Murder of a Chocolate-Covered Cherry (25 page)

She had thought that once they had made love the first time her craving for him would lessen, but it seemed to grow each time they were together. She buried her hands in his hair and lifted his head, staring into his dark eyes.

It had taken them years to get to this point, and somewhere in the back of her mind she was always afraid that she
would lose him. His father’s unexpected and unexplained presence intensified those fears and paralyzed her tongue. She wanted to tell him how much he meant to her, but the words refused to come.

Wally gazed at her, waiting for her to respond. After a moment his broad shoulders heaved as he sighed.

She knew she had hurt him, and gathered him close, trying to show him how she felt with her kiss.

His lips devoured her and the room spun.

Skye didn’t notice that they had moved into his bedroom until she felt the mattress press against the back of her knees. Gently he eased her down on the comforter, sliding her sweater off over her head, then stood to discard his own clothes.

She watched as his powerful, well-muscled body emerged, and when he lay down and gathered her in his arms, all her doubts and fears drained away.

Skye pressed the accelerator to the floor, increasing the Bel Air’s speed until it almost seemed to skim the ground. She had fallen asleep at Wally’s and hadn’t woken up until his alarm clicked on at seven thirty. Which would have allowed plenty of time to get home, shower, dress, and still be at the awards ceremony on time if he hadn’t persuaded her to stay for an encore of the night before.

Now she had less than an hour to get herself together and arrive at the school auditorium by ten. Gravel flew from under her tires as she turned into her driveway, and her brakes squealed as she slammed her foot on the pedal to avoid rearending the Ford Escort parked in front of her house.

Who did she know who drove an Escort? Certainly no one in her family; they all drove either pickups or cars the size of parade floats.

As she ran down a mental list of names, a tall, good-looking man in his early sixties emerged from the driver’s-side door. He wore crisp khakis and a black polo shirt with a little alligator embroidered on the pocket. His head was shaved and his eyes were hidden behind mirrored sunglasses.

Shoot.
What was Wally’s father doing at her house at nine o’clock on a Monday morning? No possible answer she could come up with suggested he was the bearer of good news.

Skye considered throwing her car into reverse and getting the heck out of Dodge, but she had a feeling he would follow her—possibly to the ends of the earth. He had that look, like a pit bull that had chomped down on a hand and wasn’t letting go until he had reached the bone.

Dang.
She did not want to meet Wally’s dad for the first time dressed in yesterday’s clothes, with no makeup on, her hair skinned back into a ponytail, and smelling of … well, a lot of things, none of them a morning shower. Could this be any more awkward?

She glanced in the rearview mirror. Nope, nothing she could do about her appearance. She had approximately five seconds before he reached her car. She clawed through her purse, closing her hand on a small glass vial—a bottle of Chanel. She whipped it out and sprayed. The spicy scent gave her the self-confidence to face what was coming; even if she looked like the Bride of Frankenstein, at least she smelled like Miss America.

Opening her door a second before he reached the Bel Air’s front fender, Skye stepped out of the car and said, “Mr. Boyd, I presume?”

“Carson Boyd, at your service, ma’am.” He held out his hand. “And you must be Skye.”

She nodded, but narrowed her eyes. He had called her
ma’am.
How old did he think she was? She couldn’t say what she wanted to, and couldn’t think of anything else to say, so for once she kept her mouth shut.

“I’d like to have a word with you, if you have a moment.” His request sounded more like an order.

Skye bristled. “I’m sorry, Mr. Boyd; as a matter of fact I don’t. Perhaps we could schedule something later in the day, or tomorrow.”

“Would that we could, but I’m leaving Scumble River this afternoon, and I know you’ll be tied up with the cooking contest all morning.”

How did he know that? Probably Uncle Charlie or Jesse had mentioned that she was a finalist. “Unfortunately, that’s the reason I don’t have time right now. I need to freshen up and get back to town for the awards ceremony.” Skye bit her lip to stop from smirking. Freshen up—that was a good one. What she really needed was to be run through a car wash, complete with the wax option.

“If you could just give me fifteen minutes,” he persisted, following her as she walked up the steps. “It’s about my son. I need your help to do what’s best for him.”

Holy crap.
How could she say no to that? “Okay. But I really have a limited amount of time.”

Skye unlocked her front door and led him into the parlor. At least this room was freshly painted and contained some beautiful antiques. If he would just not notice the worn and stained carpet, she might be able to pull off a good first impression.

She sat on the settee, offering the delicate Queen Anne chair to her guest. She hoped its uncomfortable seat would make him leave that much sooner.

After a few minutes of silence, she prodded, “What can I do for you, Mr. Boyd?”

“Call me Carson.”

“Okay, Carson, what is it you wanted to say?”

He took off his sunglasses, and she was struck by his resemblance to Wally.

He cleared his throat. “I understand you and Walter are seeing each other.”

“Yes. It’s not exactly a secret.”

“How serious are you?”

Skye tilted her head. “Are you asking me what my intentions are?”

“Yes, in a way I am.”

“Shouldn’t my dad be having this conversation with your son, instead of the other way around?”

Carson gave her a serious look. “I’m sixty-four years old. I own a multinational corporation, and instead of preparing to take my place in the business, my only son is off playing
Sheriff Andy Taylor in some Northern Mayberry. I’m not playing around here.”

“So you’ve suddenly traveled to Scumble River to persuade Wally to return to Texas with you and run your company.” Skye’s stomach cramped. It was just as she had feared.

“In part, yes.”

“What does Wally’s choice of occupation and hometown have to do with me?”

“My dear, don’t be so modest.” Carson ran his fingers over his head as if he’d forgotten he had no hair. “From what I hear, my son has been infatuated with you since you were a teenager, and now that you two are finally together, I doubt a Texas twister could tear him from your side.”

“Interesting.” Skye forced herself not to beam. After the last couple of days of self-doubt, it felt wonderful to have Wally’s father verbalize his son’s devotion. Even if it turned out not to be true, she would bask in the moment. “But I still don’t know what you want from me.”

“Before I answer that, let me ask you something.” Carson stared into her eyes. “Would you be willing to pack up, move to Texas, and live there for the rest of your life?”

His question caught her unprepared. If he had asked it of her when she first graduated from high school or college, or even just a few years ago, she would have jumped at the chance to leave Scumble River, but now … she had friends, family, a house. She wanted to know how things would turn out for the kids she was working with at school. She just didn’t know if she could leave all that.

“Your silence is enough of an answer.” Carson shook his head. “What in the world does this little nowhere town have that makes you and my son want to stay here?”

“It’s home.” Skye shrugged. That really wasn’t a good answer, but it was the only one she could put into words. “Now that we’ve settled that, I repeat—what do you want from me?”

“I want you to break up with Wally. Tell him you don’t love him. You’ve changed your mind. You really love that funeral director you were going with before dating my son.”

Skye couldn’t stop her gasp. “Why would I do that?”

“I had planned to offer you money, but I understand you gave away a painting that was worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, so maybe cash doesn’t motivate you.” He stared at his sunglasses, almost as if he had forgotten she was there. “Still, it’s worth a try.” He looked up at her. “I will help you set up an offshore account and transfer a million dollars into it, if you will agree never to speak to my son again.”

“You were right. I’m not as motivated by money as I used to be.” She smiled to herself. She’d come a long way since she’d been blinded by her ex-fiancé’s wealth and position. “How Wally makes me feel is worth ten times that amount.”

“Then I’ll ask you to do it because it’s the right thing for my son. The only way he’ll fulfill his destiny and be the great man he was born to be.”

“But that’s not the life Wally wants.” Skye tried to calm her emotions and think straight. “He moved here and became a police officer long before he ever met me.”

“He did that as a young man’s foolish act of rebellion. He’s more mature now.”

“So, now that he’s older and wiser, what did he say when you asked him to quit his job, move back to Texas, and take over for you?” Skye held her breath.

“He turned me down.” Carson continued before Skye could comment. “But not because of his love for this town or his job—because of his love for you. If you were willing to move with him, he would come home.”

“Did he say that?”

“Not in so many words. But a father can tell what his son really means.”

Skye briefly contemplated turning Wally’s dad over to her mother—of course, first she would tell May that Carson was trying to get Skye to move to Texas. She smiled thinly before realizing that her mother would be thrilled with Carson’s other suggestion—that she break up with Wally and get back with Simon.
Hmm.
No, her mother would be no use in this situation.

“I’m a firm believer in hearing something from the horse’s mouth,” Skye said, watching the older man’s expression
carefully. “If Wally tells me that he wants to move home and take over for you, but doesn’t want to leave me, I’ll either break up with him or agree to move with him.”

“He’d never tell you that, but what if I arranged for you to overhear him say it to me?”

“Fine.” Skye stood up.

Carson followed suit and she led him into the foyer.

“I’ll let you know where and when.”

“You do that.”

“I’m not a monster, you know.” He paused, one foot over the threshold. “All I want is what’s best for my son.”

“I know.” Skye closed the door after him and leaned against the smooth wood, her emotions at war. “Me, too.”

After several minutes, she sighed and started up the stairs to change. Her heart was focused on her feelings concerning Wally, but her brain was telling her she had missed something important in her conversation with his father. But what?

W
hy am I always running late?
Skye fumed as she hurriedly bathed, threw on clean clothes, and jumped into her car.
Just once I’d like to get dressed without feeling as if I’m a quick-change artist.

Cursing Carson Boyd, she roared out of the driveway toward town. His visit was not only extremely upsetting; it had cut her primping time in half.

Skye’s bad temper worsened when she arrived at the high school a little before ten and discovered the parking lot was full. By the time she drove around the block to the middle school, found a spot to park there, cut across the stretch of lawn that divided the two buildings, and walked into the auditorium, her irritation had blossomed into a full-fledged huff.

Her mother’s glare did not improve her disposition. Skye glared back at May as she crossed the stage and took her position among the other One-Dish Meals contestants.

From what Skye could tell, the ceremony had just begun.
Grandma Sal wrapped up her welcome speech, then introduced Dante, who spoke for a few minutes about how pleased Scumble River was to be this year’s host for the contest. He also managed to squeeze in a mention of his own self-sacrifice in being wounded for the good of the town before turning the stage back to Grandma Sal.

A serious expression on her face, she said, “As you all know, a terrible tragedy occurred during this year’s challenge. We lost one of our wonderful finalists, Ms. Cherry Alexander.”

Someone in the crowd yelled out, “She was murdered, not misplaced.”

Skye cringed.

Grandma Sal ignored the outburst and went on. “To honor Cherry’s valiant spirit, we have created a special award to be given to the finalist who showed the most stick-to-itiveness. And here with us today to present it is her husband, Kyle.”

Dressed in a sober black suit, his hair gelled back from his face, he looked ten years older than the man who had been with Cherry backstage three days ago. He stepped up to the microphone and read from an index card, “‘Cherry would be honored to have this award named after her. She was a person who never gave up and demanded the best from everyone, especially herself.’ “