Murder of a Bookstore Babe (12 page)

“Getting back to you two.” Skye pressed her fingers against her temples. “You’re really going to elope?”

“Yes.” Loretta nodded.

“Neither of us wants a big, fancy wedding.” Vince’s voice was firm. “Especially after what went on with Cousin Riley’s last June.”

Riley’s over-the-top platinum wedding had inconvenienced everyone, caused oodles of hard feelings, and ended in murder.

“You have a point,” Skye conceded. “But you don’t have to go to the other extreme.”

“Look.” Vince drummed his fingers on the coffee table. “It’ll be so much easier this way.”

“We’ll have a party at Christmastime,” Loretta joined in. “It’ll give everyone a chance to get used to each other without the pressure of a wedding.”

“Without a lot of nosy people watching our two families’ every move,” Vince added.

“Okay.” Skye held up her hands in surrender. “I give up. What do you want me to do?”

“We’d like the four of us to fly to Las Vegas the first weekend in October,” Loretta explained. “You and Wally can spend the weekend, or longer if you want, but we’ll come back the following Sunday.”

“And until then,” Vince added, “we need to keep our engagement and the arrangements for the wedding a secret from both families. Which should be easy with Loretta’s folks, probably a little harder with Mom and Dad.”

“You two do realize that if a robin falls within fifty miles of Scumble River, Mom knows about it before its wings quit fluttering?” Skye tilted her head. When they didn’t react, she sighed. “What else do you have on your evil minds?”

“Before Loretta and I come back from the trip, you need to break the news to Mom.” Vince tried to sound casual. “In person.”

“No way.” At that instant, Skye knew that she might as well rejoin the Peace Corps. The only thing that would save her from May’s fury would be living in a foreign country with poor phone service.

“Look, if Mom starts to get suspicious, just give her a whiff of Lysol and tell her your house needs cleaning.” Vince’s eyes gleamed with mischievousness. “That should throw her off the scent for a while.”

“This is so, so much bigger than the favor I had you do for me,” Skye whined.

“You agreed to the deal.”

“And you knew all along what you were going to ask in return, didn’t you?”

“Of course not.” Vince shook his head.

“Right.” Skye didn’t believe him for a second. “I don’t know how and I don’t know when, but I’m getting back at you both for this.”

Vince and Loretta snickered.

“That is, if I live through the experience,” Skye muttered.

“Mom’ll get over it.” Vince patted Skye’s cheek. “You worry too much about her.”

Skye shook her head. Her brother was excellent at existing in the here and now, but he had never been very good with the concept of future consequences. This time, he might regret that. If May missed her only son’s wedding, she wouldn’t let any of them live it down for a long, long time.

S
kye had been back inside her house for less than a minute after escorting the newly engaged couple to their car when she heard knocking. Thinking her brother had forgotten something, she ran into the foyer and flung open the door. Instead of Vince demanding his Tupperware container full of leftovers, Simon stood on her porch holding a pizza box.

“What are you doing here?”

“I thought you might not have had a chance to eat today,” Simon explained.

“I do keep food in the house and am able to cook.” Skye let the sarcasm roll off her tongue. Simon wasn’t here just to feed her, and he didn’t have that cute, slightly goofy look he wore when he was trying to romance her, so something was definitely up.

He glanced over his shoulder, then said, “I need to talk to you in private.”

“I live alone on a fairly deserted road.” She made a show of sticking her head out the door and gazing around. “I’m pretty sure no one is eavesdropping.”

“Can I come in?” Simon juggled the flat cardboard box. “It’s important.”

“No.” Skye gave him a speculative look. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“How about we sit out here?” Simon gestured to the porch furniture. “The weather’s nice. Just flip on your outside lights.”

“Okay.” Skye tipped her head. “But this better not be about winning me back.”

“I promise it’s not.”

“You wait right there,” Skye ordered. “I’ll go get some plates and napkins. Do you want anything to drink?”

“I’d love a scotch, but I’m guessing you don’t have the bottle you used to keep for me anymore, so how about a glass of wine?” He put the pizza down on the wicker table.

She nodded, closed the door, and after a second’s thought locked it. Hurrying to the kitchen, she worried about what her ex wanted to discuss. None of the subjects that came to mind was encouraging.

Simon had made himself comfortable while she’d been gone. The citronella candle Skye kept on the table was lit, and he had taken off his suit jacket and tie and was settled in one of the pair of matching wicker armchairs with his feet up on the ottoman.

Skye put down two glasses of Zinfandel, plates, and a stack of paper napkins, then took a seat. “Go ahead. Eat while it’s still hot.”

“Thanks.” He flipped open the box. “I haven’t had anything since coffee with you. I was on my way to brunch when I got the call from Boyd.”

While Simon devoured three slices of pizza, she nibbled on one. She may have eaten a huge dinner a couple of hours ago, but who could resist Aurelio’s pepperoni and mushrooms on a crispy thin crust?

Finally, Simon wiped his mouth with his napkin. “You sure aren’t eating much.” He sneered. “Has Boyd got you on a diet for the big wedding?”

“Of course not. He likes me the way I am,” Skye snapped. “Do you really think I’d lose weight because some
man
told me to?” She was tired of hearing about weddings, and she was especially tired of discussing what she should look like by the time hers rolled around.

“Oops! Sorry. That was just my jealousy getting out of hand.” Simon’s expression was contrite. “Let me rephrase that. Don’t you like the pizza?”

“If you must know, Mom and the gang were waiting for me with a complete Sunday dinner ready to be served when I got home.” She made a wry face. “I wonder how many other thirty-five-year-old women have mothers who break into their houses to cook for them.”

“May is one of a kind.” Simon’s tone was fond. “If my mother broke into my house, it would be to steal the silver in order to finance some get-rich-quick scheme.”

“Bunny’s not
that
bad.” Skye took a sip of her wine. “She would never steal from you.”

“You’re right.” Simon picked up another piece of pizza. “She’d just try to con me out of the money.”

They both laughed; then Skye sighed and said, “I’m not going to like why you’re here, am I?”

“Probably not.”

“Shoot!” She took a deep breath. “I’m ready. Tell me your news.”

“The medical examiner’s preliminary findings are that Kayla’s death was not an accident.”

“Because the rare-book cabinet was deliberately pushed over?”

“Not only that.” Simon finished chewing and swallowed. “Because it appears she was hit over the head before the cabinet was yanked on top of her.”

“How can he know that so soon?”

“Her skull was smashed in, but the bookcase only hit her from below the shoulder blades.”

“Still.” Skye’s chair squeaked as she leaned forward. “It was most likely a crime of circumstances. The thief didn’t realize Kayla was there, and when she caught him, he hit her, shoved the cabinet over, and ran.”

“Maybe.” Simon twisted a gold signet ring on his right hand. “But I’m concerned about Xavier.”

“His investment?”

“That, although I don’t think that poor girl’s death will keep business away for long—people have short memories.” Simon struggled to explain his reasoning. “More, I have a bad feeling that this wasn’t—how did you put it?—a crime of circumstances.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Something isn’t adding up.” Simon adjusted the crease on his trousers, then picked up his glass. “Xavier was really upset when he first came into the store and he thought Risé was the woman under the bookshelf, and he rarely expresses any emotion.”

“I can see why he’d be distressed. After all, he, Orlando, and Risé have been friends for years.” Skye wasn’t sure what Simon was trying to say. “Not to mention that Xavier doesn’t have many people he’s close to. He’s always struck me as an extremely lonely man.”

“That’s true.” Simon stared at his black wingtips, wiping a smudge from the toe with his napkin before continuing. “But I think it has something to do with what he’s hiding.”

“Then you’d better find out what his secret is.” Skye sipped her wine. “Not to be mean, but what does any of this have to do with me? If Xavier’s going to open up to anyone, it would be you.”

“True.” Simon tented his fingers under his chin and spoke over the tips. “But if Boyd is going to confide in anyone, it’s you.”

“Are you afraid that Xavier is somehow involved in that girl’s death?” Skye’s tone was incredulous. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I don’t think he killed her.” Simon leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers over his flat abdomen. “But he might know who did.”

 

Standing on the sidewalk watching Simon get into his car, Skye blew out an exasperated breath. What a day. She’d stumbled across a dead body, muddled the victim’s identity, handled Chase’s meltdown, learned the missing Orlando was actually in the drunk tank, and helped Wally notify Kayla’s parents of her death. Then she’d faced her family’s interrogation, Vince and Loretta’s demands, and finally Simon’s request.

Skye had agreed not to inform the police about Xavier’s investment in the bookstore, but she’d cautioned Simon that if Kayla’s death was anything other than the result of a burglary gone wrong, she
would
tell Wally. Skye also had assured Simon that she would keep her ears open for anything that might reveal what Xavier was hiding. Before he left, she’d made him promise not to show up at her house uninvited again—no matter what wonderful food he brought.

She climbed the steps to her porch, stopping midway to stare at Simon’s Lexus disappearing down her driveway. She was relieved to see him go. She really needed some time alone to process the events of the day and get ready for work tomorrow. A distracted school psychologist was a careless school psychologist, and that never ended well.

Before claiming her well-earned solitude, Skye reached a hand inside the front door and flicked on the halogen light that was mounted on a pole in her yard. It took her only a moment to clear up the debris of the impromptu pizza party, and as she balanced the box stacked with plates, wineglasses, and used napkins, she glimpsed a flash of yellow behind her garage. What in the world was back there? The only thing she could think of that might be that particular shade was a piece of Caterpillar equipment. But what would an earthmover be doing on her property? Surely, her father hadn’t bought her a backhoe.

Skye was stumped for a second until she remembered the VW she’d helped Xenia Craughwell purchase. But why would the girl be hiding on Skye’s land? Had she heard about Kayla’s death? And if so, how would she react to the news? Xenia’s response to any given situation was a crapshoot, and Skye had long ago given up betting on it.

Before Skye could stash her armload of trash and go investigate, the VW zoomed out from in back of the garage and screeched to a stop at the foot of Skye’s steps. Xenia jumped out and ran up to the porch.

“Seriously. You have more people in and out of here than a crack house.”

“And how would you know that?” Skye arched an eyebrow. “It had better be from TV.”

“Don’t freak.” Xenia opened the front door and gestured for Skye to go inside. “It’s just an expression.”

“Good.” Skye led Xenia down the hall toward the kitchen. “How long have you been spying on me?”

“I wasn’t spying.” Xenia crossed her arms, her expression more embarrassed than defiant. “I had just driven into your driveway when the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade arrived, so I pulled behind the garage to wait. I wanted to talk to you in private.”

“I see.” Skye put the dishes and glasses in the sink and, after scraping off the dried cheese and scraps, threw the box in the recycle bin.

“What was Mr. Reid doing here?” Xenia pursed her lips disapprovingly. “I thought you were hooked up with that buff police chief.” She shrugged, answering her own question. “I guess I should know by now that everyone cheats and there is no happily ever after.”

“That’s not true. Simon was just—” Skye heard herself stammering and closed her mouth in order to gather her thoughts. “Mr. Reid had some information he needed to share with me.”

“Over dinner?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but Mr. Reid is the county coroner, and—”

Xenia cut her off. “Kayla’s dead, isn’t she?”

“I’m so sorry—”

“I knew it. I just knew Kayla was dead.”

“Did you hear it from someone in town?” Skye asked, but wondered why Xenia would have come to her for the information if she’d already been told.

“People were talking, but I didn’t want to believe what they were saying.” Xenia bit back a sob. “When Kayla didn’t show up at my house last night to work on her project and she didn’t answer her cell and her boyfriend kept calling me, I knew something was wrong.”

“Did you go looking for her?” Skye had a sinking feeling. “Xenia, did you go to Tales and Treats trying to find her?”

“Yes,” Xenia whispered, then sobbed, “It’s my fault. Kayla’s dead because of me.”

“Shh.” Skye put her arms around the girl. “Tell me all about it.”
Ay-yi-yi!
What had Xenia done? Had her anger issues finally resulted in her killing someone?