Murder of the Cat's Meow: A Scumble River Mystery (16 page)

“You tell her.” Sandy frowned at her sister. “You’re the one who thinks we should.”

“And you’re the one who told me.” Sonia crossed her arms. “So it would be hearsay if I told her. And that kind of testimony isn’t legal.”

“You watch too much
Law and Order
.” Sandy crossed her arms, too.

“I do not.” Sonia’s lower lip started to quiver. “You watch as much as I do.”

“Ladies.” Skye was getting a headache. This was worse than playground duty. “Sandy, you start and Sonia can fill in anything you forget.”

“Do the police know about Fawn Irving?” Sandy fiddled with the buttons on her blouse.

“What about her?” Skye asked, leaning forward in her chair.

“You know she and Alexis didn’t get along?” Sandy waited for Skye’s nod, then added, “Not that many people did get along with that witch.”

“Right.” Skye allowed the elderly women to tell their story at their own pace.

“Do the police know that Fawn was in the hospital?” Sandy asked.

“I’m not sure.” Frannie had mentioned the woman’s recent hospitalization, but Skye couldn’t remember if she had told Wally or not. Probably not, as it hadn’t seemed relevant. “Is that fact important?”

“Maybe.” Sandy stared at her twin, who made an encouraging sound. “The thing is, she wasn’t in the hospital for a physical problem.”

“The problem was a psychiatric one?” Skye asked, wishing she had a notepad and pen but not wanting to interrupt.

“Yes.” Sandy nodded. “I volunteer at the Laurel Hospital, and I was there when they brought her in. She had tried to hurt herself.”

“Oh.” Skye felt awful for the fragile woman. This new revelation made Alexis’s bullying seem even worse than Skye had originally thought.

“Once she was stable, they transferred her to St. Joe’s in Joliet,” Sandy explained, “but I heard people saying that her suicide attempt was because of her husband’s disappearance.”

“How awful.”

“The really awful part is that everyone thinks Fawn might have killed him.”

P
lacing a rolled-up towel behind her neck, Skye lay back in the bathtub. Lit votive candles on the vanity were the only illumination in the darkened room, and Nat King Cole was singing “Unforgettable” on the CD player.

A few minutes later, just as she started to doze off, the overhead light was suddenly switched on. Skye’s eyes popped open and she sat up, squealing and splashing water and bubbles everywhere.

Still breathless, she gasped, “Wally, you scared me to death!”

“Sorry, darlin’. It’s not even seven fifteen; I didn’t think you’d be sleeping.” He flipped the light back off, knelt beside her, and gave her a slow, drugging kiss. “I yelled that I was here when I walked in, but you must not have heard me over the music.”

“Oh.” Skye moaned as his lips seared a path down her neck to her shoulders. “My!” Shivers of delight followed his caresses and she felt transported away from Scumble River and all its problems.

Wally’s hands slipped below the bubbles and Skye felt a delicious warmth radiate throughout her body. She
ached for another of his kisses. Tangling her fingers in his dark hair, she brought his mouth back to hers, angling her neck until they fit together perfectly.

Raising his lips a fraction of an inch from hers, his voice was a rasping whisper as he asked, “Are you getting out or am I coming in?”

“Hmm.” She arched her back and stretched. “I did order the extra-large tub when I had the bathroom remodeled, so there’s plenty of room.”

Skye’s pulse quickened as she watched Wally kick off his shoes and shed his uniform. His powerful, well-built body moved with an easy grace as he deftly removed each piece of clothing. She purred, admiring the glowing bronze skin that covered every visible inch. How did he maintain a year-round tan? She knew for a fact that he didn’t sunbathe or make use of a tanning bed.

He stepped into the water and eased down beside her. Gathering her into his arms, he tucked her close to his side. His body exuded an enticing heat that made her want to cuddle closer to his flame.

Even after two and a half years of dating him and ten months of being engaged to him, Skye still found Wally’s vitality captivating. There was some intangible bond between them that had lasted since they had first met when she was sixteen and he was twenty-two. He projected a strength and power that she found impossible to resist.

Wally’s heart pounded against her ear as he trailed a finger down her side, tracing an imaginary pattern on her hip. Skye crooned encouragement while stroking the length of his back.

His hands and lips explored the soft curves of her body. She felt bound in a honeyed web of growing desire and gasped in pleasure at the sensation of her breasts being crushed against his chest.

Skin to skin, just as they were about to become one, a cacophonous ringing erupted from the bedroom phone.
It jarred Skye from the moment, and she stiffened at the intrusion.

Wally kissed her until she relaxed again, then said huskily, “Ignore it.”

Before Skye could respond, “Hail to the Chief” began to play at an incredibly loud volume. Now it was Wally’s turn to freeze.

Both of them lay suspended, trying to disregard their phones when suddenly the doorbell started to buzz. And continued and continued, as if someone was leaning against the button. Between the ringing, the music, and the drone of the doorbell, the racket was intolerable.

Swearing, Wally heaved himself to his feet, then gave Skye a hand out of the tub. While he was searching his pants pocket for his cell, she threw on her robe and ran downstairs. Sliding on the throw rug at the bottom of the steps, she barely managed to right herself as she skidded toward the door.

Out of breath, she pushed aside the front window curtains, and peered out. Instantly, the doorbell became silent, as did the music from the cell and the ringing of the telephone. What the heck was going on? There was no one on the porch, and she couldn’t see any vehicle other than Wally’s squad car in the driveway.

To get a better view, she opened the door a few inches and poked her head through the gap, but there was no one anywhere around her house. She ran to the kitchen window and looked out. The backyard was empty as well. She retraced her steps and checked the front once more. Not even a bird was flying overhead. Clearly, no corporeal being had been pressing the doorbell.

Trudging back to the master bath, Skye narrowed her eyes and muttered under her breath, “Mrs. Griggs, this had better not be your doing or so help me—” She broke off as she met Wally on the landing, and asked, “Was there an emergency at the station? Who was calling?”

“No one.” Wally’s expression was puzzled. “There wasn’t a voice mail or even a number from a missed call.” He looked toward Skye’s bedroom. “And it sounds as if your phone stopped, too.”

“Isn’t that odd?” Once she and Wally had gotten engaged, Skye decided that since she wanted them to live in her house after they were married, it was best if she didn’t mention to Wally the possibility that Mrs. Griggs was haunting them. “No one was at the door, either.”

“Maybe I should check with the PD.” Wally fingered his cell phone.

“Might as well.” Skye sighed. “The mood is completely shattered.”

“I’m sure we could recapture it.” Wally raised a brow and reached for her.

“Sorry.” She evaded him, not wanting to stir up the resident ghost again. “I don’t think I can.” Seeing him slump, she felt bad. None of this was his fault. “Let me get dressed and I’ll rustle up something for supper. I bet you haven’t eaten.”

“You must be psychic.” Wally smiled. “I came over here as soon I got back from the manhunt.”

“What—” Skye stopped herself. “Wait. You make your call to the PD, I’ll throw on some clothes, and you can tell me everything while we eat.”

Twenty minutes later, clad in black leggings, a zebra-striped tunic, and her bunny slippers, Skye set a platter of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast on the kitchen table and took her seat.

Wally had put on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt from the stash of clothes he kept at Skye’s place, then joined her in the kitchen. While she was cooking, he’d poured her a glass of white merlot and opened a bottle of Sam Adams for himself. Then when the food was nearly done, he’d set out the dishes and silverware.

Skye ate in silence until Wally finished his first helping and reached for seconds. Then she asked, “So, did you find Elijah?”

“Just his car.” Wally took a swig of beer. “It was parked inside the rec club, which is why no one spotted it earlier. The groundskeeper found it this afternoon when he went in to do his weekly rounds.”

The Scumble River Recreational Club had been established on the property of an abandoned coal mine that was worked from the 1900s until the 1950s. It consisted of a beach, several lakes, a large picnic area, and woods for hunting. March was usually too cold to swim or picnic and most hunting took place in the fall, so the club was generally not used at this time of year.

“Was there anything inside Elijah’s car?” Skye asked before eating her last bite of toast.

“Nothing I could see.” Wally pushed his plate away. “On the surface, the vehicle’s interior looked clean enough to do surgery, but the county crime techs had it towed to their garage and are going over it.”

“How did he get inside the gate?” Skye asked. “Was he a member?”

“Yep. We found a key lying in the dirt near the entrance, and since all keys are numbered, we were able to trace it back to him.”

“Did you search the grounds?” Skye asked. If they did, she wondered how they had done it so fast. The club covered nearly five hundred acres.

“Uh-huh.” Wally got up and started to clear the table. “Both the state police and the county sheriff’s department sent officers and dogs to help. Unless Jacobsen drowned himself in one of the lakes—and there was no evidence of that—he’s still in the wind.”

“In the wind?”

“On the run. Hiding from the police.”

“Oh.” Skye followed him to the sink and turned on the water. “It’s too bad he wasn’t at the rec club. It could certainly be the wilderness he mentioned in his note.”

“Maybe that’s what he wanted us to think.” Wally took the dishcloth from where it lay draped over the faucet and wiped down the tabletop. “He’s probably across the border in Mexico by now.”

“I doubt it.” Skye shook her head. “If he had retained that kind of organization and planning ability, he’d still be a surgeon.”

Once the kitchen was cleaned up and the dishes were done and put away, Skye and Wally moved into the sunroom. Because it was more comfortable than the formal parlor, it was their usual choice. As they settled in on the wicker love seat, Bingo, who was curled on the floral cushion of the matching chair, opened one eye, twitched his tail, and went back to sleep.

Wally reached for the TV remote, but Skye plucked it from his fingers. “Oh, no, you don’t. First, tell me what happened at Kyle’s.”

“But I want to catch the ten o’clock news,” Wally protested.

“Then talk fast.” Skye clutched the black plastic oblong to her chest.

“Sometimes you’re a spoiled brat.” Wally pretended to try to wrestle the remote from her, but allowed her to keep possession of the device and stole a kiss instead. “Good thing I’m a patient man.”

“Yeah. Right.” Skye stuck out her tongue. “Now tell me everything.”

“As you and I thought, O’Brien was hiding in the house.” Wally laced his hands behind his head and put his bare feet up on the coffee table. “So, while Quirk searched the place, I interviewed the photographer. He claimed he didn’t hear us at the door because he was in his art studio in the back, engrossed in painting.”

“Did you believe him?”

“It could be true.” Wally shrugged. “There was a fresh canvas.”

“Did Quirk find anything incriminating?” Skye put her slippered feet next to Wally’s bare toes. “How did Kyle explain Alexis’s car?”

“Nothing that implicated O’Brien in the murder was found in his residence.” Wally twitched a shoulder. “And he claimed he had no idea that the car out front was Alexis’s because she drove an old Chevrolet Impala when they were dating. He said he figured the MINI Cooper belonged to one of his neighbors’ kids home from college for spring break.”

“Was what he said about Alexis driving a Chevy true?” Skye asked.

“Unfortunately.” Wally’s face revealed his frustration. “According to the DMV, the vic only owned the MINI Cooper for a few weeks.”

“Shoot!”

“Yeah.” Wally shifted, plainly exasperated. “And the only prints in the car were Alexis’s. The steering wheel and door handle had been wiped clean. Which means whoever dumped the car in front of O’Brien’s had to know about their past relationship and was trying to make him look guilty.”

“Again, not something you’d expect from a man with Elijah’s disabilities.”

“So you keep saying.” Wally’s voice was impatient. “Did you ever think maybe he got better, and has been fooling people for years?”

“Recovery to that extent would be highly unlikely.” Skye bit her lip. “And why would he pretend to be disabled if he wasn’t?”