Murder of a Bookstore Babe (7 page)

As Skye made her way over to her mother and Trixie, she admired the man’s calm but wondered at his remarkable serenity, which didn’t seem quite natural.

Trixie had her arm around May and was saying, “Take a deep breath. Everything’s okay. Maybe all you saw was a display of plush toys.”

Skye kept quiet, curious to find out her mother’s perception of what had happened.

“No.” May shook her head stubbornly, her voice taking on an edge of determination, or maybe hysteria. “It was a giant gray rat.” She held her hands twenty inches apart. “It was this big and it made the most awful sound.” She shuddered. “It went
kee-kee-kee.
”

Trixie eyed Skye and asked, “Did you find out what happened?”

“Yes. Risé’s pet chinchillas got out of their cage. She claims that even if the door was opened by mistake or someone wanted to pet them, they’d hide, not make a run for it.”

Trixie shot Skye a quizzical look. “What exactly did you see, May?”

“Well.” May elongated the word by taking a shaky breath. “The crowd had finally thinned out, and there wasn’t anyone in that middle room, the one with the register.” Her voice strengthened as she told the tale, her love of being the center of attention overcoming her fright. “I was looking at the cookbook display, waiting for Aunt Kitty and Glory to come out of the bathroom, when I heard a clink.”

“Was that the cage door being opened?” Even though she knew it was useless to try, Skye attempted to shorten her mother’s account. May employed the step-by-step version of storytelling.

“I suppose so.” May frowned at the interruption. “I didn’t actually see that part.” She took a seat and ate a bite of Trixie’s abandoned chocolate croissant. “You know, my throat is awful dry.”

“I’ll get you a coffee.” Skye turned to fetch her mother a drink.

May called after her, “Black, no sugar.”

Once Skye returned and May had taken a sip from the cup Skye handed her, she continued, “Anyway, I heard a clank and looked up. At first, I didn’t notice anything unusual, but then the hair on the back of my neck rose and I froze. It didn’t feel like I was alone anymore.”

Skye stopped herself from sighing. She might as well accept the fact that there was no way to speed this up.

May wiped her mouth on a napkin, then continued, “I was about to shrug it off when I saw the rat scurrying towards me.”

“It was a chinchilla, Mom.”

“I don’t care what fancy name you give the thing. It’s still a rat, just one that has a nice fur coat.”

“Fine.” Skye rolled her eyes. “Go on.”

“The
rat
scared me to death. It was coming straight for my throat, and all I could think about was getting away from it before it attacked me and gave me rabies.”

“So you didn’t see anything else.” Skye folded her arms.

“Well, when I was running away, I might have seen someone crouched behind the register.”

“Did you recognize who it was, May?” Trixie asked.

“No.” May took out her compact and reapplied her lipstick. “All I saw before I ran in here was the top of a woman’s head.” May snapped her makeup case shut. “Whoever it was really needs to see Vince for a color and style. Her hair was a real drab brown, and she wore it in this ugly bun.”

Skye and Trixie looked at each other. That had sounded like Pru Cormorant. Was that why the English teacher hadn’t been with the protesters? Had she wanted to remain anonymous so she could sneak in and let the chinchillas loose in order to sabotage the store?

T
he sun struggled to break through early-morning clouds as Skye hurried toward the church parking lot. She was considering Father Burns’s concluding remark; he always ended Mass with a nugget of wisdom hidden inside a humorous aside.

This morning the priest had said, “God promises a safe landing, not a calm passage.”

Sometimes she thought Father Burns could read her mind. Either that or he’d been sneaking a peek at her diary. Skye’s life had never been smooth, but so far, knock on wood, she had always landed on her feet.

A voice interrupted her thoughts. “Skye! Wait up.”

Skye battled the urge to pretend she hadn’t heard and duck into her car. Slowing to a reluctant stop, she turned and spotted Simon loping across the grass that separated the church from the rectory.

Shoot! What kind of stunt is he going to pull this time?
She hated hurting his feelings. His recent attempts to win her back had been sweet, and she was flattered, but she’d explained it was too late. She was going to marry Wally. However, convincing someone as determined as her ex-boyfriend that she had made her choice was proving tougher than she’d imagined. Simon had always been an overachiever, and he wasn’t used to losing, or giving up.

As Simon got closer, the breeze tousled his short auburn hair and billowed the olive green jacket of his expensive suit, making it look almost like a cape. Everything about him was elegant, from his tall, lean physique to his long, tapered fingers, but it was his expression that struck a spark in Skye. His compelling golden-hazel eyes held a hint of sadness that hadn’t been there before their breakup.

“Hello, Simon.” Skye kept her voice cool. “It was a good service today, wasn’t it?”

The other parishioners streaming around Skye and Simon looked at them with curiosity. Several slowed, clearly intent on eavesdropping.
Great!
News of this conversation would reach May faster than an Internet instant message.

“Yes,” Simon agreed, “Father was in rare form.” He twisted the church bulletin he held. “Do you have time for coffee?”

Prior to Skye’s engagement, she and Simon had made a habit of having breakfast together after Mass. But that had been when she thought he only wanted to be friends. Now that he had declared his intention to win her back, she had put a stop to those get-togethers.

Skye shook her head and said, “You know I can’t see you anymore.”

“It’s not a date. It’s just coffee.” Simon seemed surprised to see the shredded remains of the newsletter in his hands and hurriedly stuck them into his jacket pocket. “Mom mentioned the fuss at the bookstore yesterday, and I wanted to talk to you about it.”

“Why?” Skye was surprised that (a) Bunny had told Simon about the ruckus—she usually hid her involvement in incidents like that from her son—and (b) he was interested. One of the major problems they’d had as a couple was his utter lack of nosiness.

“I really don’t want to discuss it in public.” Simon stepped closer and lowered his voice. “It has to do with Xavier.”

Xavier Ryan was Simon’s assistant, both at the funeral home he owned and in Simon’s role as county coroner. Xavier was also Frannie Ryan’s father.

“He’s Orlando’s old army buddy, right?” Skye wrinkled her brow, remembering Orlando’s mention of his army buddy Ryan. She had assumed that was a first name, but now it all clicked into place.

“Correct.” Simon straightened his shoulders. “I know that despite how you feel about me, you’re fond of Xavier and Frannie. So please have coffee with me.” He touched her arm. “I need your help.”

Holy moly!
Simon had never, ever asked for her assistance. “In that case . . .” Skye swallowed. There was still a spark of attraction between them, but she was determined to fight it. “Sure. But I can’t be seen with you at the Feed Bag or McDonald’s. You’ve got the gossips so stirred up they’d have us married before lunchtime.”

“It’ll only take a few minutes. Where do you want to meet?” Simon’s lips twitched. “Guess it’s hard to find some privacy when your fiancé is the chief of police. A funeral director, on the other hand, has a lot fewer minions reporting to him.”

Skye nailed him with a frown before saying, “Let’s meet at the Shell station by the highway. Park in back. I need gas anyway, so I’ll grab a couple cups of coffee when I pay and we can sit in your car and talk.”

“Fine,” Simon said as he got into his Lexus. “But if we’re seen, this will look more suspicious than if we just went to a restaurant in town.”

He was right. Skye chewed her lip as she drove toward I-55. Except she’d promised Wally no more Sunday breakfasts with Simon, so doing it this way felt like less of a betrayal. She only hoped Wally felt the same way when she told him about it this afternoon.

When Skye arrived at the station, she found Simon already parked by the Dumpster. After filling up her Bel Air and getting the coffee, she moved her car next to his sleek white luxury sedan and climbed into the passenger seat.

Handing him a Styrofoam cup, she said, “Let’s hear it.”

“As you guessed, Xavier and Orlando were in Vietnam together.” Simon gave Skye his full attention. “They did two tours of duty and kept in touch once they got home.”

“Okay.” Skye took a sip of coffee, wincing as she burned her tongue.

“And the reason Orlando and his wife chose Scumble River for their bookstore is because of Xavier’s description of the town.”

“That surprises me, since Xavier has always struck me as not having much connection to Scumble River. I kind of thought he only stuck around for Frannie’s sake.” Skye tilted her head. “Was he born here?”

“Yes,” Simon answered slowly. “And after he got out of the service, he came back here and married his high school sweetheart. They’d been trying to have a baby for over ten years when Frannie was born. His wife died shortly afterward, and my uncle said Xavier was never the same. Said he just withdrew until his whole life was his daughter, his job, and his Vietnam Vets group.”

“I see.” Skye nodded. Simon had inherited the funeral home from his uncle. “But how is Xavier being responsible for Risé and her husband settling in Scumble River a problem? Surely they don’t hold Xavier responsible for what happened yesterday.”

“That I don’t know. But . . . ,” Simon started, then seemed to change his mind. “You have to promise to keep what I tell you confidential. That means from everyone. Including Wally, Trixie, and your mother.”

“If it’s not something illegal.” Skye couldn’t keep that from Wally no matter how fond she was of Frannie and her father. “Then I promise.”

“No. Nothing criminal.” Simon grimaced. “Just foolish.” He forestalled Skye’s question by saying quickly, “Xavier invested money he shouldn’t have in the bookstore.”

“Yikes!” Skye brows puckered. “By money he shouldn’t have, you don’t mean . . .”
Please, God, don’t let Xavier have stolen to get the money he’d invested.

“No.” Simon blew out a tired breath. “Worse.”

“What could be worse?”

“As well as his own savings, he used the treasury from his Vietnam Vets group.”

“Hell!” Skye choked on the coffee she had just drunk. “Embezzling
is
stealing.”

“He didn’t misappropriate the funds.” Simon took a swallow from his cup. “He just convinced the group it was a great investment.”

“Phew.” Skye exhaled, realizing she’d been holding her breath. “Then there’s no problem.”

Simon didn’t respond.

“Is there?” Skye didn’t like the look on Simon’s face. “What aren’t you saying?”

Simon fiddled with the plastic top on his cup, flipping the little tab up and down. “Xavier promised the group that if anything happened, he’d refund their capital.”

“Crap!” Skye slumped against the window. “If he invested his own nest egg, where will he get the money to reimburse them?”

“Frannie’s college fund is the only thing left.” Simon shook his head. “And he’d rather slit his throat.”

“Isn’t it premature to think the bookstore will fail just because of one little protest?” Skye narrowed her eyes. “Unless you’re holding something back.”

Simon stared out the windshield.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Skye demanded.

“That’s the problem.” Simon groaned. “I don’t know. But Xavier’s been acting strange ever since Orlando and Risé moved to town.”

“I know there are some other issues with people like my cousin Hugo, but . . .”

“I don’t think it’s that.” Simon tapped his chin. “Look, I’ll try and find out more from Xavier, but if you could help make sure the Scumble River rabble-rousers don’t shut down Tales and Treats, and keep your ears open for anything else, I’d appreciate it.”

“I’ll do what I can. Trixie is bound and determined to keep the bookstore open, too, so she’ll help.” Skye glanced at her Timex and grimaced. “Sorry, but I’ve got to run.”

“What’s your hurry?”

“Do you remember me mentioning the boxes of books I found when I moved into my house?”

When Simon nodded, Skye continued, “As it happens, I’ve got an appointment with Orlando at nine forty-five. He’ll take a look at some of the books to see if they’re valuable, and if they are, he’ll sell them for me.”

“I thought I read that the store doesn’t open until one on Sundays.” Simon took Skye’s empty cup and stacked it inside his own, along with her crumpled napkin.

“That’s right. He’s meeting me beforehand so we won’t be interrupted.” Skye fumbled for the door handle.

“Thank you for listening to me.” Simon got out of the Lexus and hurried around the hood. He helped her out, then kissed her cheek. “I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.” Skye waved as she walked toward her car. “Call me if you find out what Xavier is hiding.”

She watched Simon turn out of the gas station, then got into her Bel Air and started back to town. The road into Scumble River had once been lined with acres of corn and soybeans, but several housing developments had sprung up in the last few years. The occasional old farmhouse looked oddly forlorn sprinkled among the cookie-cutter homes huddled on handkerchief-size lawns. Skye felt sorry for the farmhouse owners, who were often harassed by the newcomers to either sell or make improvements they couldn’t afford.

Heading east, she spotted the remains of an old barn that had been allowed to disintegrate until its roof now sat on its foundation. The only thing left standing was the silver silo, which rose out of the ground like a missile ready to launch. A deer munched on a row of stray cornstalks.