difficult for you. That's why when teachers tell you something instead of showing it to you, it's hard for you to learn."

"Why do they teach that way, then?"

"Because some kids remember things they hear better than what they see. It's impossible to please everyone. That's why Mrs. Boyd and her assistants are there to help you."

The ringing of the dismissal bell took them both by sur­prise.

Zach got up and grabbed his backpack. "Do I come back here tomorrow?"

"Yes, we need to look at your reading, math, and spelling, and then I have to ask you a few questions. I'll leave a pass for you telling when you're supposed to come."

" 'Bye, Ms. Denison."

" 'Bye, Zach."

Skye packed up her equipment and put the cases near the door. She kept everything in her car trunk, since most of the instruments had to be shared among the schools. After locking the file cabinet, she put her purse over her shoulder and hoisted the test kits off the floor.

In the parking lot she set the cases on the ground near her car while she fished her keys out of her purse and un­locked the trunk to put the cases inside. Suddenly a hand reached around her and banged down the trunk lid.

Lloyd was standing right behind her. His eyes bulged and his face was rigid. He grabbed her by the upper arm and yanked. "Come to my office immediately."

Caught off guard, Skye stumbled as she went along with him. His fingers were cutting off the circulation in her arm. He shoved her into his office and slammed the door.

Skye tried to stay calm. "What is it, Lloyd?"

" 'What is it, Lloyd?'" he mimicked. "I want to know whatever gave you the idea that you had the authority to call the police?"

"You're talking about yesterday when your office was ransacked?"

"Of course I'm talking about that. Are you in the habit of calling the police?"

She deciding not to answer that question on the grounds it could incriminate her. Instead, she asked a question of her own. "Why would I not call the police after discovering that your office was vandalized?"

"Are you questioning my orders?" Lloyd grabbed her again.

She was ready this time and used a self-defense tech­nique she'd been taught in the Peace Corps—shoving her thumb into his wrist and applying pressure until his hand bent backward. Lloyd yelped and released her, stumbling back into his desk.

"Don't touch me again, or when I call the police this time it will be to report an assault." Skye backed away, putting a chair between them.

Lloyd stopped. She could almost see his mind work­ing. He visibly forced himself to calm down. "In the fu­ture I would prefer to make those kinds of decisions. We often handle minor problems in-house." He smiled insin­cerely and sat down behind his desk. "You do under­stand."

Uninvited, Skye also sat. "Yes, I understand that. What I don't understand is what makes you think you have the right to shout and manhandle me."

Pushing up the sleeve of her blouse, she displayed the angry red mark where his fingers had grabbed her.

He looked uneasy.

"I sure hope Uncle Charlie doesn't notice if this turns into a bruise."

"I apologize." He spoke through gritted teeth. "We'll want to keep this episode between ourselves. You know how easily rumors get started."

Skye smiled slightly. "Yes. Rumors certainly do start easily and die hard. In fact, there was something I heard about you yesterday that I wanted you to clarify."

"Fine. I have no secrets," Lloyd replied jovially, appar­ently attempting to make up for his earlier behavior.

"You've probably heard that my brother, Vince, was taken in for questioning regarding Honey Adair's murder?" Skye looked at Lloyd, who nodded. "I'm very concerned about this, and so I've been trying to find out more about Honey when she lived here."

"What has this got to do with me?" Lloyd fidgeted in his chair.

"Someone told me you were her softball coach the sum­mer before her senior year."

"Really? I don't recall." Lloyd continued in a patroniz­ing tone. "After all, I coached numerous sports for many years. I can't be expected to remember every student on every team."

"From what I was told, you should remember Honey. I understand the two of you had a closer relationship than you would have had with most of your students."

Lloyd's face reddened with angry color, and he lunged to his feet. "Who told you that? It's a lie! If I hear you re­peating that piece of crap, I'll not only sue you for slander, I'll make sure you're dismissed. And don't think Charlie Patukas can protect your job. I've been talking to people at your old school. I know that you were fired, and I know why."

Skye was so upset by her confrontation with Lloyd that she was halfway home before she remembered that she had to get her paycheck in the bank before her account was overdrawn.

She pulled up behind a bright-green "duallie" truck with four rear tires instead of two, giving it the appearance of a toad. A purple bumper sticker read, MY KED CAN BEAT UP YOUR HONOR STUDENT. Skye had liked the original bumper stickers boasting of having a child who was an honor stu­dent, but trust Scumble River to come up with a grotesque variation.

Her banking took longer than she planned. Gillian, one of her least favorite relatives, was on duty at the teller's window, dressed in a hot-pink zip-front suit. The jacket was open to the waist, revealing a black stretch-lace camisole with a low neckline. Skye blinked and looked again. She didn't remember Gillian's being so well endowed. Skye

would have bet money that Gillian was wearing either sili-cone or a Wonderbra.

"Well, if it isn't my long-lost cousin Skye. Ginger said she saw you last night at the grocery store. When are you going to come visit?" Gillian asked.

Gillian was Ginger's twin sister. Both worked as tellers at Scumble River First National Bank. This often confused the customers, as well as the management. The twins were proof that evolution can go in reverse. Instead of getting smarter and learning from their experiences, both women tended to repeat the same mistakes over and over, with in­creasingly dire results.

"As soon as I get settled, I thought I'd have you and my other cousins over for lunch." Skye dodged Gillian's ques­tion while nudging the deposit slip toward her.

"We were sure surprised to hear you were coming home. This is such a small town, and we all have such small minds. Everyone thought you'd be living in New York or California by now."

Pasting a smile on her face, Skye shoved the check closer to Gillian. "Life is full of surprises. Maybe next year I'll be in Alaska. You can never tell."

"After all the times you said you'd never come back, it must be hard to face people." Gillian slowly started to tap the keys of the adding machine. "Especially after having gained so much weight."

Skye managed to keep a pleasant look on her face by thinking, Yes, it is. Thank you for announcing it to the world. If brains were lard, you wouldn't have enough to grease a skillet. She looked pointedly at the line grow­ing behind her. "It's been great talking to you. We'll have to have lunch sometime. But I really need to get going now."

"Sure. We've really missed you at the family gatherings. It's a shame we never got to meet that fiance of yours be­fore he broke up with you." Gillian completed the transac-

tion, giving Skye the deposit receipt and counting the cash into her hand.

Skye made her escape and hurried next door to the dry cleaners. For once it was a relief to pay the ransom for her clothing. At least none of her relatives worked there.

CHAPTER 16

It's Impossible

Skye was stretched out across her bed with an ice­cube-filled washcloth covering her eyes. Her only movement was a fingertip idly tracing the stitching on the quilt. It had deep rose-colored diamonds and ivory rings on a cranberry background, and had been on every bed she'd owned since her Grandma Leofanti gave it to her when she turned sixteen.

After the scene at the junior high and the run-in with her cousin at the bank, Skye was emotionally exhausted. Upon reaching home, almost before closing the door, she'd shed her clothes and kicked off her shoes. She'd grabbed a hand­ful of ice from the freezer and a cloth from the bathroom, then flung herself across the bed and tried to forget her en­counters with Lloyd and Gillian.

The harder she tried to think of something else, the more the confrontations bothered her. As a psychologist I'm sup­posed to know how to deal with people. Instead, I'm alien­ating them left and right. First Darleen, then Wally, and now Lloyd. Who will be next? Gee, I haven't spoken to the superintendent of schools yet. Or how about the mayor? Maybe the pope will grant me an audience.

A loud ring from the telephone interrupted her self-casti-gation. She reached for the handset without removing the washcloth from her eyes. "Hello?"

"Good, you're finally home. Where have you been? It's almost five-thirty."

"Vince, I've had a bad day," Skye said in a don't-mess-with-me tone.

"I'm just calling to make sure you remember our double date tonight."

"Oh, my God!"

"You did forget," Vince said accusingly.

Skye responded petulantly, "Gee, I'm sorry I forgot something so important, but I have been a little busy trying to clear your name."

There was silence on the line, and Skye wondered briefly if he had hung up.

"Yeah, well, ah, thanks. That's good, because Wally was by the shop again today," Vince mumbled.

"You didn't say anything, did you?"

"No. He said he just wanted to make an appointment for a haircut."

"Well, you don't really believe that, do you?" Skye sat up.

"Of course I don't. I'm not as stupid as everyone in the family thinks."

"This is a stressful time, Vince. No one thinks you're stupid. We need to stick together." She swung her feet to the floor.

"Okay. Let's forget this stuff and have a good time tonight. What are you wearing?"

"Where are we going exactly?"

"We'll pick you up at six, which would put us in Joliet around seven. If we eat at the Red Lobster near Louis Joliet Mall, we could catch the nine o'clock movie at the cin­ema." Vince's voice became more animated.

"That sounds good. I guess I'll wear my black-and-white gingham shorts suit. Will that be all right? Or should I call Abby?" she teased.

Vince responded seriously, "No, that sounds fine. Do you have white flats?"

"Sure, they're ballet-style flats with bows."

"Great. What are you going to do with your hair?"

"Oh, I thought I'd wear it. Unless you think I should shave it off. What's going on here? I thought this was a ca­sual date." She rubbed her throbbing temples.

"It is. I just want you to look nice. Mike hasn't seen you in a long time."

"Is this about my weight?" Skye threw the damp cloth in the direction of the bathroom door.

"No, no, that's not it at all. Mike's a little conservative, and sometimes you dress a little wild," Vince hurried to ex­plain.

"Are you kidding? I dress about as flashy as Marie Os­mond. How conservative is this guy?"

Vince ignored her question. "Everything will be fine. We'll see you at six."

Skye had a bad feeling about this date, but reassured herself by thinking, After all, it's just one date. It's only a few hours out of my life. Vince andAbby will be with us the whole time. And I do want to ask Mike some questions about Honey.

She rolled off the bed and retrieved the wet cloth from the floor, using it to mop up the puddles from the melted ice cubes. After disposing of it in the bathroom hamper, she slipped into her robe, which had been hanging on a hook on the back of the door.

Skye took a moment to admire it. Running her hands over the powder-blue damask cotton, she snuggled in the French terry lining. It had cost more than she made in a day, but she couldn't resist it when she'd spotted it at Mar­shall Field's.

She had developed a clothes addiction when she re­turned from her stint in the Peace Corps. After wearing nothing but denim shorts, jeans, and T-shirts for four years, she had gone on a shopping spree that rivaled Imelda Mar-cos's. She still liked nothing better than to shop until she dropped.

Skye took one look at her rumpled hair and pale skin in the bathroom mirror and switched on her electric curlers. While she was waiting for them to heat up, she washed her face and applied a generous dollop of moisturizer.

Allowing the lotion to soak in, she set her hair before applying her makeup. Skye employed a lot of cosmetics to appear as if she used none. First came the base. Next she used a concealer to cover the circles under her eyes. After a light dusting of translucent powder and some blush she was ready to work on her eyes.

Skye's eyes had always been her best feature. Their ef­fervescent color and large size drew admiring glances and comments wherever she went. The cream and taupe eye shadows, dark green eyeliner, and mascara were merely embellishments.

It was five minutes to six by the time she finished dress­ing. She was fastening her watch when the doorbell rang. Slipping on an onyx ring shaped like a cat's face, she walked to the front door.

Abby, Vince, and Mike were all standing on her porch. Mike was dressed in a conservatively cut navy suit. His light blue shirt matched his eyes, and his hair was cut as short as possible without edging into a crew cut. Belatedly, Skye realized that she should have had something ready to serve them.

Stepping to one side, she gestured them into the foyer. "Please come in. I'm sorry the place isn't more furnished, but I'm still getting settled."

Vince saved her. "We really don't have time to stay. You know Abby, and this is my friend Mike Young."

Mike held out his hand. "Hi. I'm sure you don't remem­ber me, but I certainly remember you. I always thought Vince's little sister was going to be a beauty when she grew up."

Having no answer to that statement, Skye smiled un-

comfortably and wondered if he was disappointed with the

reality.

Mike and Vince did most of the talking on the drive up. They thoroughly discussed the Cubs' latest season before moving on to the best way to work out at the gym. Abby was able to contribute an occasional comment on both sub­jects, but it sounded to Skye as if they were speaking Swahili.

Red Lobster was mobbed when they arrived. The lobby was full, and people were standing outside on the front walk, making it difficult to negotiate passage through the throng. Vince offered to fight his way to the front to find out how long a wait there would be.

The loudspeaker squawked, "Martin, party of four."

A group rose from one of the two benches outside the door. Skye was not able to see how it was accomplished, but miraculously she found herself seated between Mike and Abby.

Mike leaned back, stretching out his long legs, seem­ingly unaware of the dirty looks from the people standing in front of him. "Ah, this is better. You comfortable, girls?"

At the word girls Skye shot Abby a look. A slight shrug of Abby's shoulders stopped Skye from pursuing the mat­ter.

"We're fine, Mike. Thanks for snagging the bench. Fve been on my feet all day." Abby slipped off a sandal and rubbed her instep.

"Oh, anything special happen at school or just the usual disasters?" Skye turned slightly to look at Abby.

Before Abby could answer, Vince pushed his way back out the door and plopped himself down on the bench next to her. "It's a madhouse in there. The hostess said it would be about forty-five minutes. You guys want to stay or try somewhere else?"

"It's Friday night. Everywhere will be crowded. Let's just stay here." Skye looked at the others for agreement.

Mike reached across the women and lightly punched Vince in the arm. "I told you we should have gone some­place where they take reservations."

Vince muttered under his breath, "You did not."

Skye was surprised to hear Vince answer back. He usu­ally avoided confrontation. The silence became uncomfort­able as the men silently stared at each other.

It occurred to Skye that this might be the time to ask about Honey and Mike's past relationship. She didn't want the conversation to end like the one with Lloyd had earlier, so she chose her words carefully. "Mike, you and Vince go way back, huh?"

"Yep, we were in kindergarten together." Mike sat back and extended his arm across the back of the bench.

Vince added, "Yeah, he was the one who borrowed the class hamster, and I was the one who got into trouble for it."

Wow, two confrontations in a row. This isn't like the Vince I know. Maybe he changed while I was gone. Skye looked at her brother thoughtfully

"Vince, why bring up ancient history?" Mike replied. "Remember Matthew, chapter six, verse twelve: 'Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.'"

Skye frowned. "I thought that was from the Lord's Prayer."

"You Catholics do not know your Bible."

Not wanting to get sidetracked from her original line of questioning, Skye asked, "Were you two friends throughout school?"

"Yeah, I guess. More so in high school, when we were both on the basketball team," Vince answered.

"That must have been tough. If it was anything like when I was in school, all the popular girls went out with the basketball team. I remember my junior year two of our

stars fought the whole season over one girl. They never talked except on the court."

Mike laughed. "We never seemed to have the same taste in girls. Vince always liked the ice queens and I preferred the sex kittens."

"I recall one girl you both liked," Abby said softly.

Skye could have kissed her. This was exactly where she wanted the conversation to go. Disregarding the dirty looks that both Vince and Mike shot at Abby, Skye asked, "Would that have been Honey Adair? I understand almost every male in Scumble River was attracted to her."

"She and I were through by the time Vince started dating her," Mike said. "In fact, I think it was my idea that he ask her out."

Once again Vince muttered to himself, "It was not."

"It seems that no one went with her for very long," Skye said. "I was told she was always after greener pastures. Why did you break up with her, Mike?" Skye looked him in the eye.

He got up from the bench, stepped over to the door, and peered inside. "I wonder if we're getting close to a table? Maybe I should check."

Smiling, she patted the vacant spot next to her. "Oh, that's not necessary. The time goes fast when you're having a nice conversation."

Reluctantly, Mike sat back down.

"Mike, you were going to tell us about your breakup with Honey," Skye reminded him after a few moments of silence.

"Why are you so interested in a past romance? Not jeal­ous, are you?" Mike put his arm around Skye's shoulder.

"No, you moron," Abby suddenly broke in. "She's try­ing to figure out who killed Honey Adair, and you're one of her suspects."

"Talking to a man in that manner is why you're still sin­gle, Abby." Mike smiled cruelly.

Abby's face mirrored her fury, but before she could speak Vince whispered something in her ear. He turned to Mike and Skye. "We'll be right back."

After they left, Mike drew Skye closer. "You really ought to leave the investigating to the police. An innocent young lady like yourself could get hurt asking questions of the wrong people."

"So, you're not going to answer my question?" She shrugged out of his embrace and scooted to the far side of the bench.

"Is there any reason I shouldn't tell you?" When she didn't respond, he slouched down farther and examined his fingernails. "She wanted to get married and I didn't. Even tried to tell me she was pregnant—but she couldn't prove it when I confronted her."

"Why did you sic her on Vince?"

Mike shrugged, unconcerned. "He always dated such nice girls, I thought it was time he had a taste of the wild side. Now that I've found Jesus, I can see I was wrong. 'There is no peace, saith the Lord, unto the wicked.' Isaiah, chapter forty-eight, verse twenty-two."

"Did you find God while you were in prison?" Skye asked pointedly.

"Yes, I did. I'm not ashamed of my past. I learned a trade and was born again."

"Which church do you belong to, Mike?" Skye looked in the direction Abby and Vince had disappeared.

"The Church of Forgiveness. I founded it myself. You'll have to come to one of our services."

"Where is it? I don't remember seeing a new church building."

"It's on Springfield, between Basin and Kinsman." Mike slid closer to Skye.

She thought a moment. "Oh, yeah, I know where it is." She had passed by it one day and wondered about its on-

gins. After all, it's not often that you see a church in a dou­ble-wide trailer. "When are services?"

"Tuesdays at seven and Sunday at eight. Why don't you come this Tuesday?"

"I certainly will... if I'm free." Right after I dye my hair black and get a tattoo,

"You should come. It would help you after your awful experience." Mike took her hand.

Skye wasn't sure which awful experience he was refer­ring to but guessed. "You mean when I found Honey's body?"

"Yes, that must have been awful for you. I'll bet you dropped everything and ran out screaming."

"Well, actually, I was pretty calm when it was happen­ing. I didn't have my breakdown until afterward."

"Did you see anything?" Mike didn't seem upset when Skye withdrew her hand from his grasp.

"No. I was inside the trailer for less than a minute. I didn't have time to look around."

"Sometimes we see things without them registering right away."

"I guess so, but like I said, I was there for such a short time and I didn't touch anything but Honey."

Mike put his arm back around her shoulders and squeezed hard. "Let's hope the murderer believes that."

CHAPTER 17

Lonely Street

Saturday morning, thanks to the school district's lack of a social worker, Skye found herself driving in and around the outskirts of Scumble River. While attempting to get the special education files in order, she had discovered several with no telephone numbers and only sketchy addresses. All but one family had proved to be accessible through neigh­bors or relations.

Earl Doozier, Jr., needed a reevaluation. In order for this testing to take place, Skye needed a signed Consent for As­sessment form. Parents couldn't be asked for a signature if they were unreachable, and since the Dooziers had no tele­phone number and an iffy address, obtaining permission would require the dreaded home visit.

As she drove up and down streets, searching for the cor­rect address, Skye thought of an assembly she had attended her senior year in high school. The speaker talked about the history of the town. Most of the other students were bored, but Skye had been enthralled. It was the only time she had found anything interesting about Scumble River, and what the man had said remained clear in her memory even now.

She could still hear his voice weaving the story of the community's establishment. "The town of Scumble River was originally built in the eighteen-thirties in the fork be­tween the two branches of the Scumble River. Since then it has spread along both banks. Some might say overflowed.

"Railroad tracks encircle the village. They creep up from

the south and curve west before continuing north. As you all may have noticed, it's often possible while driving through Scumble River to be stopped twice by the same train.

"Consisting of the six blocks that run along Basin Street, the center of town is like the yolk of an egg. To the west of this area, houses were built in the nineteen-thirties by Ital­ian immigrants who were imported by the Sherman Coal Company.

"When the mines played out in the late sixties, most of the initial settlers were ready to retire. Their offspring, hav­ing served in World War II and the Korean conflict, had gained other skills and worked in the factories springing up in nearby towns. Thus the closing of the mines had little ef­fect on the local economy.

"Children of those coal miners built their fifties-style ranch houses both north and south of Scumble River's core, surrounding it like the egg white.

"On the extreme west there is still farmland, owned chiefly by the descendants of the first farmers, who arrived from Sweden at approximately the same time that Italians were pouring into the area. Most acreage is still being worked by the original families. But with fewer and fewer children and less interest in agriculture, this too is begin­ning to change.

"Two groups of people live in an uneasy alliance along the river. A few years ago, people from the city discovered Scumble River and decided to build summer cottages or re­tirement homes along its south bank. While this 'outside' interest served to line the pockets of some citizens, it in­vaded the privacy of others. Here is the shell of the egg, and it's starting to crack.

"The original group of people who have always lived along the river are known as Red Raggers to the locals. No one seems sure how this term came into being, but it is def­initely disparaging."

It had been more than twelve years since Skye heard that speech, but she remembered every word. She was thinking about the way the talk had ended as she slowly steered her Impala down Cattail Path, deep in Red Ragger territory.

The man had said, 'These are not folks who appreciate uninvited guests."

Skye squinted at the faded names on rusty mailboxes. When she saw a redheaded boy who looked vaguely famil­iar, she stopped the car and leaned out the window. "Hi. Do you know where the Dooziers live?"

"Yep." The boy continued bouncing his ball.

"Great. Where?"

"Said I knew, didn't say I'd tell you."

She thought quickly. "It's really important that I find them. I could offer a reward."

He stopped playing and moved closer to her car. "What kinda reward?"

Her eyes swept the front seat. A foil-wrapped packet glittered in the sunlight. She had found it in her cereal that morning and stuck it in the car to bring to school to use as a prize. Skye held it up for his inspection. "How about a set of Bulls basketball cards?"

"Depends who's on them," he hedged.

Skye shrugged. "It's an unopened package, so it's kind of like the lottery. You take your chances. How about it?"

The boy hesitated, then grabbed the cards from her hand, and pointed to the house in back of him. "Dooziers live there. Don't tell Daddy I told ya."

It suddenly came to Skye. Junior Doozier. The boy who was throwing rocks at Vince's sign, the same child she had negotiated with for a chair in the elementary school's special ed room.

Scumble River is way too small. What if his mother rec­ognizes me from the beauty shop? She'll never sign any­thing for me after the confrontation we had. Here I go again, getting myself into trouble by opening my big mouth.

Skye pulled her car into the dirt driveway and scanned the lot. Weeds lined the cracked sidewalk and choked what little grass showed between the junked cars and old appli­ances littering the yard. The house had been white at one time, but now was an ashen shade from long years of ne­glect. It looked about as stable as a house of cards. A dog's barking echoed in the motionless air, and flies buzzed over the evidence of his recent visit to the front lawn.

She stuffed a clipboard with the consent form attached and a pen in her canvas tote bag before opening the car door. She had taken only a few steps when a heavily tat­tooed man sauntered out of the house's side door. He was very thin, except for a small pot belly that hung over his boxer shorts, which were the only garment he wore.

At least it's not Mrs. Doozier, Skye comforted herself. "Hi, I'm from the junior high. My name's Skye Denison."

"Funny name, Skye."

"It was my grandmother's maiden name," Skye ex­plained, and then felt foolish for doing so.

"What ya want?"

Skye worded the next question carefully, well aware of the reputation of the people in this area—often fathers, brothers, and uncles were all the same people. "Are you Earl Doozier's father?"

"Maybe. What's he done?"

"He hasn't done anything that I'm aware of, but it is time for his revaluation."

"His what?"

"Every three years we need to take a look at kids that re­ceive special help and see if they still need it," Skye ex­plained.

"Oh, you wanna see if he's still dumb. Don't waste your time. He is."

"I don't think he's dumb at all. In order to be classified as Learning Disabled you have to have at least average in­telligence." Skye felt she had to try to explain, even know-

ing it was futile. "The school just wants to see how he's doing and if he still needs help. We just want to make sure he's getting all the services he's entitled to have."

"Okay. So, whadda ya want from me?" The man was busy investigating a substance he had extracted from his ear.

"We need your written consent."

"I don't like signin' things. Last time I signed somethin' I ended up owin' money for magazines I couldn't make head nor tails of." He finally gave up his analysis of the earwax and wiped it on his already filthy shorts.

Skye took the form from her purse and handed it to Mr. Doozier. "I promise this won't cost you a thing. Just sign here and check these two boxes."

He took the form and the pen she offered and scrawled his name. "Is 'at all? I got chores to do."

"One more thing. Is there a telephone number you can be reached at?"

"Don't got no phone."

"What's your mailing address, then?" Skye asked, des­perately envisioning future trips to obtain consents.

He shrugged. "Jus' put Cattail Path. It'll get 'ere."

It was almost noon when Skye pulled up to the police station. Before setting out for the Dooziers', she had phoned her mother to ask what shift she was working that day. When Skye found out May was working seven-to-three, she decided to stop by as close to lunch as possible. By arriving then, she hoped the policeman on duty would be safely tucked away at McDonald's or the local restau­rant, and the P.D. would be clear of walk-in patrons.

Pushing the door open, she was greeted with a refresh­ing blast of cool air. The temperature had been lingering in the high eighties with humidity to match.

Wearing black walking shorts and a black-and-white-striped shirt, Skye had felt underdressed for a home visit.

She had considered wearing something more businesslike, but the heat and the knowledge of the area's standards had quickly changed her mind.

When she'd glanced into the open garage on the way in, she'd seen that both cruisers were gone. The chief always drove one, and the officer of the day had the other. The waiting area was also empty.

Skye pushed the buzzer, and after a few minutes May came hurrying out of the back room. "I was in the bath­room."

When the latch was released, Skye came around the counter. "What happens if the phone rings or you have radio traffic while you're away?"

"They call back. Or if it's more than a few minutes, County picks up."

Sitting in the visitor's chair, Skye took a yellow legal pad from her tote and looked around furtively. "Are we alone?"

May nodded and settled behind the dispatcher's desk. "Yes. Roy just went to lunch and Wally had some personal business."

"Good. Did you get the information I wanted?"

May withdrew a copy of Better Homes and Gardens from her purse and put it on the counter. "Yes, the reports are between the pages of this magazine. There's not much to them. The Adairs' accident was nothing more than that, and you already know Mike was convicted of selling drugs."

"Yeah, I figured as much, but I like to be thorough. I'll take a look myself when I get some time." Skye reached for the publication.

"Not so fast." May whisked the periodical out of Skye's grasp. "Tell me what you've found out so far."

"You don't have to treat me like a child. You could just ask." Skye's tone was petulant.

May folded her arms across her chest and stared at Skye.

Skye gave in. "Fine. I wanted to get it all down on paper anyway."

"That's a good idea, dear, I'll take notes while you talk."

"No, I'd rather write it out myself." Clinging to the legal pad, Skye grabbed a pen.

"Whatever you say." May got up and went into the next room. "I'm getting a Diet Pepsi. Do you want one?"

She followed her mother and looked at the machine. "Yeah, I guess so. I prefer Diet Coke."

"Yes, dear, but we only have Pepsi products." May smiled with false patience.

They settled back into their chairs, and Skye picked up the pen again. "Okay, first there's Abby. She has no alibi and is very jealous of Vince's attentions.

"Next, we have Darleen and Chief Boyd. I haven't been able to find out where she was at the time of the murder, but he certainly had opportunity. I'm also not sure what the motive is for her, but she overreacted when I brought up Honey's name, and it certainly seems funny that he's not investigating anyone but Vince."

Leaning forward, May seemed as if she were going to say something, but Skye held up her hand. "Let me finish."

May sat back.

"Okay, Lloyd definitely has something to hide. He was really ticked off that I called the police after his office was ransacked, and he threatened to have me fired when I asked about his past relationship with Honey.

"It would have been awkward for me to ask him directly about his whereabouts, so I called his wife and pretended to be Barb, from the paper. As Barb, I told her the Star was planning on running a picture taken while the parade was being set up, and I was trying to identify the people in the photo. I said I thought one of them was Lloyd but couldn't tell for sure. She told me Lloyd wasn't feeling well that day and stayed home while she and the kids went to the pa­rade."

May got up to throw away her empty soda can. "Is there anyone in town you don't suspect?"

"Vince. I know he's innocent, and I'm going to prove it," Skye answered seriously. Her voice softened as she continued, "I do wonder about Charlie. After all, he does inherit a lot of money, and Vince said that Charlie has been short of cash lately. Maybe you could find out where he was before I found the body."

May put her hands on her hips. "Come on. That's going too far. Charlie would never do anything to hurt Vince or you."

"True, but he couldn't have known Vince would be im­plicated."

"How about the fact that the shears had the name of the shop on them? That definitely makes it look like whoever did it was trying to point to Vince."

Skye paused. "Well, that could be the case, but it could also be that whoever plunged those scissors into Honey did it on the spur of the moment and didn't know they were en­graved. The question is how they were removed from Vince's shop—and if the police lab found any fingerprints on them."

"No prints. They were wiped clean." May began straightening papers and putting files away. "So, is there anyone else on your list?"

"Mike Young. He was roaming around taking pictures for the paper that day, so he has no alibi. Maybe she knew something about his past—when they were in high school together."

"How was your date with him last night?" May looked at Skye with hope in her eyes.

"Okay. He is nice-looking, but he's pretty chauvinistic and he quotes the Bible all the time. Abby sure didn't seem to like him."

"Are you going to see him again?"

"I don't think so. He asked me to attend the Tuesday

night service at his church, but I'm going to pass. In fact, I think I'll stop at his studio on my way home. I can thank him for taking me out and at the same time tell him I'm busy Tuesday. Also, I seem to have misplaced my sun­glasses. Maybe he remembers where I left them." Skye stood up and started walking toward the door.

May asked plaintively, "Am I ever going to hear wed­ding bells?"

"Only if you start to have auditory hallucinations," Skye shot back.

At that moment the chime over the front door jingled. Skye and May looked at each other and burst out laughing.

Chief Boyd rounded the counter and stopped dead. "What's going on with you two?"

Glancing guiltily at Skye, May couldn't meet his eyes. "Nothing. We were just, ah ... ah."

Skye interrupted, "I just stopped in to say hi. I've got to be going now."

She was nearly through the gate when May rushed over. "You forgot this." She was waving the magazine with the reports still hidden inside.

"Oh, right. Thanks, Mom. I'll get it back to you as soon as possible." Skye showed the cover to Chief Boyd. "I'm trying to get some decorating ideas for the new place. You know, rugs, drapes, flowers . .. that sort of thing. 'Bye, Mom. I'll call you later at home. 'Bye, Chief."

CHAPTER 18

Make Believe

Skye sat in her car for a few minutes, trying to slow her heartbeat and catch her breath. Clearly she was not cut out for a life of crime.

Driving carefully to Mike's studio, she was half afraid Chief Boyd would tail her. After parking, she combed her hair, powdered her nose, and put on lipstick before ap­proaching the door. Just because she didn't want to go out with the guy didn't mean that she didn't want him to want to go out with her.

There was no one in the waiting room, so she tapped on the closed connecting door.

Mike's voice yelled, "I'm in the darkroom. Have a seat. I'll be out in a couple of minutes."

She yelled back. "It's only me, Skye Denison. Don't rush."

For a moment Skye wondered if she smelled smoke but decided she was just overwrought. As she sat on the sofa and leaned toward the table of magazines, she noticed an ashtray with the Red Lobster logo. She turned to the end ta­bles and spotted two other ashtrays, also with restaurant names on them.

Gee, I wonder which Bible verse says it's okay to steal?

It was only two o'clock, and Skye had already tried watching TV and reading. Nothing seemed to hold her in­terest. Finally she gave in and decided to go visit Charlie. She still had a lot of unanswered questions.

When she pulled into the motor court's parking lot, the first thing she saw was a white Lexus with gold trim, the nsame one she had encountered at the grocery store. She con­sidered turning around and going home, but curiosity won out and she climbed the steps.

Charlie had cleaned up after Wednesday's vandalism. The carpeting had been tacked back down, the furniture righted, and the books replaced on their shelves. The only evidence of that night's destruction was the squares of lighter-colored paint on the walls where pictures had hung.

Simon and Charlie were sitting on the sofa, paging through what at first looked like a book of wallpaper sam­ples. When Charlie saw Skye at the screen door, he motioned her inside. Not knowing what to expect, she reluctantly pushed the door open and headed for a chair.

"Come sit over here, sweetheart. I need you to help me pick things out for Honey's funeral."

Reluctantly, Skye went to the couch and sat in the only space available, next to Simon. "What's going on, Uncle Charlie?"

"When Simon called this afternoon to let me know they were finished with the autopsy and were going to release Honey's body tomorrow, I asked if his funeral parlor could handle the arrangements. He said yes and offered to bring me these books tonight so I wouldn't have to find a ride over to him. Wasn't that obliging?"

"Very," said Skye, thinking to herself, So, Mr. Simon Reid, you've heard about Charlie's inheritance. She looked at Simon and said aloud, "How kind of you, but Charlie knows my parents or I would be glad to drive him anywhere he wants to go."

Simon sat back, looking totally at ease. "Oh, it's noth­ing. I often go to people's houses to make the arrange­ments. It's so hard for older people to get around. That's why I got these books made up. It makes the whole process somewhat easier."

"I've got the cemetery plot already," Charlie said. "I bought it when her folks died. There's plenty of room for Honey, and me too when it's my time." He pointed to a pic­ture of a casket on the open page in Simon's lap. "I thought this white one would be nice, with pink satin lining. Do you think it's okay?"

Skye noticed that it was one of the most expensive on the page. "Did Simon suggest that one?"

Simon shot her a look before answering smoothly, "I try not to influence people's selections. It's such a personal matter."

She wondered if he was intimating that she had no busi­ness helping Charlie choose. "It's kind of expensive. I'm sure Mr. Reid could show you something a little simpler."

Before Simon could speak Charlie said, "I didn't like the cheap ones he showed me first. After all, she was a TV star. We don't want the Chicago people who come to her funeral to think we're hicks."

Skye noticed that Charlie's eyes were tearing up. "That one would be perfect."

Simon put the catalog he was holding on the coffee table and took another from the briefcase at his feet. Skye no­ticed that the attache was made of expensive Italian leather.

He opened the new volume. "Now for the headstone."

Skye and Charlie looked closely as he turned the pages. Coming to the last page, Simon gazed at them expectantly.

"Skye, which did you like?" Charlie asked.

"Well, Simon is right. It's a very personal decision," hedged Skye.

Charlie looked at her helplessly. "I've always thought of you like a daughter. Who else could I ask?"

"I thought the white granite one with the gold letters looked nice." Skye swallowed a lump in her throat. She sometimes forgot how alone Charlie really was.

He nodded. "Me too. We could put a gold star on it, and it would be like her dressing room door."

"What would you like on the stone besides the star?" Simon asked.

"Her name and the dates of her birth and death." Charlie turned to Skye. "It seems like there should be a saying or something."

Skye thought a moment and then smiled softly. "How about: And throughout all Eternity 1 forgive you, you for­give me."

Simon looked at her, a surprised expression on his face. "That's beautiful. I guess I need to hire you as my epitaph consultant."

"It's Blake. I have a minor in English," Skye answered, disconcerted by Simon's approval.

"That's perfect. Honey caused a lot of heartache while she was on this Earth, but that don't give anyone the right to kill her. Now they can all forgive each other." Charlie reached across Simon and patted Skye's hand.

Simon put his pile of books in his briefcase and pulled out an appointment book. "When would you like to sched­ule the service?"

"I'm not having any wake, and I want the funeral on this coming Monday. It's Labor Day, so most people won't have to take a day off work. Honey didn't have many friends here in Scumble River, so it'll mostly be people paying their respects to me. I don't want to inconvenience them any more than I have to. Her agent said he didn't think many people from Chicago would come."

"Will we be going to a church?" asked Simon.

"No." Charlie shook his head. "She never believed in any of that when she lived with me, and her agent said she hadn't changed. Could you say a few words?"

"Sure, and anyone else who might want to will be wel­come." Simon added, "You know it takes a while for the headstone. It won't be ready on Monday."

Charlie nodded and got up, sticking out his hand. "Thank you for your time. I appreciate your kindness."

Simon shook Charlie's hand and picked up his attach^. "Skye, would you walk out to the car with me?"

"What?" Skye looked at Charlie, puzzled. He nodded slightly. "Okay, just for a minute."

After holding the door open for Skye, Simon led the way toward the Lexus. He unlocked the doors and put his things in the backseat. For once he seemed at a loss for words. "Ah, Skye, I was wondering—ah, I mean, if you're not busy, would you like to go out tomorrow? We could go to brunch."

"You've got to be kidding." The words flew out of Skye's mouth before she could stop them.

He raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

"As well you should. What makes you think I would want to go out with you after the way you acted in the store Thursday night?"

"I really didn't do anything wrong at the supermarket." Before Skye could reply, he hurried on. "But I am sorry if my conduct caused you any distress. Truce?"

Skye was not by any means completely satisfied by this equivocation. She might forgive his caddish demeanor, but it wouldn't be forgotten.

She opened her mouth to dismiss him, but before she could speak his golden eyes bored into hers and she forgot what she was going to say.

Taking her hand, Simon held it between both of his. "I'd really like to get to know you better. I promise to be on my best behavior. Please come to brunch with me tomorrow."

"Yes, I'd like that." Skye was tempted to look around to see who had said that. She certainly had not intended to go out with him. She found him obnoxious, didn't she?

"You're probably wondering why Sunday brunch." Simon's thumb made lazy circles on her palm.

His touch made her feel light-headed, and she fought to keep her voice even. "A little."

"I generally have funerals Friday and Saturday, but since

no one gets buried on Sunday I can always count on that day off."

"That makes sense."

Simon let go of her hand. "Great. Is ten all right?"

"Fine. I'll see you then." She felt strangely bereft when he got into his car and drove off.

As Skye walked back into Charlie's, her mind cleared and she firmly pushed away the memory of Simon's touch. By the time she reached the door, she had almost convinced herself that what she had felt wasn't real.

She found Charlie standing by the bookshelves, holding a slim black volume in his hands. The cover was graced by a giant red scorpion.

"What do you have there, Uncle Charlie?" Skye looked over his shoulder.

"It's Honey's yearbook. I found it stuck inside another book when I was straightening out the mess from Wednes­day. Look at all the people who signed it."

Skye took the book from his hands and idly leafed through it. Suddenly she stopped. There, on the page show­ing the pictures of the faculty, right below Lloyd Stark's photograph, was an inscription. It said: I hate and I love. Perhaps you ask why I do so. I do not know, but I feel it, and I am in torment. There was no signature, but Skye in­tended to get a sample of Lloyd's handwriting first thing to­morrow morning.

Skye thought to herself, If you really want to know about someone, read their yearbook.

CHAPTER 19

It's My Party

Before nine-thirty Sunday morning, Skye had already tried on seven outfits and completely redone her hair twice. It would have been easier to choose what to wear if she'd known where they were going. If it was someplace local, casual attire would be fine, but if they were going into Chicago, she needed to dress for a city crowd. Glanc­ing at the clock, Skye noted it was now one minute to ten. Time to fish or cut bait, as her dad would say.

She finally settled on what she hoped was a sensible compromise, another shorts suit, this one in mint green. Its vestlike top had French knot buttons, a weskit hem, and side slits. The shorts were full-cut with inverted pleats that gave them the illusion of a skirt.

While giving herself one last spritz of Chanel, she heard the doorbell ring. She walked swiftly through her bedroom and paused in the center of the great room.

Saturday night, after Mass, she'd spent lugging the rest of her belongings from her parents' garage to her cottage and finishing the unpacking. The room now contained a futon-type sofa that faced the sliding glass doors leading to the deck. Two camp chairs faced the couch, with an old wooden trunk that doubled as a coffee table in front of it. The shelves situated between the doors were full of books, pictures, and souvenirs.

It wasn't exactly the Ritz Carlton, but it was a vast im­provement from her graduate school dorm room or the

wooden shack of her Peace Corps days. She had put a tray containing a carafe of coffee, mugs, spoons, napkins, and a sugar and creamer on the trunk. Tiny Danish pastries were arranged on a separate plate.

When Skye opened the door, she caught her breath. Simon was wearing a straw fedora with a green band, a beige short-sleeved oxford-cloth shirt with a button-down collar, and pleated Dockers in an olive check. The penny loafers on his feet looked newly polished.

Beneath the brim of his hat, Skye saw, his short auburn hair had a fresh barber line. His features hinted at elegance and refinement. In his hand he held a dozen yellow roses.

Finding it hard to speak, Skye managed only, "Hi. Please come in."

Simon walked into the foyer, removed his hat, and handed her the bouquet. "I thought these might make up for the Diet Coke."

"Wow, my favorite. What do I get for the parking space and the place in line?" Her best defense when faced with intense emotion had always been humor.

He smiled. "Won't it be interesting to find out?"

This was a man who could definitely become a problem. Unlike the boys Skye had dated in college or the other stu­dents at grad school, Simon had poise and polish. A danger­ous combination. The same treacherous savoir-faire her ex-fiance had possessed in abundance. Why was she at­tracted to this kind of man? A lump formed in her throat. They only brought her pain.

Skye forced herself to speak. "I'll get a vase. You can put your hat on the hall table. Please make yourself com­fortable." Skye gestured him into the great room.

When she came back with the flowers in their hastily improvised vase, a plastic pitcher, Simon was sitting on the sofa leafing through a magazine.

Coming closer, she noticed it was the copy of Better

Homes and Gardens in which her mother had concealed the police report—the report she had not yet removed.

Trying to distract him before he came to those pages, Skye hurriedly placed the roses on a shelf and sat down be­side him. "Would you like a cup of coffee before we leave?"

As he put the magazine down, a sheet of computer paper slid to the floor. Skye and Simon reached for it simultane­ously. He won.

He glanced down while handing it to Skye and stopped abruptly. "How did you get this?"

"That's none of your business."

"This looks like an official police report. As an officer of the court, it certainly is my business." Simon's expression was implacable.

Skye struggled to answer him without whining, which she knew was not an attractive trait. "Look, I'm trying to figure out who killed Honey Adair."

"Isn't that the police department's job?"

"Maybe, but they're doing an extremely poor job of it. Chief Boyd is convinced my brother is the culprit, and he refuses to look for any other evidence."

Simon put the paper down and absentmindedly poured himself a cup of coffee. "I know it's hard to think of your sibling being involved in a murder, but facts are facts."

"That's just it. He's not looking at all the facts." Skye took the opportunity to surreptitiously push the offending page under a pile of other magazines.

"What do you mean? And hiding it is not going to stop me from wanting to know how you got it." Simon sipped his coffee and reached for a Danish.

Skye held on to her temper, though with difficulty. She hated losing control of a situation. "I've found six other people who had motive and opportunity to kill Honey."

"Who?" Simon asked, setting his cup in its saucer with a clink.

After Skye listed her suspects and explained why and how each of them could be the murderer, Simon sat without speaking.

Nervously nibbling on a pastry, she waited.

"I see your point," he conceded grudgingly, "but I think what you're doing could be very risky. And you still haven't told me how you got hold of that document."

Getting up, she plucked a rose from the pitcher and twirled it between her fingers. "I'll tell you, but you have to promise not to reveal my source."

"Okay, I promise."

"Actually, you could figure it out pretty easily just by asking around," Skye said, excusing her lack of discretion. "My mother is a police dispatcher." Skye watched him carefully as she revealed this information.

Simon smiled as if in relief. "That explains it. I thought maybe you had a relationship with one of the cops, or even Wally."

"Chief Boyd is a married man." Skye put the blossom back in the vase.

"True, but women seem to find him attractive, and he appears to be quite fond of you." Simon stood up and straightened the crease in his trousers. "Are you ready to go? Our reservation is for one o'clock."

He followed her into the hall, where she picked up her purse. "If Wally's so devoted to me, why is he after my brother?"

Brunch was wonderful. They drove to Chicago and ate at Cite, a revolving restaurant on top of Lake Point Tower. It offered views of both the skyline and Lake Michigan. Their conversation was animated, with no awkward pauses or uncomfortable silences. The subject of murder was not raised again.

They talked of travel—where they'd been and where they'd like to go. Both confessed to being addicted to

books and chocolate. Best of all, Simon revealed himself to be a bridge player.

Sitting back, Skye watched a seagull swoop and dive over the water. "Do you play in a club?" she asked.

"No, unfortunately I haven't been able to locate one in the area. Friends in the city occasionally call me to fill in when one of their group members can't make it, but it's a long drive." Simon took a last swallow of coffee and pushed the cup away. "How about you?"

"Nope. I played all the time in grad school, but I don't know anyone in Scumble River who plays."

"Too bad. Maybe we can find another couple and teach them."

So we're a couple. Skye wasn't sure how she felt about that. Out loud she said, "That would be fun."

The waiter brought over the check in its leather folder and put it on the table. Simon took out his wallet and se­lected a credit card.

She tried to stop herself, but she couldn't resist an at­tempt to peek at how much the meal had cost him. But he was too smooth for her to catch a glimp.se.

While they were waiting for the server to return, Simon asked, "Do you feel like a walk by the lake?"

"What a good idea. It'll be good to feel a fresh breeze after these last couple of weeks of air-conditioning." Skye stood up. "I'll use the rest room and meet you up in front."

They strolled hand in hand down the sidewalk bordering the lake. When the breeze blew a strand of hair into Skye's eyes, Simon tucked it behind her ear. The memory of his touch lingered on her cheek.

The moment was broken when another jogger—-the third one—knocked into Simon. Both the pathway and the beach were teeming with people enjoying both the Labor Day weekend and the break in the heat.

Simon pulled Skye to one side. "Maybe this wasn't such a great idea."

Having had a stroller wheeled over her foot only mo­ments before, Skye had to agree with him. "It is a little crowded. I do have another idea of what to do."

"Sure, whatever you'd like."

Skye grinned wickedly. "Anything?"

Simon faltered. "I... I guess so. What did you have in mind?"

Skye had easily convinced the doorman that she was helping out Honey's uncle. Convincing Simon was a little more difficult.

"Are you sure Charlie asked you to do this?" Simon looked nervously over his shoulder. "Did he clear it with the police?"

Skye, busy trying to figure out how to get the door open without letting Simon see she didn't have a key, didn't reply.

"What are you doing?"

"The key must have slipped out of my pocket when I was in your car. Could you run down and check?" Skye asked.

Once he was gone, she took her trusty Swiss Army knife from her purse and opened it to the thinnest blade. She in­serted it into the space between the door and the jamb and prayed that Honey hadn't invested in a good dead bolt. This only worked with cheap thumb-button locks.

As Simon reappeared at the end of the hall, the door opened and she walked inside.

When he didn't follow immediately she went back, grabbed him by the arm, and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind them.

"So, you found the key after all."

When she didn't answer, he put his hand on her shoul­der. "This is a really bad idea. We could both get into a lot

of trouble. Let's leave before the doorman changes his mind and calls the police."

"No, Charlie asked me to look around for him. You can wait in the car, but I'm going to search Honey's condo." By this time she almost believed that what she said was true.

They were in a tiny foyer. To the left was a small kitchen, straight ahead was a living room, and a short hall­way went to the right.

"Why do you have to search it? I'm sure the police al­ready have."

At the kitchen doorway, Skye was greeted with a scene similar to the one she had found at Charlie's. She stepped aside so Simon could see. "Someone sure has, but I don't think it was the cops."

"Well, that takes care of that. Let's go."

"I'm still going to have a look."

He gestured at the mess in the kitchen. "Anything worth finding is gone."

"Maybe they didn't know what they were looking for and passed it by."

"And you do? Know what you're looking for, I mean."

Skye nodded. "I'll know it when I see it. Look at it this way, now that we don't have to be careful it will be much quicker."

"If there were any other way for you to get home I'd leave you here." Simon's jaw was set, and the muscle in his cheek was rigid.

She laid her hand on his chest and smiled up at him through her lashes. "I appreciate your not abandoning me." Feeling him relax his stance, she continued, "If we both look we'll be out of here that much quicker."

He was examining the last of the shelves in the living room while Skye investigated the bathroom. There had been nothing of interest in the bedroom, the home office, or the kitchen.

It looked as if everything had been ripped apart and left in the middle of the floor. This did not stop Skye from crawling into the cupboard under the sink. Wedged into a corner was a package of Stayfree Maxi Pads. At first glance it appeared to be unopened, but Skye's heart beat faster when she noticed the irregular seam in the plastic.

"Come quick, Simon, I think I've found something," she called excitedly.

His running footsteps faltered when he saw the container she held aloft in one hand. His fair-skinned face turned red. They stared at each other for a moment before Skye giggled and Simon dissolved into laughter.

When she was able to stop, she said, "Okay, so this wasn't what you expected on a first date, but look, this package has been opened and sealed shut again."

He took the container from her and examined it closely. While he was doing that, she got to her feet and dug out her pocketknife. "Give it back and I'll open it."

"Maybe we should take it to the police while it's still sealed," Simon suggested.

"And how would we explain having it?"

"I thought you had Charlie's permission to be here."

Ignoring him, she worked the edge of the blade between the two pieces of melted-together plastic. It opened with ease, further indicating that it had been tampered with be­fore. She reached in and felt among the wrapped pads. Her fingers touched one that was more rigid than the others, and she pulled it out. Peering inside, where the packet wasn't completely fastened, she stuck in two fingers and withdrew a small address book.

On the front was a picture of a puppy and a kitten frol­icking in the grass. Skye looked at Simon and then opened it up. Only a few pages had been written on, and they weren't coyered with addresses. Instead, there were columns of ini­tials and numerals.

Skye refused to talk about their find on the way home. She felt that anyone driving in the city needed to concen­trate on the road and not be distracted, especially anyone driving a beautiful and expensive car like Simon's Lexus.

By the time they reached 1-55 and she could relax her vigil, she was caught up in her own thoughts and didn't want to explain them until she was sure. Digging out a small pad of paper and a pen from her purse, Skye began making notes.

She twisted the pen point back into the casing just as they pulled into her driveway. "I've figured it out."

"You know who the murderer is?" Simon turned toward her with an incredulous look on his face.

"No, but I know what the killer has been searching for and why."

"And the answer is ..." Simon made a "go on" motion with his hand.

"Let's go inside. It'll be easier if I show you."

Simon got out of the car, coming around to Skye's side to help her out, and had them both at the front door in record time. Skye had her keys ready and they were inside and at the kitchen table before the screen door finished swinging shut.

"Would you like something to drink?" Skye indicated the refrigerator.

He smiled stiffly. "No, but I would like to see the object for which I risked getting arrested."

She started to spread out the papers she had been writing on in the car but stopped. "Gee, I'd sort of like a soda be­fore I explain. My throat's awfully dry. Oh, darn, I forgot. I don't have any Diet Coke."

"Skye," he said softly, "show me. Now."

"Fine, be that way." When she finished straightening the sheets, Skye handed him a copy of the address book.

Before they had left the condo, she'd used Honey's well-equipped home office to duplicate the book. Then, after

having carefully wiped her fingerprints off its surface, she had put the original in an envelope addressed to Chief Boyd and dropped it into a mailbox in Chicago.

"See if you can figure it out," she said.

Simon got up and turned his chair around. Resting his chin on the high back, he looked from the copies in his hand to what Skye had written. After a while he asked, "Is this a record of payments?"

She nodded.

"It looks to me like Honey was blackmailing four peo­ple. Four identical sets of letters and numbers appear re­peatedly. The letters must refer to who and the numbers to how much. Do the columns refer to monthly payments?"

"Probably. It looks like she started blackmailing the first person about sixteen years ago. Maybe just before she left town. She added another cash cow six months after that. The next was six years later, and the fourth started to pay only about two years ago."

"I'm surprised anyone would or could pay as long as those first victims." Simon tapped the pages in front of him.

Leaning forward, Skye pointed to her notes. "If I figured this right, she demanded very small amounts, only fifty dol­lars a month to start with, and the increases were small, too. So, as the person grew older and made more money she upped the ante, but only a little at a time. She made sure they never felt the pinch."

"Are you figuring that the numbers in the address book should be multiplied by ten to get the actual cash value? How did you come up with that?" Simon got up again and turned his chair back around.

Skye cocked an eyebrow at him. "Bored?"

"No, I've just always had a lot of nervous energy. Go on."

"I'll explain my reasoning if you promise not to tell any­one what I tell you."

"Hey, I've already sworn not to tell on your mom." Simon took Skye's hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

Taking a deep breath, she squeezed back before gently removing her hand. "Okay, we have four sets of two letters, obviously initials of some sort. But OH, NB, EW, and WY fit no one's name who is involved."

"How do you know? Couldn't it be people from her city life that you aren't aware of?"

"Possibly," Skye conceded, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. "But the truth is, my brother was one of her victims, and since I know that and the amount of the last demand..."

"You worked backward."

"Yep. He was supposed to pay her twenty-five hundred dollars the week after the parade. So, I looked for the latest entry after each initial. Two, NB and OH, had a hundred and fifty written next to them, and WY had a fifty after it. But EW had two hundred and fifty in its column. And the one before that was one hundred.

"EW had to be Vince because he was supposed to pay twenty-five hundred and he was asking to borrow fifteen hundred, which is the difference between the prior month's payment and the current month's."

Simon got up and strolled over to the refrigerator. He took out a can of Diet Pepsi and waved it at Skye, who nod­ded. "Why did the payments go up so much the last month? And who are the others?"

Skye retrieved two glasses from the cupboard. She filled them with ice and, taking the can from Simon's hand, split the contents between the tumblers. After a healthy swallow she took a clean sheet of paper from the pad and wrote the alphabet. On top of those letters she wrote it backward.

She put her pen tip on the bottom E. "If Vince Denison equals EW, then the letter on top of this V should be an E and the D's letter should be W, which they are. Who else on my list of suspects has a V or a D in their name?"

"Darleen Boyd," Simon said after thinking briefly.

"Right, and in this code B equals Y, so WY is Darleen. Using the same logic, OH is Lloyd Stark and NB is Mike Young," Skye finished with a flourish.

Simon ran his long fingers up and down his glass of soda. "There's only one thing," he said hesitatingly. "This makes Vince look even more guilty. He was paying more than anyone else, and he was supposed to see her the day of the parade."

"I don't care. We are operating on the premise he is in­nocent. If you can't agree with that, you should leave now."

For a few minutes Simon silently made interconnecting water rings on the table's white tile top. He sighed. "I can live with that for now, but if we find insurmountable evi­dence against him, I'll have to turn it over to the police."

"You won't do it without telling me first?"

"Okay. It would be better if we did it together."

"We'll see."

Simon finished his drink and put the glass in the sink. Not looking at her, he asked, "What was Vince being black­mailed about?"

"Honey claimed to have had his baby fifteen years ago. She called it child support."

"Did Vince ever see this baby or have visits?"

Skye started gathering up the papers. "Only once, right after it was born. But he's seen pictures. Why?"

"Because according to the autopsy report, Honey Adair never had a child."

"Just as I thought. She aborted the baby and still put Vince through the wringer."

"No. Honey never had an abortion either. She was ster­ile. The medical examiner hypothesizes that she had a sexu­ally transmitted disease that caused an infection in her fallopian tubes."

"That's interesting. She claimed to be pregnant to try to get Mike Young to marry her, but he found out she was

lying. So, next time, when she told Vince she was pregnant, she demanded money instead of marriage and then conve­niently disappeared." Skye pounded the table with her fist so hard her glass trembled.

"The real question is, what was she blackmailing every­one else about?"

"Lloyd is easy. It has to be about his affair with her when she was his underage student."

Simon nodded. "How about Darleen and Mike?"

"I have no idea about Darleen. Her only connection was dating Mike before he hooked up with Honey." Skye tapped her finger against her lip. "Mike, on the other hand, was heavily involved in drugs at that time."

"Didn't he serve prison time for that already?"

"Yes, but maybe he did something awful while under the influence, and she was holding that act, not the drugs them­selves, over his head. From the dates, it looks like she didn't start blackmailing him until after he got out of prison and was trying-to turn his life around."

"That makes sense," Simon agreed. "And having experi­enced prison once, Mike might not have been willing to take any chances of returning."

CHAPTER 20

Monday, Monday

After a restless night, Skye rose early on Monday. She dressed in a black linen A-line dress, black hose and shoes, then put her hair into a French twist, spraying it until she was sure no curl would escape at an inopportune mo­ment. Adding the string of pearls her parents had given her when she graduated from college, she was ready for Honey's funeral.

On the way to the funeral home, Skye noticed that the Labor Day sky was drab and cloudy. A pall draped Scumble River like a mantle of shame and made it seem that the town had been singled out as degenerate and corrupt. It was a perfect day to bury someone who had been murdered.

May wanted them to walk in together as a family, and she had instructed Skye to meet them at eight-thirty outside of Reid's. Skye arrived a few minutes early, only to find her parents' white Oldsmobile already parked in the nearly full lot.

She got into the backseat of her parents' car. "Where's Vince? He usually beats all of us."

Twisting in her seat, May looked back at Skye. "I don't know. Right before we left, I tried calling him, but no one answered. We thought he must be on his way already."

"Could he have spent the night somewhere else?" Skye was proud of herself for wording her question so delicately.

May didn't answer, but Jed caught Skye's eye in the rearview mirror and winked.

Her head rested against the back of the seat, and she let her mind wander. The car's dark-red-velvet interior re­minded Skye of an old sofa that had been in her grand­mother Leofanti's parlor. She must have been hovering between wakefulness and sleep, because the sound of a car door slamming made her heart skip a beat. Her father was standing outside the car.

"Dad's decided we'd better go on in without Vince," May said. "You call Abby's when we get inside." May joined Jed on the pavement.

Skye struggled out of the backseat. The velour gripping her dress made a graceful exit impossible. "Why do I have to be the one to call?"

"Because if I called, it would embarrass Abby." May gave Skye a withering look.

The three Denisons walked up to the frosted-glass doors. Reid's Funeral Home had been in business since the nine-teen-thirties. It was a large one-story building with a red­brick exterior, white pillars, and a circular drive. One almost expected the governor to reside there.

Inside, a blast of cold air carried an overwhelmingly flo­ral odor, yet held a hint of a less pleasant scent. Double doors opened to a small flight of carpeted stairs with a metal railing going up the center. One wall was completely mirrored, allowing mourners to arrange both their clothing and their expressions into appropriate lines.

After mounting the stairs, Skye and her parents parted. Jed and May went to the right, stopping to sign the guest book before making their way to the front, where Charlie stood facing the mourners, his back to Honey's closed cof­fin. Sprays of flowers, potted plants, and wreaths flanked the casket.

Skye turned to the left and walked along the narrow aisle formed by folding chairs set in rows that faced the front of the room. Tucked behind the seats was a short hall­way with rest rooms on one side and an office on the other.

The door to the office was open, and inside, Simon was talking to a small man in a shiny navy blue suit.

Simon motioned Skye in as soon as he saw her. "Skye, I'd like you to meet my assistant, Xavier Ryan. Xavier, this is Skye Denison."

Xavier dipped his head slightly. "Nice to meet you, Miss." His pale blue lashless eyes were magnified behind old-fashioned horn-rimmed glasses, making them seem reptilian.

Although the last thing she wanted to do was touch this man, Skye pasted a smile on her face and held out her hand. "How do you do?"

His grip was surprisingly warm and gentle. After a brief squeeze, he turned to Simon. "I'll go see if we need more chairs, Mr. Reid."

Xavier left, and Simon moved closer to Skye. Taking her chin in his hand, he looked into her eyes. "I had a really good time yesterday. I'd like to see you again, soon. Are you free Wednesday night?"

She was pleased. Gee, a second date. Even after I forced him into a life of crime. He must really be interested.

Aloud she said, "Yes. I'm usually home from school by five. Is six okay for you?"

Simon carried her hand to his lips and lightly kissed her fingertips. "How about five-thirty?"

Although she was having that breathing problem again, she managed to nod.

"I'd better go and check on Charlie. It's about time to start."

"Could you hold off beginning for a few minutes? I need to try and call Vince. He was supposed to have met us here at eight-thirty."

"Sure. Use the phone on the desk. Let me tell Charlie what's happening." Simon looked over his shoulder as he left the room.

Knowing how few rings her mother allowed before

hanging up, Skye tried Vince's number first. His answering machine picked up after four rings. Next, she tried the shop, and got the same results.

Reluctantly, she dialed Abby's number, having first looked it up in the book conveniently located beneath the telephone. Abby answered immediately, as if she were waiting by the phone.

"Abby, this is Skye Denison. Is Vince there?" Skye sat in the upholstered chair behind the desk.

"No. He was supposed to call me this morning before he left for the funeral, but he never did." The worry in Abby's voice was clearly audible.

"He hasn't showed up at Reid's, either. No one answers at his house or at the shop."

"This isn't like him."

Skye started to doodle on a pink message pad. "Do you have any idea how to locate him? My parents will go ballis­tic if I tell them I can't find him."

"He's not at the gym, and I can't think of anywhere else he could be."

She added a star to her drawing. "I hate to impose, but could you drive by his apartment and see if his car is there?"

"I'd be glad to. Where can I reach you?"

"Where I'm going to end up as a paying guest, if this whole thing doesn't get settled soon: Reid's Funeral Home."

The service was brief. Simon looked handsome and dig­nified in a black double-breasted suit. Skye admired his tie, with its hexagonal design of black and gold. He talked about mercy and forgiveness, and ended his remarks with the announcement that a luncheon was being served at Charlie's cabin after the interment at the cemetery. All in attendance were invited.

Xavier tapped Skye on the shoulder as she was waiting

with her parents to file by the casket. "You have a tele­phone call, Miss."

She turned to her mother. "It must be Abby."

May and Jed looked at her pleadingly. Neither had taken the news of Vince's disappearance well.

Skye walked back to Simon's office to take the call.

Loretta Steiner's voice boomed from the handset. "God, you're hard to track down."

"What's wrong? How did you find me?" Skye's stomach was doing flip-flops.

"After trying your house and your parents', I called Abby. Doesn't anyone in your family believe in answering machines?"

"I'm planning to get one the next time I get to Kankakee or Joliet." Her answer was mechanical. "Why were you so intent on reaching me?"

"Vince is in jail. They arrested him this morning about seven-thirty. He called me as soon as they let him make a phone call. I just got to the station." Loretta's tone was im­patient. "What is it with these cops? The chief's not here, and the guy on duty refused to believe I was Vince's attor­ney. I know you said they'd never had a black woman lawyer in Stumble Waters, but, hell, you guys do get cable, don't you?"

"I'll be right down."

"No, I convinced him. As soon as I mentioned a civil rights lawsuit he seemed to catch my drift." Loretta sighed. "You might want to make watching Law and Order a mandatory course in your high school, though."

"Sorry. Why do you think I was so anxious to get out of this town?" Skye felt her face flush with embarrassment. "But what about Vince? Can you spring him?"

"No, not right away."

Standing up from the chair she had sunk into at the news of Vince's arrest, Skye stretched the phone cord to its limit. "I'll get my parents and be there in a few minutes."

"Don't. They're serious this time. They won't let you or your parents see him. They've found new evidence, and they're turning him over to the county for processing. I'll follow him over to the county seat."

"We can drive to Laurel."

"No. I'll be meeting with the county's prosecutor to find out what evidence they have. You sit tight and I'll be in touch," Loretta cautioned.

Skye gave Loretta Charlie's number and told her to call there if no one answered at her house or her parents'. She then went to tell her parents the bad news.

Jed and May were standing outside. The hearse had al­ready left for the cemetery, followed by Charlie in the fu­neral home's limousine. Other cars were falling into line as Skye approached her parents.

"Let's walk to the car." Skye guided her parents to their Olds.

"Was that Abby? Did she find Vince?" May anxiously seized Skye's hand.

"Why don't we get in so we can talk in private?" Skye opened her mother's door.

After they were all seated, Skye leaned her arms across the back of the front seat. "That was Loretta Steiner. Vince has been arrested."

Gasping, May clutched her chest. Jed sat staring out the windshield, the only evidence of his emotions the white of his knuckles where he was clenching the steering wheel.

May grabbed Jed's arm. "Hurry. We've got to get to the station."

Before Jed could react, Skye put a hand on both their shoulders. "Loretta said for us not to go there."

"Why not?" May twitched her shoulder anxiously.

"She said they were taking him to Laurel and we wouldn't be allowed to see him there, either."

"We have to be there for him. We can at least talk to Loretta." May turned to Jed.

"I think we should go to the cemetery and then to the luncheon. There's nothing we can do for Vince right now, and Charlie hasn't got anyone else." Skye also looked to her father.

Jed started the car and backed out, getting in line behind the last vehicle in the procession. "Right now we can do something for Charlie. We can't for Vince," Jed said in a case-closed tone.

May asked questions all the way to the cemetery, but be­cause she had no answers Skye concentrated on the scenery crawling past her window. She allowed her mind to wander, trying to block out her mother's voice.

As the column of cars turned left on Basin and headed south of town, Skye glanced at the orange and white exterior of the Strike and Spare Bowling Alley. Its blackened win­dows and peeling paint gave it a jack-o'-lantern appearance.

Skye sighed and closed her eyes. When she opened them, the car was inching past McDonald's plaza. People were walking out, carrying cups of coffee and brown paper sacks. Turning her head, she gazed at the cornfield on the other side. A billboard announced it was the future home of the newest Castleview housing development.

She watched the yellow-green stalks heavy with ripe ears of corn rustle in the breeze. Soon the farmers would be out on the combine harvesting them, but right now the blackbirds were enjoying a morning snack.

Brick and wrought-iron gates loomed on the east side of the road, spelling out the words "Scumble River Ceme­tery." Winding their way down the narrow dirt lane, the cars turned first right, then left, then left again before stop­ping within sight of a dark-green canvas awning.

The coffin and the flowers from the funeral home were set up in the front of the shelter. Charlie and Simon stood together. By the time the Denisons trudged up from the rear of the procession, the space under the tent was full. As they

stood to one side, Charlie motioned for them to come next tohim"

Before Simon started the interment ceremony, Charlie whispered into Skye's ear, "What happened to you guys? I wanted you to ride with me."

"Vince was arrested," Skye whispered back. "His lawyer called just as we were leaving."

Simon must have heard what she said because he gave her a quizzical look before beginning. After he said a short prayer and gave a few inspirational words, the crowd filed by Charlie and the casket once again.

Standing up front, Skye noticed that all her suspects had come for the funeral. Darleen, looking like a corpse herself, was dressed in a slinky black dress that hugged her skeletal frame and accentuated her chalk-white complexion.

Looking every inch a principal, Lloyd was impeccably outfitted in an expensive blue suit with coordinating shirt and tie. Not to be outdone, Mike wore a charcoal-gray pin­striped suit that made him look as if he had stepped off the pages of a Marshall Field's ad.

If she were judging them on the crime of bad taste, Dar­leen would have to be the killer. Maybe she was using drugs. The clothes she wore had to have some pharmaceuti­cal explanation.

Skye's attention wandered to a group standing on the edge of the crowd. She had been introduced to them by Charlie at the funeral home. The short, square-shaped woman was Honey's agent, Blanche Herman. She kept glancing at her watch and sighing.

Next to Blanche stood Roxanne Dunn, Honey's publi­cist. She was busy scribbling in a pocket-size notebook.

The last of the Chicago Three, as Skye had dubbed them, was the producer of Gumdrop Lane, Adrian Warner. As Skye watched him, he examined his manicured nails and adjusted the collar of his lilac silk shirt. She quickly scanned the crowd to see if anyone else noticed. All eyes

were facing forward. Skye hoped the Chicago people would come to the luncheon; Adrian would certainly liven things up. May had taken another peek at Honey's file and reported to Skye this morning. It was too bad that all three had alibis for the time of Honey's death. Each of them looked as if killing would be all in a day's work.

CHAPTER 21

Luck Be a Lady

Charlie's friends and neighbors had done him proud. His kitchen table and all available counter space were cov­ered with dishes of food. Walters' Supermarket had sent over a sliced roast beef, and the grocery store had con­tributed a spiral-cut ham. There were pies and cakes of every flavor. Jell-O molds jockeyed for position with green-bean-and-french-fried-onion casseroles.

Skye circulated through the assembly. People were balanc­ing plates and cups while standing in little knots gossiping. She refilled coffee, dispensed napkins, and eavesdropped on her suspects' conversations.

Mike and Lloyd stood with their heads together for their entire stay. Skye caught the words "Chokeberry Days" once and the phrase "this should take the wind out of his sails" an­other time, but for the most part they stopped talking when­ever she appeared. Skye knew the two men were against continuing the festival, but she thought it was incredibly tacky of them to discuss it while under Charlie's roof, considering that he was so clearly in favor of the event.

On his way out, Mike took her hand and inclined his head. "I wish you'd reconsider and come to the services at my church tomorrow."

"If I get out of my meeting early, I'll do that," Skye promised insincerely, removing her hand from his grasp and holding the screen door open. "Thanks for coming. I'm sure Charlie appreciates it."

Lloyd was next to leave. He shook hands with Charlie and made his way over to Skye. "Can I speak to you a mo­ment in private?"

She glanced at the people still filling Charlie's small house. "How about the office? It's through the connecting door at the end of the hall."

He followed her silently. When they reached the office, he said, "Someone called my wife Saturday morning, pre­tending to be from the paper. Do you know anything about that?"

"How would I know about something like that? What do you mean, 'pretending to be from the paper'?"

Lloyd backed Skye into the counter and poked her with his finger, breathing angrily into her face. "Someone called pretending to be Barb, but Barb's in St. Louis visiting her sister this weekend. Her husband is our custodian. He men­tioned they were leaving right after school Friday."

Skye tried to move away from Lloyd, but he put a hand on either side of her. She thought fast. "That's pretty odd. Could your wife have misunderstood? Maybe what they said was that they were calling for Barb."

"Wrong!" he roared, french-fried-onion fumes smacking her in the face. "You can't fool me that easily. I called the Star. There are no pictures from Chokeberry Days that they're trying to identify."

"That's strange, but I don't know why you think I'm in­volved." Skye shoved Lloyd away.

"Because it occurred to me that whoever made that call was trying to check to see if I had an alibi for the time of Honey's death."

Skye had been edging toward the door as he spoke. She fumbled behind her for the knob. "How clever. Maybe it was the police." She pushed the door open.

"I didn't kill Honey Adair. If you keep trying to prove I did, all you're going to do is bring up the past and ruin my marriage." Lloyd's voice was low and beseeching.

Now that she was steps away from other people, Skye felt safer. "I'll do whatever I have to do to save Vince."

"If I catch you talking to my wife or spreading any more lies about me, I'll see that you're fired. Remember, I know what happened at your last job. I will not be a scapegoat for your brother." Lloyd thrust his finger at Skye again.

Just then Charlie emerged from the bedroom next to the connecting door. "You'll what?" he thundered. "Believe me, Stark, Scumble River will see the backside of you long before my goddaughter is ever fired."

Lloyd stalked past Skye and Charlie without replying. He shouldered people out of his way and slammed the front door behind him.

"Well, Uncle Charlie, I think I'm in trouble now."

Charlie put his arm around her shoulders. "Don't worry, honey. Lloyd's reign of terror is just about over."

"What do you mean?"

"Come to the board meeting tomorrow night and you'll see."

"You've got something on him. Could it help Vince?"

"It won't help Vince, but it will get Mr. Lloyd Stark out of our hair."

Before Skye could ask more questions she heard a voice calling her name. She turned and saw Honey's agent beck­oning to her. After excusing herself to Charlie, Skye joined the Chicago Three.

"Skye, I couldn't help but notice that you and Charlie seem very close," Blanche stated as soon as Skye walked over.

"Yes?" Skye waited to see what was on the agent's agenda.

"We have an exciting project to honor Honey, but Char­lie is reluctant to give us the go-ahead, and we thought maybe you could explain it to him." Blanche moved closer to Skye. "See, the thing is, the terms of Honey's will give Charlie the rights to her life story."

"I really don't think I should get involved." Skye tried to move away, but both the producer and the publicist blocked all possible avenues of escape.

"Just listen." Adrian adjusted the cuff of his lilac shirt. "It's a fabulous idea."

Roxanne whipped open her notebook. "We think the Honey/Mrs. Gumtree story would be a marvelous made-for-TV movie. It has everything: sex, violence, deception. The murder scene with that hairdresser plunging his scis­sors into Honey's throat would be boffo."

Skye shook them off like raindrops. " 'That hairdresser' is my brother, and he did not kill Honey. Any suggestion in a book, movie, or cartoon that he did and you'll be speak­ing with our attorney."

No one blinked. Finally Blanche said, "Does this mean you won't help us get Charlie to sign a release?"

The last of the crowd was slowly taking their leave. Charlie and May stood by the door, easing them out. After the ceremony at the cemetery, Jed had dropped Skye off at the funeral home to get her car, then gone to the farm to work on some machinery. She was to drive May home after they finished cleaning up at Charlie's.

Skye grabbed a tray from the kitchen and started fetch­ing dirty plates, silverware, and cups. The places where people crammed them were amazing. Someone had even deposited their debris in a file drawer in the desk.

Skye put her tray on the floor and knelt down. Warily she picked out the dirty plate. Several papers clung to it. She put them aside, meaning to wipe them with a damp cloth. The knife and fork were easily retrieved, but the cup had spilled its liquid dregs into the bottom of the drawer.

Taking out the wet papers, Skye added them to the soiled pile. She picked up the pages in her left hand and then used her right hand and the edge of her left to lift the tray.

Once in the kitchen, she ran hot water and squeezed dish soap into the sink, placing the dirty dishes, cups, and uten­sils in the water to soak. After clearing the table of contain­ers and serving dishes, she spread the moist papers from the desk on the tabletop and started to blot them with paper towels.

As she was doing this, the letterhead caught her eye. It de­picted a stylized drawing of a woman's face with an elabo­rate crown and read: "Baroness Riverboat Casino." Alarmed, she looked closer. Most of the papers bore the same insignia, although a few were from other riverboat casinos in the area. All were letters demanding payment of credit extended for gambling. Some were over a year old.

Skye debated returning for a look at the files remaining in the drawer, but before she could decide, Charlie and May walked in.

Charlie's eyes were immediately drawn to the papers on the table. "What are you doing with those?" he roared.

"Someone opened the drawer of your desk and stuffed their dirty plate and cup inside. Coffee and food were spilled on some of the papers so I took them out to wipe them off." Skye felt her face turn red and looked away. "I'm sorry, Uncle Charlie."

Coming around Charlie, May put her arm around Skye and quickly skimmed the papers. "Charlie Patukas, what's the meaning of this, yelling at Skye like she was the one who did something wrong."

Charlie pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down heavily in it. He buried his face in his hands.

Skye knelt beside him and hugged him. "Tell us about it. You'll feel better."

He sighed. "It started a few years ago. I always did like a good poker game, but stakes around here are usually pretty low and I never lost more than I could afford. Then I started going to the boats. They had senior citizens' day and

free breakfast for the early-bird cruises and this and that until I was so far in debt I didn't know what to do."

"That's why you couldn't lend Vince the money," Skye murmured.

May gave her a funny look. "So, what did you do, Char­lie?"

"I sold everything I could—my car, my investments, everything but the motor court, and they wanted that too." Charlie looked down and rolled the edge of the nearest let­ter. "Finally, I asked Honey for a loan."

"I thought you didn't know where she was." Skye pulled up a chair and sat down next to him.

"She wrote me a few years ago and gave me a post of­fice box address, in case of an emergency. I figured this was as close to an emergency as I was likely to get."

"Did she give you the money?"

"No, she said she didn't have it." Charlie wouldn't look up.

"So then what did you do?" May walked to the sink and started to wash the dishes.

"Before I could decide what to do, she was murdered and I inherited that money. The casino is glad to wait until the will is probated."

"I'll bet they are. What have you done about this gam­bling problem of yours?" Skye looked at him sternly, forc­ing him to meet her eyes.

He put his right hand over his heart. "You don't have to worry. I started going to Gamblers Anonymous in Joliet three months ago and haven't placed a bet since."

Skye gathered up the letters and stooped to kiss him on the cheek. "Good for you."

They remained quiet for a moment.

"I didn't kill Honey." Charlie looked from May to Skye.

"We don't think you did." May turned away from the sink.

"Good, because I have an alibi. Fayanne Emerick was

with me from nine o'clock until Skye found me at eleven. I wish you'd ask her."

Skye squeezed his hand. "We believe you."

The phone rang, startling them all. Charlie answered, then handed the receiver to Skye. "It's Loretta Steiner."

May rushed to the phone, trying to hear what Loretta was saying.

After a few "okays" and "ahas" Skye hung up. She turned to May and Charlie. "They're charging Vince with first-degree murder. They just got verification of a letter they found in Honey's condo last week. It's in Vince's handwriting, and he threatens to get rid of her if she doesn't leave him alone."

CHAPTER 22

Jailhouse Rock

Erst thing the next morning Skye phoned Fayanne and confirmed that the liquor store owner and Charlie had been together during the time he claimed.

Fayanne's exact words were, "Nope, the man never left my sight. I stuck to him like the printing on a T-shirt."

Skye sat in the high school guidance office chewing on the end of her pencil. Her appointment book lay open on the desk, a sprinkle of eraser crumbs scattered like dandruff across its pages. Shit, there is no way I can avoid the junior high. I've got to finish testing Zach today or everything else gets screwed up. She dreaded coming face-to-face with Lloyd after yesterday's confrontation.

The warning bell rang, startling her out of her reverie, and she quickly got ready for her first student. In rapid suc­cession Skye saw a girl with a habit of hiding in the rest room during her afternoon classes, a young man caught wearing gang colors, and three teens who had long-stand­ing problems.

Skye hypothesized that the girl might be bulimic and was hiding in there to make herself vomit or use laxatives after eating lunch, the boy was a wannabe gang member, and the remaining trio probably knew more about therapy than she did. Nevertheless, she put them down for weekly appointments.

Instead of eating lunch, Skye telephoned Loretta Steiner.

The lawyer dispensed with the normal chitchat. "He can

have one visitor from two to four and another in the evening from six to eight."

"You mean both of my parents can't see him? Can one go in for the first hour and another for the second?"

"Probably. Small-town jail. Upstanding local family. Yeah, they'll probably cut you some slack." Loretta paused. "Of course, you could always get some hard-ass guard. No way of telling."

Next Skye called her mother.

May's voice was shrill. "Fine. Then your dad and I are going over right now. I'll trade my shift with another dis­patcher. You can go right after school."

"I'll probably stop at my place so I can change and grab something to eat. I can't get in until six and it's only a forty-five-minute drive."

May snorted and the phone went dead.

Skye wondered why she had even tried to explain. If she was going to survive living in Scumble River, practically on her mother's doorstep, she was going to have to be more selective about what information she shared with her par­ents.

Walking over to the junior high, Skye didn't notice the freshly cut grass or the singing birds. Instead, she planned the best route through the school if she wanted to avoid Lloyd.

When she entered the main hall, she saw that the coast was clear and sprinted to her room. A true sense of accom­plishment filled her as she settled behind her desk. Only then did she realize that if she wanted to see Zach for test­ing she would have to send for him from the main office. The school felt that a telephone for her office was one lux­ury too many.

Skye steeled herself for an attack by Lloyd and went to the office. Ursula was dividing index cards into five differ­ent piles. Skye waited for a break in the action.

Ursula glanced up. "Mr. Stark wants to see you."

"Now?" Skye felt her heart accelerate.

"Yep, said to send you in as soon as you got here."

Skye moved toward the rear of the office and tapped on the partly open door before pushing it open farther. "You wanted to see me?"

Lloyd did not look up from his desk. "Right. Come in and close the door."

She complied, the blood pounding in her ears.

After an interminable wait Lloyd finally put down his pen and looked up. "The superintendent has asked me to let you know that the incident with the boy hosting the sex parties has been resolved per your recommendations and he thanks you for your good work." Lloyd's mouth was pursed as if he had just bitten into a bug.

"Well, ah, thanks for telling me. I wondered what had happened with that case." Skye waited for further direc­tions, but Lloyd picked up the phone and dialed.

She let herself out of his office and walked over to the secretary to continue her original mission. "Ursula."

"Yes?"

"Ah, could you ... ah ... call Zach Van Stee and send him to my office?" Skye stumbled, intimidated by the sec­retary's sharp gaze.

"What class is he in?" Ursula turned toward the inter­com controls, her finger poised over the multicolored levers.

"Ah, I don't know." Skye cringed, expecting the worst.

Ursula jerked her head toward a table by the wall. "Look up his schedule in the box."

She waited impatiently while Skye fingered through the large white cards in the bin indicated. Pulling out Zach's, she looked at it blankly. "I'm sorry, I know this is sixth pe­riod, but there are two different classes listed for him."

"Those are the semester classes. Look at the class marked 'one.'" Ursula sighed loudly. "Semester classes are

marked one or two to indicate which semester the student is taking them."

"He's in Home Economics." Then more quietly to her­self, she added, "I hope."

After thanking Ursula, Skye fled the office. While she waited for Zach, she set up the room for the assessment.

Today she would be administering the Wechsler Individ­ual Achievement Test. Skye routinely gave only six of the eight subtests—the ones measuring reading decoding, read­ing comprehension, spelling, paper-and-pencil math, story problems, and written language. The other two subtests measured language skills, and she felt those were better left to the speech pathologist.

Zach walked in quietly and dumped his backpack on the floor. "Too bad you called me from Home EC. We were making cookies."

"Oh, that is a shame. Would a Tootsie Roll Pop ease your suffering?" Skye reached into a drawer.

"It'd help some," Zach allowed. "What're we going to do today?"

Skye handed him the bag of suckers, and he again se­lected a chocolate one.

She then answered his question. "I'm going to see how good you are at reading, spelling, and math. We're going to start with some story problems. Here's a piece of scratch paper and a pencil. You can use it on all the problems ex­cept the ones I tell you not to. Ready?"

Zach nodded.

"Okay, since you're in sixth grade we'll start with number eleven. Remember, it's just like last time. Some questions will be too easy for you and some will be too hard. It's all right not to know some."

He nodded again.

"Look at the picture of the fish. Find the fourth fish from the aquarium."

They finished the last subtest, written expression, half an

hour before the final bell. Skye had one more part of the testing to complete with Zach, the clinical interview.

"That's it for this test, Zach. Now I'd like to ask you some questions about you and how you feel about things. Then we'll be done."

"What kinda questions?" Zach asked warily.

"Stuff like, When's your birthday?"

"That's easy. November twenty-third." Zach grinned.

"Do you know the year?"

Things were going smoothly until Skye asked, "If you had three wishes, what would you wish for?"

"Three more wishes," Zach answered promptly.

"What would be the first three things you would ask for with all your wishes?" Skye attempted to pin him down.

"More wishes."

She gave up, recognizing this as a typical preadolescent response.

With a few more questions and answers Skye finished the interview and handed him a piece of unlined paper. "Here's a sheet of blank paper. Draw a picture of a com­plete person."

"I'm not very good at drawing. Can it be a stick figure?"

"Make it as complete as you can. Just do the best you're able to."

Zach turned the page several times before settling down to work. He finished the drawing moments before the final bell. Standing, he picked up his backpack. "Will I see you again?"

Skye smiled. "I'll be visiting your class to see how your teacher teaches you, but you won't need to come here again."

"Oh." Zach hovered in the doorway. "This was sorta fun."

"You did a good job for me. I appreciate how hard you worked."

"Is it true that you saw that dead lady?" Zach's hand was on the knob.

"Yes," she answered cautiously.

"Was there blood everywhere?"

She shook her head. "No. Did you know Mrs. Gumtree?"

"Nah, but my uncle dated her in high school." Zach looked down at his feet. "When I told him about taking all these tests with you, he asked if you mentioned seeing any­thing when you found her."

"Who's your uncle?"

"Mike Young."

Before Skye could respond, a voice from the hall yelled, "Zee, ya comin' or not?"

Zach waved and ran out the door.

Skye put the materials back in their case and began to score the various tests she had given Zach. First Lloyd and now Mike. Everyone seems really interested in what I saw.

The town of Laurel was the county seat of Stanley County. It contained the courthouse, the sheriff's office, and the jail. Skye spent the time driving there trying to fig­ure out what to say to Vince.

She pulled into a metered space at a quarter to six. Dig­ging through her wallet and tote bag, she came up with two quarters, a dime, and a nickel in change. This bought her two and a half hours. With visiting hours ending at eight she would have fifteen minutes to get from the jail to her car before it was parked illegally and ticketed or towed.

Skye wasn't sure of the proper attire for a jail visit, but knowing Vince's fastidiousness, she had worn crisply pressed khaki pants, a light-blue oxford-cloth shirt and loafers. Going for a low-key effect, she had pulled her hair back with a tortoiseshell barrette.

She didn't know where the entrance to the jail was lo­cated. Looking around, she decided the most likely direc­tion would be through the sheriff's office.

Its interior was similar to that of the police station in Scumble River. Walking in, she saw a bench to the left and a glassed-in counter to the right. Ahead was a closed steel door. There was a button on the counter, which Skye pushed.

A woman around May's age stepped up to the window, leaned forward, and spoke through the grate. "Yes, what can I do for you?"

"I'm here to see my brother, Vince Denison." Skye found herself somewhat embarrassed to admit that she had a brother in jail. "I was told that I could visit him between six and eight."

The woman smiled warmly. "You must be Skye. I'm Betty. May and I know each other from dispatching. She told me all about you. Vince is really anxious to see you. Come on back and I'll take you to the jail."

Betty met Skye on the other side of the door and guided her up a corridor and down some steps. A man in a tan deputy's uniform sat behind a desk, reading a newspaper and eating a sandwich.

Betty marched up and snatched the paper off the desk­top. "Ed, this here is Skye Denison. Her mother is May Denison from the Scumble River P.D. She's here to visit her brother, Vince. You treat her nice, and there'll be cook­ies for you tomorrow."

Ed put his half-eaten sandwich down, wiped his hands on his pants, and stood up. "Now, Betty, you're going to make this girl think I'm not nice to everyone."

She sniffed and started back. "You just remember she's got to come back by my desk, and I'll be asking her if she had a good visit."

"Okay, Miss, you'll have to leave your purse here, and I got to ask if you have any concealed weapons on you."

Shaking her head, Skye handed over her tote bag. "I brought Vince a few magazines. Can I give them to him?"

"Let's see 'em."

"They're in my tote, right on top."

Ed examined the magazines, then turned them over and shook. A shower of subscription cards was the only thing to fall out. He handed the magazines to her. "We haven't got a visiting room, so you'll have to sit in his cell. You can take that folding chair by the desk. You're lucky there's only one other prisoner—it's not too bad."

Ed unlocked the steel door and led her into the jail. Skye followed, carrying the metal chair. The cell closest to the door held a short man with a barrel chest and shaved head. He appeared to have no neck. He lay on his cot with his eyes closed.

The next four cells were empty. Vince was in the last one, seated on the cot with his back supported by the beige cinder-block wall. The only other furnishings were a sink and a toilet without a seat.

While the deputy inserted the key he said, "Vince, stay right where you are." Turning to Skye, he explained, "The prisoners are supposed to be leaning against the far wall whenever we open a door."

Vince stayed seated and Skye walked in. She set up the chair. "Is there anything else, Ed?"

"Nope. I'll leave the door by my desk open. Just yell when you're ready to leave." He slammed the cell door and walked away.

Vince got off the bed and held out his arms. "Thanks, Sis. I sure never wanted you to see me this way."

Skye hugged him and gave him the magazines. "Here, I thought you might need something to read. Is there any­thing else I can get you?"

"No, Mom and Dad brought some clothes and stuff. They get our meals from the local restaurants." Vince sank back onto the bunk.

She tried to make herself comfortable on the metal chair. "Tell me about the letter."

"I wrote it after Honey started demanding more money. That letter was only meant as a bluff."

Studying a scuff on her loafers, Skye avoided his eyes. "You never were too good at poker. I used to clean you out of your allowance all the time."

"Have you found out anything? Loretta said you gave her the names of some other people who had motive and opportunity."

Looking over her shoulder, Skye lowered her voice. "I had a date with Simon Reid on Sunday."

"So? Is that the big secret?"

"He's the county coroner."

"Yeah, I know, and he owns Reid's Funeral Home. How can you date someone who works with dead bodies?" Vince screwed up his face in distaste.

"Fine. How could you have slept with a woman who hit the floor anytime someone yelled 'hoedown'?" Skye shot back.

He ducked his head. "Hey, let's not fight. This whole sit­uation is just so frustrating."

"That's okay. I'm sorry too. But Simon seems like a re­ally nice guy. He knows how to keep a secret, and he's helping me investigate."

Vince got up and went to the sink. He toyed with the handles on the faucet. "How?"

"Simon was with me when I searched Honey's condo, and he told me the results of the autopsy." Skye stared at the graffiti behind Vince's head. It claimed that Bubba loved Charlene.

"What did you find out? Where's my son?"

"I'm sorry, Vince, you don't have a son." Skye was not happy to be the one to break the news to him. "Honey lied. The autopsy showed she'd never been pregnant. She was sterile."

His shoulders sagged. "I think I always knew there was no child. She must have borrowed a baby that one time she

let me see him, and sent pictures of a friend's kid. Her bluff certainly worked better than mine did."

"We did find a record of all her blackmailing activity." Skye hastily added, "Besides you, she was getting money from Lloyd Stark, Darleen Boyd, and Mike Young. I'm pretty sure what she had on Lloyd—he had an affair with her when she was his student—but I haven't got a clue what Darleen and Mike were paying her to keep quiet about. Do you have any ideas?"

Vince thought for a minute, pacing the length of the cell and back. "What Darleen could have done I can't even imagine, but Honey used to hint about something she and Mike were up to."

"We're guessing that whatever she was blackmailing him about took place after she left town. She may even have snuck back into Scumble River from time to time. Her records show that Mike didn't start paying until after he got out of prison, so I don't think it was about drugs. And it probably happened after she left town." Skye paused, then asked, "Can you think of anywhere she might have hidden something in town? Something that would give her the power to blackmail people?"

"Honey loved secrets and hiding and sneaking around. I think it was going behind Charlie's back that turned her on more than I did."

"Where did you two, ah, you know, do it?" Skye asked, curious as to the mechanics of the situation. "I mean, Char­lie owned the only motel. Neither of you had any privacy where you lived, and as I remember you drove a Camaro— not exactly roomy enough for sex."

"She had a few places all decked out and ready. But each boyfriend only got to know about one of them. Our place was the boathouse at the recreational club." Vince frowned. "Wait a minute. I remember Honey talking about another of her rendezvous spots. She said 'Union' would be a good name for it."

Skye thought hard. 'There's a lot of different ways you could take that. The Union versus the Confederacy, the union of two people in holy matrimony ..."

"That doesn't help much, does it?" Vince's voice re­flected his disappointment.

"It's on the tip of my tongue. It'll come to me if I think of something else."

CHAPTER 23

Time in a Bottle

Vince kept urging Skye to leave before it got too late. He was worried about her lonely drive home. The roads between Laurel and Scumble River were rural and deserted at night. At quarter to eight, she gave in and called to the deputy.

After hugging Vince good-bye, she accompanied Ed out of the jail. As she walked by the guy in the first cell, she asked casually, "What's he in for?"

Ed locked the door and grinned. "That's a funny one, Miss. That fellow walked into the travel agency in town and asked for an airline ticket. Didn't care about the cost. He just wanted the next flight to Miami.

"The agent asked him the date of his return. He said no return, he wanted a one-way ticket. She wanted to know how he'd pay. He took out a roll of bills thick enough to choke a horse. They finished their business, he took the ticket and left. She figured it was sorta unusual, but. . . what the heck, it's a weird business.

"Except he came in the next week and they went through the same routine. This time she called us. We checked things out. Shot his description to the feds, and what do you know? He's wanted for drug smuggling in three states. We're holding him until their agent gets here."

Skye reclaimed her tote from the desk. "Pretty sharp travel agent."

"They get real suspicious. There're a lot of scams people try to play on them."

"Thanks, Ed. I'd better get going before my meter runs out."

"Tell Betty not to forget those cookies," Ed shouted after Skye's retreating back.

Betty looked up from her word search puzzle when Skye stopped at her counter to say good-bye. "Did Ed treat you okay?"

"He was very nice. What does he usually do?"

She walked with Skye to the outside door. "He likes to scare girls. You know, pretend he won't let them out."

"Well, thanks for taking care of him. I'm in no mood for that nonsense." Skye waved and made her way to her car. It was eight-fifteen exactly, and the meter's red flag popped up just as she pulled away.

Pondering the word union, Skye drove toward Scumble River. She turned on the radio, but WCCQ out of Crest Hill was full of static, so she tuned in to the Chicago country music station, US99.

According to the radio, it was nine on the dot when Skye turned onto Maryland Street in Scumble River. The news and weather were being broadcast, interrupting the music.

There was a moment of silence, then the announcer's voice said, "Our big story for today is an explosion in a passenger train at Union Station."

Skye was thinking, Nowhere is safe, when it hit her: Union Station. "Union " could mean that old railroad depot on Kinsman Road. It had been vacant for years.

Without a second thought she went through the intersec­tion at Basin, past Center Street, and turned left on Kins­man. Four blocks down, past the railroad tracks, on the left side, was the old terminal, a small clapboard building with peeling paint and broken windows.

Skye took the flashlight from the glove compartment and slid out of the car. She left her purse inside, locked the

door, and pocketed the keys. It was a bright night and the moon was almost full, so she didn't switch on the light. Cautiously, she picked her way across the loose boards and up the rotting wooden steps.

Because the door was off its hinges, she was able to shove it aside. She stepped into the room, turned on the flashlight, and played it over the interior. A dirty mattress with springs poking through the torn cover lay against one wall. Beer cans and wine bottles were scattered every­where. An old oil lantern, melted candle stubs and empty matchbooks littered the floor.

Short of carbon dating, there was no way to tell how long this debris had been here.

Feeling discouraged, Skye was about to leave when it occurred to her. Honey liked to hide things. Maybe she hid something here.

She looked over everything again and thought, It can't be in something movable. Honey would have been afraid someone would carry it off unknowingly.

Okay, the walls and floor look solid. What else is perma­nent?

A counter that ran the length of the rear wall was the only other fixed feature in the room. Skye walked around it. It was open in the back. She pointed her flashlight inside but found nothing.

She had already made her way back around the ledge and was almost out the door when she thought, / never looked up.

Retracing her steps, she squatted down and shone the light on the underside of the counter. Nothing. Next, she reached up into the inverted crevice at the joining of the top and the front board.

Duck-walking the length of the shelf, Skye trailed her fingers along the vee. In the furthest corner she felt some­thing. By turning around and sitting inside the opening, she

could see a manila envelope attached to the wood with gray duct tape.

As Skye tore it down, she heard a cracking sound, as if one of the outside wooden steps had given way. Before coming from under the counter, she took her shirttail out of her pants and stuck the bulky envelope down the back waistband of her slacks. She blessed both elastic-waist pants and oversized blouses while she tucked her shirt back in.

A police siren sounded in the distance as she crawled backwards. It was the last thing she heard before she felt her head explode and the world disappeared.

/ can sleep a few minutes more. My alarm hasn 't gone off yet. It smells as if Mom is burning the toast again, Skye thought as she stretched her hand out, encountering rough wood instead of a smooth sheet.

Prying her eyes open, she squinted. Where was she and why did she have such a headache? Struggling to her knees, she saw that the room was full of smoke. Nausea welled up in her throat when she started to rise, so she crawled in­stead.

Skye was nearly to the entrance when she realized the fire was stronger in that direction and the door was com­pletely blocked by flames. Concentrating, she remembered a window in the center of the back wall, but she didn't know if it was large enough to squeeze through.

She dragged herself back. The smoke was so thick that she began coughing and gasping for air. Without standing up, she took off one loafer and tried to knock out the re­maining shards of glass from the broken window. When she was sure the space was clear, she put her shoe back on and grasped the sill.

Skye hauled herself up and rested her midriff on the window frame. Although she had never had much upper-body strength, and couldn't complete even one chin-up, she

somehow managed to squirm through the opening. Cover­ing her head with her arms, she thrust herself outside with her feet.

She fell the short distance to the grass and somersaulted to a stop. She felt the small of her back—the envelope was still there. She hoped that the person who had hit her in the head was gone, because she could go no farther.

Skye was thoroughly sick of the back of Chief Boyd's cruiser. She had already examined every inch of the floor, seat, and ceiling, and nothing had changed from her previ­ous occupancy. Now she sat holding a cold pack to the back of her head and watching the Scumble River Volunteer Fire Department at work.

The squad car was parked on the other side of Kins­man. Next to it was Skye's car. A police officer had asked her for the keys and moved it after the fire trucks started to arrive.

Roy Quirk had been on routine patrol when he'd spotted smoke coming from the railroad station. Driving past, he saw Skye's Impala and radioed in the fire. He was walking around the building trying to see what had happened to the car's owner when he'd heard Skye moaning.

When the firefighters arrived, the paramedic examined Skye and said that although she appeared to be okay, she should go to the Laurel hospital to check for a possible con­cussion. She had refused.

Her head was throbbing and she was considering the possibility of retrieving some Nuprin from her purse when Chief Boyd opened the cruiser's door.

He slid in next to her and shook his head. "Have you al­ways attracted this much trouble or does it only happen when you're in Scumble River?"

Skye bristled but held her temper. "None of this is my fault. Do you think I hit myself in the head and then set the place on fire?"

"No, but I do think you were sticking your nose where it doesn't belong." He turned sideways on the seat and scruti­nized her.

She met his gaze without flinching. "If you would admit that even a small possibility exists that someone other than Vince might have killed Honey, I wouldn't be forced into these situations."

"We're not getting anywhere like this. Besides, I have orders to bring you to the police station right away. We'll talk more there." He got out of the back and into the front of the car.

"Wait. Whose orders? How about my car? Am I under arrest?" Her questions became more panicky as Chief Boyd started the engine and pulled onto the road before answer­ing.

He looked at her in the rearview mirror. "Your mother, an officer will bring it to the station, and not quite yet."

"This is kidnapping, and I want my purse," Skye grum­bled.

Reaching beside him, he lifted her tote bag up so it was visible. "You can have it back when we get there ... after I've taken a look inside."

May was waiting for them in the doorway. Seeing Skye's soot-streaked face and torn clothes, she turned on Chief Boyd. "Walter Boyd, why isn't this girl in the hospi­tal?"

He raised his hands in mock surrender. "She refused to go, and you ordered me to bring her here."

"I'm okay, Mom. I just need a shower and a couple of Nuprin and I'll be fine."

Reaching up, May ran her fingers over the back of Skye's head. "Well, there's hardly any lump."

"Can I go home now?" Skye asked tiredly.

Chief Boyd patted her on the shoulder. "Why don't you wash up a little and wait for me in my office? I want to talk

to the fire chief and Roy before I let you go. I don't sup­pose you saw who hit you?"

Skye shook her head, which wasn't a good idea since that made the throbbing intensify. Once inside the ladies' room with the door safely locked, she took the envelope out from its hiding place and examined it. It was about six inches wide by nine inches long and had two bulges in the middle. She didn't have time to open it, so she stuck it back into her waistband.

Along with washing her face and smoothing her hair back into its barrette, Skye brushed off her clothing. A but­ton had been ripped from her shirt and it now gaped open, exposing her midriff. Her elbow peeked from the hole in her sleeve, and there was a large tear across the knee of her pants. She had no cuts, so her clothes must have protected her from the exposed glass and nails.

When she finished, Skye went to the chief's office. It was empty and dark. Flipping on the light, she looked around. His padded chair beckoned, and she sank wearily into its cushioned depths. She noticed that his middle drawer, the one with the lock, wasn't closed all the way.

Deciding to test it, Skye put her finger underneath and tugged. It came open with no resistance. A white business-size envelope lay on top of the pile. Its typed label showed it had been sent to Mrs. Walter Boyd at her home address. The return address was the Carle Clinic, a large medical fa­cility in Urbana.

Skye got up and looked out into the hall. There was no sign of the chief. Going back, she took the envelope out of the drawer, extracted the contents, and skimmed the pages quickly. It was a medical report concerning Darleen. The gist of it was that she was infertile due to a previous infec­tion in her fallopian tubes, most probably caused by an un­treated sexually transmitted disease.

Where have I heard that before? she wondered. Wasn't that what Simon said about Honey ?

Hearing footsteps in the corridor, Skye hastily stuffed the letter back into the envelope and the whole thing back - into the drawer. She was sliding it shut as Chief Boyd en­tered. She leaned against the desk and tried to look noncha­lant.

The chief walked around her and sat in his chair. Skye glanced down and saw a white corner sticking out of the closed drawer. Following her eyes, he frowned and opened the drawer, pulling the envelope out.

As his gaze went from Skye to the envelope, his voice became dangerously quiet. "Were you snooping?"

Her face mirrored her contrition. "I'm sorry. It was an awful thing to do. I'm just so worried about Vince."

Chief Boyd sighed and sat back. "Did you read it all?"

She nodded miserably.

"Darleen is obsessed with having a baby," he said, al­most to himself. "Oh, sit down, before you fall down," he said when he noticed Skye swaying.

Gratefully, she sank into a chair. "I am sorry, Chief. Does this have anything to do with why she got upset when I brought up Honey Adair?"

He tapped the edge of the report on his cheek. "Yeah. It seems Mike Young passed the disease to Darleen in high school before breaking up with her. From Honey's autopsy it seems that he may have given it to her too.

"She knew something was wrong back then but was too embarrassed to go to any doctor around here for treat­ment. The symptoms finally went away, and she forgot about it until a few years ago when we started trying to have a baby.

"Darleen did some reading on infertility and was afraid this might be the cause. We got this report a couple of days ago, confirming it."

Skye didn't know what to say so she repeated, "I'm so sorry for you both."

"Can you take Darleen off your list of suspects now? If

she was going to kill anyone, it would be Mike Young. Be­sides, she was with a group of kids from her class when the murder took place. They were staking out a good spot to see the parade."

Though Skye was nodding her head, she couldn't help but think, Then why was Honey blackmailing Darleen?

CHAPTER 24

Photographs and Memories

Skye entered her bedroom just as the digital display on her clock radio turned to three A.M. She swallowed some Nuprins, stuffed a handful of ice into a dish towel, and flung herself across the bed. When her alarm woke her at six-thirty, she was lying in a pool of water and her head felt as if a giant had been using it for a soccer ball. She struggled to the bathroom and took some more pills.

She decided to take a sick day and made the necessary calls. Before going back to sleep, she took the phone off the hook. When her doorbell started ringing, she tried to ignore it, but minutes later, her mother's voice jarred her awake.

"Yoo-hoo, Skye, are you here?"

Skye pushed her hair out of her face and opened one eye. May stood in the bedroom doorway.

"How did you get in?" Skye was groggy and had diffi­culty focusing her eyes.

"Don't you remember? You gave me a key when you moved in. Maybe you do have a concussion." May came over and perched on the edge of the bed.

Skye sank against her pillows and pulled the sheet over her head. "I knew that action was going to come back to haunt me. I told you it was only for emergencies. Like if I locked myself out or something."

"This is an emergency. You didn't answer your phone, and they said you called in sick at school."

Skye sat up reluctantly. "Okay, you're here. What's up?"

"I wanted to make sure you were all right." May looked hurt. "After all, I have one child in jail and then one almost gets burned up ..."

Skye hugged her mother. "You're right." Knowing what would cheer May up, she added, "Want to fix me some breakfast?"

May bounced from the bed. "Sure, what would you like? French toast, waffles, bacon and eggs? You name it."

"Tea and toast would be great. I don't have the stuff to make all those other things."

"How about I go and get you some groceries?"

"No, thanks. I'll just take a nice hot shower, and you can get my tea and toast ready. Okay?" Skye headed for the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, she emerged, wrapped in her robe, to find her mother sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee. Skye's Earl Grey was in her favorite cup, two packages of Sweet 'N Low placed beside it. A plate with toast had been set next to her tea. The butter dish and a jar of marmalade were also on the table.

"Wow, this is service. Thanks, Mom."

Her voice catching, May smiled angelically. "I could do this for you every day if you moved home."

Skye picked up her cup and drank without replying. In­stead, she told May what she'd found out so far and what had happened last night, leaving out the part about finding the envelope. May was thrilled that Simon had been added to their ranks of investigators.

"Who brought you the yellow roses?" May looked at Skye as if her prize heifer had just won a blue ribbon at the county fair.

"Simon."

"Do you like him?" May started putting the breakfast things away.

"Yes," Skye admitted, taking a last sip of tea before her

mother whisked the cup from her hand. "But we've only had one date."

"When are you going to see him again?" May asked, ze­roing in on the important issue.

"Probably tonight." Skye stretched and yawned. "I guess I'll get dressed."

"What do you mean, probably?" May seemed to see that blue ribbon disappearing in the breeze.

"We've got a date, but I'm not sure if I'll feel up to it."

"It would make you feel better to have some nice com­pany, I'll bet."

"I should go see Vince again," Skye said, teasing her mother.

"Abby is going tonight, and Dad and I are going after lunch."

"Well, if I can get some rest this afternoon I'll probably feel more like seeing Simon."

May got the hint. "I'll clean up here and let myself out. Why don't you go back to bed?"

"That's a good idea, Mom. Thanks for taking care of me."

As soon as May left, Skye hopped out of bed and grabbed the envelope she'd found the night before. She carefully bent the metal clips into an upright position and eased her fingernail file under the flap.

It opened with minimal tearing. She emptied the con­tents on the bed. Two small reels of home movie film and a dozen negatives landed on the blanket. Skye picked up one of the negatives. Each had four or five pictures in a hori­zontal strip.

She switched on her bedside lamp and held the negative up to the light. After turning it several times and trying to look at it from the opposite side, she still couldn't tell who the people were, but she could see that they were definitely in the throes of some sort of passion. She examined all the negatives carefully and was pretty sure the man was the

same in all the pictures. His partner appeared to be different in each one, although whenever a third person was involved she seemed to be the same person.

The reels of movie film proved even more difficult to decipher. Skye thought the film might be eight-millimeter or super eight, whatever the stuff was they used before VCRs became common.

When the phone rang, she was trying to figure out who would know about that sort of thing.

Simon's voice washed over her when she picked up the receiver. "Hi, are you okay? I just heard about your adven­ture last night."

"My head still hurts and I'm a little sore, but otherwise I'm fine."

"When I tried calling you at school, they said you were out sick."

Skye pushed the mess on her bed aside and curled up with her back against the pillows. "After last night I wasn't up to crazy kids and demented parents."

"Why did you go investigating without me? I thought we were a team." Simon's tone was only half kidding.

"I went to visit Vince in jail last night. After I talked to him I had a hunch."

"So, did you find anything?"

Skye took the nail file she'd discarded earlier and ran it across her thumb. "Yes. I wonder if I interrupted someone else searching the station or what?"

"What did you find?"

"I think it would be better if you saw it rather than if I tried to explain it." Skye put everything back into its enve­lope.

"Okay. How about if I come over now?"

"Ah, why don't you give me an hour to ... ah ... do a few chores?" Skye stalled, realizing her hair was a mess and she didn't have any makeup on.

"All right, but make sure your doors and windows are

locked. That person who conked you on the head and set the fire didn't just happen to be there. He must have been following you."

Skye rushed around straightening up the cottage, doing her hair and face, and finding something suitable to wear. It was a tough choice, considering what an odd second date this was.

She settled on black leggings and a white oversized tunic top and was waiting at the door when Simon arrived.

He handed her a box of Godiva chocolates.

Skye led him to the sofa. "Thanks for the truffles. They're my favorite."

"Have one."

"A little later. I haven't eaten anything but toast since lunch yesterday. I'm afraid Godivas are too rich for me right now."

"Why don't I go pick something up?" Simon started to rise.

"That would be great, but I want you to see what I've found first." Skye handed him the envelope and explained how it had come to be in her possession.

He looked through the contents. "So you had this the whole time you were hit on the head, crawled out of a burn­ing building, and were found searching the police chief's drawers?"

"Yes, what do you think of it?"

"I agree with you. It's the same man all the way through but with different women. Although when there are three people, the second woman seems to be the same in all the pictures. Too bad we don't have any way of running this film."

"Yeah, I guess I'll have to turn it in to the police after all. I can't quite see anyone around here printing it for us." She narrowed her eyes in concentration.

Simon thought for a minute. "Mike Young is the only person I know who has a darkroom."

"That's not a good idea. Mike is one of our top sus­pects."

"True. How about the rest of them?"

"Okay, I'm pretty sure Darleen and Chief Boyd are in the clear. Her problem is with Mike, not Honey, plus she has an alibi. And since I only suspected him because of her. .." Skye trailed off, having gotten lost in her own logic.

"That makes sense, although like you said earlier, I have to wonder what she was paying Honey to keep quiet about."

"Charlie has an alibi. I checked with Fayanne and she backs him up. I'll have to call him to find out what time the school board meeting ended last night. If it was after I was attacked, that would put Lloyd out of the running too."

"I drove by there at ten, and the lot was still full of cars," Simon said.

"Well, since we know it's not Vince," Skye looked hard at Simon and he nodded, "who is left?"

"Only Abby and Mike, if we're still using your original list."

"Abby is very strong and jealousy can be a powerful emotion. Or she could be the woman in these pictures, and Honey decided to start blackmailing her now that she was dating Vince again.

"On the other hand, Mike could be the man in these neg­atives. We know he was being blackmailed."

"Could it be Darleen in the photos?" Simon took one out of the envelope and examined it again.

"I didn't know her in high school, but unless she's changed a lot, the body type is all wrong."

They thought in silence, until Skye's stomach growled audibly.

Simon got up. "This is silly. You're hungry. Let me get us something to eat, and then I'm sure we'll both think more clearly. What do you feel like?"

"Would you mind driving over to Clay Center? I'd love some chicken from their restaurant."

"No problem. Clay Center's only ten miles away. The restaurant you mean is the Shaft, right?"

Skye nodded.

"It shouldn't take me more than forty-five minutes. Meanwhile, don't let anyone in. I talked to Wally this morning. He said that if you hadn't been hit with a cheap aluminum flashlight that broke open after the first whack, you could have been in real trouble."

"I'll lock the door as soon as you leave."

CHAPTER 25

Bridge Over Troubled Water

Skye decided to take another look at the police report on Mike Young. She grabbed an apple from the fridge and curled up on the sofa with the pages. The police had set up surveillance at the local drive-in and caught him selling marijuana, LSD, and heroin to a high school crowd. He never did admit who his supplier was.

His original sentence was three years, but he Jiad been a model prisoner who attended church and took vocational school courses in photography, so he was released in little more than eighteen months.

She put the report down suddenly. What was that noise?

Skye rose from the couch and looked out the window by the front door. The Impala was alone in her driveway. A breeze rippled through the leaves on the trees, but nothing else moved.

Sitting again, she looked at her watch. It was two-thirty in the afternoon. Simon had only been gone a few minutes.

This time the noise was louder and sounded like it came from her bedroom. Skye picked up the baseball bat Vince had given her as a housewarming gift and walked over to the half-shut bedroom door. She nudged it all the way open using her foot and, with the bat at the ready, looked into the room.

It was as she had left it. Sighing with relief, she let the bat down from her shoulder and relaxed. At that moment, someone wearing black driving gloves grabbed her arm, spun her around, and put a gun to her temple.

"You thought you were so smart, Miz Psychologist. Spy ing on people, searching places you had no right to be. sticking your nose where it didn't belong," Mike Young jeered as he dragged Skye through the great room, pausing only long enough to snatch the envelope containing the reels of film and the negatives from the coffee table. "Judge not, that ye be not judged."

"Mike, you sound angry," Skye responded automati­cally.

He slapped her across the face with the gun, and she felt the pain explode in her cheek. "Don't use that psycho-shit on me. They tried that while I was in prison. You'd better think of Matthew, chapter three, verse seven: 'Flee from the wrath to come.'"

They were in the foyer now. Mike grabbed her purse and dumped it onto the hall table. He snatched her keys and pushed her out the front door and down the steps.

He wrenched open the passenger door and shoved her into the car. "Slide all the way over. I can't be seen driving your vehicle."

Afraid that another blow to the head would make her pass out, Skye scooted over quickly. "Why are you doing this, Mike?"

She threw both hands up to ward off the impact when he raised the gun to hit her again.

Mike pushed his face into hers. "Don't ask stupid ques­tions. You searched Honey's condo and the old train station. This is what you found." He held up the envelope contain­ing the film and negatives.

"How do you know all that?" Skye shrank as far away from him as the seat would allow and attempted to get the keys into the ignition.

"Once the police had searched Honey's condo, I placed a surveillance camera in the hall outside. I saw you pick that lock like a pro. You and that grave digger were in there a long time, but you didn't come out carrying anything, so I

had to follow you to see what you found." Mike frowned. "Now start this car, and don't forget to fasten your seat belt. We don't want the cops pulling us over." He buckled his own belt, then waved toward the road with his gun. "Drive down Stebler and take a left on Basin."

As Skye backed the car out of the driveway, she quickly scanned the area, but the road was deserted. "That's how you found me at the railroad depot."

"Yeah, I followed you from the time you left work. Until you led me there, I had forgotten about Honey using that place as a hangout. I didn't think you were going to find anything until you went back and crawled under that counter." Mike slid down in the seat until he wasn't visible from outside the car. His gun was now aimed at Skye's heart.

"Why didn't you take the envelope when you hit me on the head?" Skye turned her head to look at him, and the car swerved.

"Drive straight, or I'll kill you right here." Mike shoved the gun into her side. "I didn't take the envelope because you didn't have it in your hand. It was possible you hadn't found anything. Before I could search you, I saw the police car cruise by and slow down, so instead I figured I would burn up whatever evidence there was. Better safe than sorry."

Skye carefully made the turn onto Basin. She was look­ing desperately for some way to save herself, but made her voice remain calm and professional. "What exactly is the evidence?"

"You idiots are too stupid to live. I can't believe you or your boyfriend couldn't figure out what was going on in these pictures."

"How do you know we didn't figure it out? Simon's at the police station this very minute telling Chief Boyd everything."

Mike snorted. "Good try. Simple Simon has gone to get

his poor sweetums something to eat, not to tell the police anything. No, Simon is no threat to me. Only you and these damn movies."

When she had to stop at the light on Basin, Skye consid­ered jumping out of the car, but there were few other vehi­cles and no pedestrians to try to signal for help. "How do you know that?"

"Turn right here."

"Where are we going?"

Mike ignored that question and answered her previous one. "I know your boyfriend hasn't got a clue because I bugged your house right after I saw the surveillance tape from Honey's condo."

Her mind frantically searched for a plan. "So, what was Honey blackmailing you over?"

"Nosy right up to the bitter end, aren't you?" Mike never took his eyes off her. "If you must know, after Honey left town she hooked up with a bunch of other young girls who had run away. They all wanted to be actresses, so she brought them down here and she and I put them in the movies. I played the male lead, and Honey made an occa­sional guest appearance."

Skye drove along Maryland until she got to Kinsman, where Mike told her to turn left.

He continued, "We sold those movies through ads in porno magazines. Then I was busted for drugs and went to prison. During that time Honey got a job at the Chicago TV station. She was a gofer for some local celebrity. The money wasn't the best, but she was hooked on the idea of show business.

"When I got out of prison, we both wanted to go straight, so we parted amicably. Or so I thought. A few months later, just as things started going good for me with the studio and the church, Honey called me. She demanded money, or she'd show everyone in town the dirty movies

we'd made. It seems she had gone to my apartment after I was arrested and taken all the negatives and reels of film.

"The amount of money she wanted wasn't too much, so I paid."

Skye frowned. "Was she willing to expose herself? She was in those pictures too."

"Not in all of them. It would have been easy enough for her to pick out ones that only I appeared in."

"So, you were behind all the Chokeberry Days pranks. You were trying to get them to cancel the festival, so Honey wouldn't come back to town."

"You need to show how smart you are to the bitter end too, don't you?" Mike's voice was disgusted. "You never did learn your place."

Skye hardly heard his insults. She had realized they were coming up to a one-lane bridge, where Kinsman crossed over the river. He's going to kill me when we get to wherever we're going or he wouldn't be telling me all this. I'm a good swimmer and I'd rather die trying to save my­self than be shot like a helpless little girl. I'll have the ele­ment of surprise. If I drive off the bridge on his side, I can have my door open before he knows what's happening.

"You were paying her for a long time, so why did you decide to kill her now?" Skye asked to keep him distracted.

"Because she raised the payment to fifteen hundred. She had found proof that some of those girls in the movies with me were underage."

They were approaching the bridge. Skye asked one last question, hoping to keep him talking, so he wouldn't notice her slipping out of her Keds. "Did you mean to implicate Vince by using his shears?"

"Nah. I didn't go there to kill her, but shejust wouldn't back down. When I put my hand in my pocket and found the scissors I knew it was a sign from God. 'My father hath chastised you with whips, but I will chastise you with scor­pions.' I had to kill her. She would have ruined me in this

awanson

town. Then I searched the trailer for the film, but it wasn't there and people started pounding on the door. It was eas\ to slip away without anyone noticing."

As the car started over the bridge, its tires made hollow thumping sounds on the narrow planks of wood used to guide vehicles safely across. Skye had been going the legal limit of fifteen, but now she pushed the speed up to thirty-five. Taking one last look at the madness gleaming in Mike's eyes, she said as she whipped the wheel to the right. " 'Don't mess with a woman,' Helen Reddy, nineteen sev­enty-three."

The next few seconds seemed to tick by in slow motion as the Impala burst through the flimsy guardrail and be­came airborne. Skye held on to the driver's door handle with all her strength, and prayed that her seat belt would hold.

She heard Mike groan as the car lurched and he was jerked toward her. In a quick glance to her right she saw that Mike's seat belt had prevented him from sliding very far in her direction. The Impala hit the water, floated for a moment, and rapidly sank until it settled on the passenger side on the river bottom.

Skye sat for a moment, dazed by the impact and by the chaos she had put into motion with a turn of the steering wheel. Finally, she stole another peek at Mike. He had been pulled down and to the right. Cracks radiated in the passen­ger-side window around the place where his head had slammed into the glass. He looked dazed, but had not dropped the gun.

Skye quickly unbuckled her seat belt and struggled to wrench the door open. It was much harder than she ex­pected. The force of the water acted as a wedge to hold the door closed. She could hear the blood pulsing in her head as she fumbled for the crank to roll down the window and relieve the pressure. Muddy water gushed into the car, and she was afraid she would drown if she didn't act quickly.

mi*, i*.,. _,

She put all her weight behind one mighty shove, and the door flew open. She quickly thrust herself through the opening. Once out, she shot to the surface, sputtering and coughing.

Immediately she began to swim for shore, worried that Mike would be coming after her. She struggled up the riverbank and turned to look.

There was no sign of Mike. Then she remembered: Jed hadn't fixed the latch on the passenger-side seat belt. Once it was buckled, there was no way to unfasten it.

CHAPTER 26

On a Clear Day

Skye sat silently in the passenger seat of the old Buick Regal as it rattled into her parents' driveway Wednesday afternoon. Although she was physically present, much of what was happening around her seemed to be playing on a movie screen rather than in real life. She watched May hurry out of the kitchen and Jed appear from the garage. She saw an unspoken signal go between her parents, broad­casting that neither recognized the car or the heavily tat­tooed man who got out of it.

As Jed stepped forward, the boy in the backseat bounced out and opened the front passenger door. He reached in and grabbed Skye's hand, pulling her out of the car like a stuffed toy.

He was the first to speak. "This here is Miz Denison. She's from my school. I found her by the river. You her folks?"

Hurrying forward, May put her arm around Skye, who was still soaked despite the heat's rapid drying power. "Yes, she's our daughter. What happened to you, honey?"

Skye didn't answer, and the boy chimed in, "She ain't said much since I found her."

Jed walked over to the tattooed man and stuck out his hand. "Jed Denison."

"Earl Doozier, and this here's Junior." He shook hands with Jed.

"Thanks for bringing her home. What happened?" Jed gestured to Skye, who stood dripping onto the gravel.

Junior spoke up. "I was play in' near the river when this car started across the old bridge. Sudden like, it sped up, and then just drove offa the bridge—exactly like on TV. In a few minutes I seen Miz Denison swimmin' to shore. Then I ran home and got Daddy." Jed swore under his breath. May exclaimed, "Oh, my God! Oh, my God!" "She wanted Daddy to jump in the river to see if this here Mike guy was still livin', but Daddy don't know how to swim. When she found that out she made us drive rick­ety-split to the police station, and she went in and came out right quick. Then we brung her here. Think she was tryin' to kill herself?"

Skye spoke up for the first time. "Junior, I wasn't trying to kill myself, but someone was trying to kill me."

May, who had been herding them all toward porch chairs, halted abruptly. "Everyone, sit down," she ordered. "Skye, tell us what happened."

Her audience sat listening intently as Skye relayed the events prior to her trip off the bridge.

"What happened when you stopped at the police sta­tion?" May jumped up from her perch on the table edge and began to pace back and forth.

Sighing, Skye closed her eyes. "I didn't want to find myself in the backseat of Chief Boyd's squad car again, so I told Thea the story and asked her to send the rescue squad. I probably should have gone back to show them the exact spot, but I just couldn' t."

Junior had seated himself at her feet and was leaning against her leg like a puppy. "Don't you worry, Miz Deni­son, they'll find it right off. You can see the car from the bridge. I looked when we drove over."

Skye turned to her father. "Well, that's it for the Impala." A slight smile hovered at the edge of her lips. "Guess I'll fi­nally have to get a new car."

Skye woke up with a start. Where am I? She slowh scanned the walls and realized she was back in her old room at her parents' house. Memories of the last few days were nudging their way through the sleep-induced haze when May popped her head into the room.

"Come in. I'm awake," Skye said.

"How are you feeling?" May sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed Skye's hair from her forehead.

"Okay. What day is this?"

"It's Friday. Doc Zello gave you a sedative and you've slept for almost two days."

"So, the thing with Mike and the car wasn't a dream?" Skye sat up and rubbed her face.

"No, I'm afraid not."

"What's been going on while I've been sleeping? Is Vince out of jail?"

May took the pillows and arranged them so Skye could lean back. "Vince has been home since yesterday. He's staying here until things calm down a little. He insisted on opening the shop for his eight o'clock appointment today, so your father drove him to work. Jed's cutting the grass at the shop for him."

"Now I know I'm dreaming," Skye said. "I can't believe Dad has given in."

May frowned. "I wouldn't say that to your father."

"No, of course not. What else has happened?"

"I'd better start at the beginning or we'll be here all day. Let's see. On Wednesday, right after Doc Zello started ex­amining you, Simon and Wally arrived. Both had heard the news on their scanners. They both wanted to talk to you, but Doc Zello said absolutely not."

"I'll bet the chief was ticked."

"Neither was a happy camper. They recovered Mike Young's body and the negatives late Wednesday afternoon. I had already called your friend Loretta. That is one tough lady lawyer. She really got them moving to release Vince.

Boy, was she mad when they wouldn't let him go Wednes-,.iy night. She's talking about a wrongful imprisonment suit."

"Wow. Anything else?"

"Oh my, yes. The police searched Mike Young's studio and found the gloves he wore when he stabbed Honey. They'd been washed, but blood always lingers." May got up from the bed. "They also found the surveillance camera he had rigged at Honey's condo and the listening device he had planted at your cottage."

Skye closed her eyes and wondered exactly what Mike could hear. She certainly hoped it didn't pick up sounds in the bathroom. "It must have been pretty busy around here." "You don't know the half of it. Everyone we know has stopped by to see how you and Vince are, and they all brought food. I can't get another thing in the freezer."

"Wow." Skye shook her head. "Gee, I'd love to take a shower and get into some fresh clothes. Could you go get me something to wear from my cottage?"

"Already done." May grinned. "I got you a couple of outfits and your cosmetics. I knew you'd never willingly face the world without some makeup. I'll bet you were the only Peace Corps volunteer in Dominica who wore mas­cara."

Simon and Charlie were sitting at the kitchen table when Skye emerged from the bathroom. Jed and Vince arrived shortly after that. Chief Boyd pulled in seconds later.

He strolled into the kitchen, nodded at its occupants and said, "Could I speak to you alone, Skye?"

Simon, Charlie, Vince, and Jed said no, but Skye spoke over their objections, "Sure, let's go into the den."

The den was really a fourth bedroom that had been equipped with a sofa, chair, and TV.

Before the door was fully closed, Wally whirled on Skye and ground the words out between his teeth, "What in

heaven's name possessed you to drive your car over the side of that bridge? You could have been killed. Are you crazy or just plain stupid?"

Skye took a step forward so that they were nearly nose to nose. "What should I have done? Waited for you to res cue me? I'd be dead now, and you'd still be trying to pin the whole thing on my brother."

"You could have ... ah ... you could have signaled someone for help." His tone lacked conviction.

"Right. There are so many people hanging out on Cattail Path."

"Well, you should have done something else."

"That's the point, Wally—there was nothing else to do. I would have rather died trying to get away than be shot like a helpless child."

Wally shrugged and eased himself into the La-Z-Boy. "Okay, tell me everything that happened from the time Mike appeared at your house." He clicked on a tape recorder. "All right if I use this?"

"Yes." Skye sat on the sofa and explained the events leading up to her kidnapping and Mike's death.

He nodded. "That's what we figured. We found all kinds of stuff that Mike must have stolen from his friends and customers. There must have been a hundred ashtrays alone. Why would he do that?"

She shrugged. "Must be something in his background. Some need he was trying to fill."

"Well, he didn't have an easy time of it with his father that's for sure. His dad was an alcoholic and liked to knock his family around when he was drunk."

"I never knew that. Is that common knowledge in town?"

"Might be. Hard to keep secrets in Scumble River. But it's one of those things everybody knows but no one talks about. Because if you admit to knowing it you'd have to do something about it. I only found out yesterday by looking

at old police records and questioning some of the older dis-patchers."

Skye stretched and got up. "At least we don't have to put everyone through the misery of a trial. You have enough to wrap things up, don't you?"

The chief grudgingly agreed that the people being black­mailed had suffered enough, so he would let the matter drop. Skye was sure his wife's involvement helped him make that decision.

Wally turned down May's invitation to lunch and left. The rest of them sat around the table and discussed the past few days as May began serving the food. First she placed a ham on the table and handed Jed the carving set. While he was occupied, she put out bowls of scalloped potatoes, Waldorf salad, creamed peas, pearl onions, and glazed carrots. Grandma Denison had sent over a batch of her rolls, served hot with butter. May poured iced tea and they dug in.

No one spoke until Skye finished her first helping and wiped her mouth with a napkin. "Charlie, I forgot all about the board meeting Tuesday night. What happened with Lloyd?"

Charlie snickered. "Oh, we fixed his wagon. The district is now accepting applications for a new junior high princi­pal."

"How did you manage that?" Skye reached past Vince for a roll.

Leaning back, Charlie took a generous swallow of his iced tea. "You remember when my house was broken into, right?"

"That was Mike, wasn't it?" Skye nabbed the butter as it was being passed.

"Nope, Lloyd did it. He was looking for Honey's year­book. I must have mentioned looking for it in front of him, and he got nervous about what he wrote by his name." Charlie sipped his drink.

"What made you realize that it was Lloyd?" Simon questioned.

"I didn't, but I took the opportunity when everyone was so involved in the murder to break into his office."

"Oh, Uncle Charlie, how could you?" Skye's knife hov­ered above the half-buttered roll.

"I knew there was something fishy about that guy. It turns out he and Mike Young had a scheme going with the school pictures. Say someone bought a package worth twenty-five dollars. Lloyd and Mike would take half the money and the records would show a payment of only twelve-fifty. The school board always wondered why the junior high's profit on that fund-raising activity was so much less than the other two schools." Charlie folded his hands over his stomach and grinned.

Vince wondered out loud, "So, Lloyd broke into your house and you broke into Lloyd's office. Where was Mike Young in all of this?"

"Getting ready for his date with me, no doubt." Skye shot Vince a look.

Simon added, "Don't forget he was also searching Honey's condo, rigging the surveillance camera, and bug­ging Skye's cottage. I'd say he was pretty busy."

"I want to know how he got hold of my shears," Vince said.

Skye answered, "Chief Boyd explained that. Turns out, in addition to his other nasty habits, Mike took things."

"What do you mean, took things? He was a thief, too?" Vince reached for his glass.

"Yeah. I'm never letting you set me up with a blind date again."

Simon took Skye's hand. "That's good to hear."

They were interrupted by a knock on the door and a voice calling out, "It's Darleen Boyd. Can I come in?"

Jumping out of her seat, May rushed to the door. "You come on in. You're just in time for dessert."

Darleen tried to say no, but before she knew it, she was seated between Skye and Charlie. As if by magic, a piece of apple-slice pastry appeared in front of her.

May finally allowed Darleen to speak after everyone was served their sweet. "This is kind of hard to say in front of you all, but I know that you already know most of the story. When Wally stopped by the school and told me about the record of my being blackmailed, I decided to start fresh. I took half a personal day and came over here to explain."

Skye turned to her. "You don't owe any of us an expla­nation. I'm just sorry your personal problems got dragged into the open as much as they have been." "But 1 want to tell you," Darleen insisted. Charlie patted her arm. "We're all ears." "Well, Wally and I decided to try and have a baby about three years ago. At first we weren't concerned when I didn't get pregnant right away, but then I started to worry. About a year went by and we started talking about getting tested. Before we decided, I got a letter in the mail. I still can't fig­ure out how Honey found out about this, but we weren't keeping our attempts to conceive a secret.