Murder of the Cat's Meow: A Scumble River Mystery (19 page)

“Wally’s intelligent,” Skye objected. Granted, his taste in reading was questionable since he was into techno thrillers, which bored her to tears. But she’d been luring him
over to the light side, and he was now reading humorous mysteries as well. “He’s a college graduate, and no one runs a police department for long if they’re stupid.”

“I’m not saying Wally isn’t smart,” May protested. “What I meant is that he seems more macho and small town, and you always went for the smooth, cultured guys. The kind who liked to go into the city.”

“True.” Skye frowned. Her mother was right about the type of man she’d been attracted to in the past, although Wally had always been the exception. “I guess my tastes have matured.” When had her preferences changed? Probably about the time she had decided she liked living in Scumble River and was no longer counting the days until she could move away again. “I don’t think many people know what they really want in their teens and twenties.”

“Humph.” May sniffed, clearly unconvinced.

“Wally’s a lot more sophisticated than you might think.” Skye swallowed a grin. What would her mother think if she knew that Wally had regularly summered in Europe the first twenty years of his life? And he hadn’t traveled via cattle class on some commercial airliner, but on one of the many private jets owned by his father’s company.

“Uh-huh.”

“Anyway, Wally’s intelligence and refinement are not the question.” Skye refocused the conversation. There wasn’t enough vodka in Russia to distract her from the real issue. “The question is why did you change your mind about the suitability of him as my husband?”

“Fine.” May quit fussing with dinner. “Since it obviously makes you feel good to torment your mother, I’ll make you happy and explain.”

Skye’s only response was to narrow her eyes and cross her arms.

“It turns out”—May ran her fingers through her short
salt-and-pepper hair, a sure sign she was agitated since she hated it when her waves weren’t perfectly arranged—“that I sort of lost sight for a little while that Wally is a really good man.”

“Yes, he is.” A warm glow washed over Skye at hearing May finally admit it. Until that moment, Skye hadn’t realized how hurt she’d been by her mother’s disapproval.

“And seeing how he treats you like a princess, and obviously loves you to death…” May struggled for words. “So…”

“So?” Skye smirked. Finally she had her mother on the spot rather than the other way around. “The fact that he went along with the annulment process, has offered to turn Catholic, and has stated that late-in-life fertility runs in his family had nothing to do with it?”

“That’s right.” May turned back to her cooking. “Now let’s talk about something more interesting, like planning your wedding.”

Skye and her mother were discussing the wedding date when Jed pushed through the swinging doors that led from the utility room into the kitchen. He took off his blue-and-white polka-dotted cap, revealing a steel gray crew cut, faded brown eyes, and a tanned, leathery face, and asked, “When’s supper, Ma?”

“Ten minutes.” May examined her husband’s dirty jeans and sweaty flannel shirt. “Hurry and get washed up before everything gets cold. Clean clothes are on the bed and I put a new bar of Lava in the shower.”

Skye stared at her father’s hands. The scars, ragged nails, and embedded oil were a badge of honor for a life spent fixing machinery and making a living for his family. She knew that Lava was the only thing her mother had found that cleaned the engine grease from Jed’s skin. He didn’t seem to mind that the pumice-based soap felt like a Brillo pad against his flesh. But then, he was used to
hardship, and often stated that he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Dipping his head in acknowledgment of May’s instructions, Jed backed out of the kitchen. He was a man of few words, which was just as well, since his wife had enough to say for both of them.

Skye heard the door of the bathroom off the utility room click shut, then went over to the cupboard, took out a stack of dishes, and started to set the table. It went without saying that Skye would stay for dinner. If you were in May’s house when mealtime rolled around, she fed you. And no one left her kitchen hungry.

Not that Skye minded. Her mother was a fabulous cook and had a plaque from a culinary contest to prove it. She also had a trophy, but Skye’s name was engraved on it instead of hers. How her daughter instead of May had won top honors was a topic neither woman was inclined to discuss.

When Skye grabbed the butter dish from the fridge, her mother said, “Put that by your dad’s plate. You and I need to use this new Smart Balance spread I found. It only has forty-five calories.”

“No.” Skye shook her head. “In the case of butter or margarine, I always pick butter. I trust cows—chemists who make fake food, not so much.”

May opened her mouth to argue, but a burst of music made her pause. As soon as Skye recognized the tune “When You’re in Love” from
Seven Brides for Seven Brothers
, she rushed into the utility room. It had taken her over an hour and much reading and rereading of the instruction book, but she had finally managed to program that song into her cell as Wally’s ringtone.

Skye grabbed her purse from where she had dropped it on top of the clothes dryer and dug through it until she found her phone near the bottom next to a Tic Tac, a broken pencil, and a grocery receipt from two weeks ago.
Wanting to catch the call before it went to voice mail, she quickly flipped it open.

Wally’s voice greeted her. “Hi, darlin’. I’m back in town.”

“Hi, sweetie. Can you hold on a minute?” Skye walked into the kitchen, covered the cell’s microphone with her hand, and asked her mother, “It’s Wally. Is it all right if I invite him to supper?”

“Of course,” May answered, then asked, “How fast can he get here? Your dad’s not going to want to wait more than five or ten minutes.”

“It shouldn’t take him long.” Skye uncovered the phone and said, “Sorry for making you wait. I’m at my parents’ and we’re about to sit down to dinner. Want to join us?”

“If you’re sure it’s okay with your mother.” Wally’s voice was cautious.

“Don’t worry. I checked before asking you,” Skye assured him.

“I’m on my way.”

Skye propped open the utility room’s swinging doors so she could keep an eye on the driveway while she finished setting the table. As soon as she saw Wally’s squad car pull in, she hurried outdoors and met him as he strode onto the patio.

After a quick hug and kiss, she asked, “Did the Laurel chief have anything interesting to say about Fawn Irving?”

“Let’s talk about that later.” Wally glanced uneasily at the door. “I don’t want to get on your parents’ bad sides by holding up dinner.”

“Okay.” Skye understood his concern. She was a little anxious herself.

As they stepped into the kitchen, May looked up from the counter where she was pouring water into four glasses. Skye held her breath. This would be the true test. Had her mother really accepted Wally as her future son-in-law,
or would she remain aloof toward him? A long heartbeat went by, then May put down the pitcher, turned to Wally, and opened her arms.

Wally leaned down—he was a foot taller than May—and enveloped her in a hug. Skye saw her mother whisper something in Wally’s ear, kiss his cheek, and pat his back, then move away.

Skye let out a huge sigh of relief. Before she could ask Wally what her mother had said, Jed strolled through the kitchen wearing nothing but his undershorts.

As Skye’s dad disappeared down the hall, Wally put his arm around her, cocked his head in the direction Jed had taken, and murmured, “Was that for me? Is your dad marking his territory?”

“Nope. We’re just between him and his clothes.” Skye raised her hands palms up and rolled her eyes. “I bought him a robe for his birthday, but Dad’s not one to stand on ceremony. He figures Mom and I have seen him in his Jockeys before, and if you’re going to be part of the family, you might as well get used to the sight, too.”

Once Jed was dressed, he returned to the kitchen and took his seat at the head of the table. Skye subtly steered Wally to the place across from hers; all they needed was for him to take May’s chair by mistake. As soon as Wally was settled, Skye brought her dad a can of Budweiser. Since Wally was in uniform, she knew he wouldn’t want a beer.

May put a platter of crispy fried veal cutlets in the center of the table. Bowls of homegrown sweet corn that May had frozen last August, creamy mashed potatoes, silky gravy, and a basket of hot dinner rolls were then arranged around the main course. Individual tossed salads were already set to the right of everyone’s plate, and a bottle of Thousand Island dressing, Jed’s favorite, and French, May’s choice, were next to the salt and pepper.

Once they had helped themselves, May said to Wally,
“I think you and Skye should get married at the end of September. Skye mentioned June, but six months is the minimum we’ll need to plan the wedding.”

“Uh.” Wally took a quick bite of veal, indicated that he couldn’t talk with his mouth full, then shot a questioning glance at Skye.

“Mom, as I explained, the wedding needs to be this summer. Otherwise we’ll have to wait until a year from June.” Skye blew out an impatient breath. “You know I’m not allowed to take extra days off during the school year.”

“We are not waiting another fifteen months. And that’s nonnegotiable.” Wally’s voice was firm.

Skye, Wally, and May continued to argue about dates—Skye adamant that she could not take off work during the school year, Wally unwilling to delay their marriage until next summer, and May determined to put on the big wedding she’d always dreamed of for her daughter.

While the others continued to debate the issue, Jed ate in silence. Finally, between mouthfuls, he grunted, “Christmas vacation.”

“That’s a great compromise!” Wally beamed at his future father-in-law. “We can get married the Saturday after Christmas.” He took out his wallet and slipped a pocket calendar from one of the slots. “That would be December thirtieth.” He turned to Skye. “I remember you saying that you have a full sixteen days off for winter break this year, so you’d have the week before the wedding to get ready and we’d have the week after for our honeymoon.”

“But Skye already hates having a birthday so close to Christmas,” May protested. “Now she’ll have an anniversary then, too.” She was not fond of settling for anything less than getting her own way.

“True.” Skye considered her options, then smiled.
“However, if we get married on December thirtieth, we can celebrate our anniversary by going somewhere warm and tropical every winter.” She turned to her father. “You’re a genius, Dad.”

“Yep.” Jed nodded and spooned another mound of potatoes onto his plate.

Once Father Burns had been called and confirmed that the church was available on the date they’d agreed upon, the four of them discussed Jed and May’s recent weekend getaway. A half hour later, as her mother cleared the table, Skye started to put the scraped and rinsed plates into the dishwasher.

May noticed what she was doing and screeched, “Wait! Those aren’t clean enough.”

Skye had thought it odd that, considering her mother’s fanaticism about spotlessness, May had agreed to the dishwasher when Vince and Loretta had had it installed for her a couple of weeks ago.

“You know, Mom,” she said, raising a brow, “I think there may be a support group for women like you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know, people who feel the need to wash their plates before putting them into the dishwasher to be washed.”

May
tsk
ed, clearly not amused by her daughter’s foolishness.

Once the kitchen was returned to its usual spotless state, May walked Skye and Wally to the door.

As they reached the threshold May said, “Did I tell you that I got your dad to play mini golf?”

“No.” Skye stopped dead. “How in the world did you get him to do that?” Jed’s idea of a great vacation was sitting in either a bar or a casino, not taking part in what he would consider a silly game.

“Well, we went with Maggie and her husband,” May
explained. “And they had a certificate for four free rounds of miniature golf.”

“Dad loves a freebie,” Skye told Wally, then turned to her mom. “So it was you who bought the gift certificate for Maggie in the first place?”

“Of course.”

Wally and Skye were still chuckling when they got outside and headed to their cars.

“I need to stop at the station for a second, and then I’ll meet you at your house,” Wally said, getting into the Caprice. “If it’s okay with you, I was thinking we’d go talk to Fawn Irving about her husband’s disappearance.”

“Sure. See you in a few minutes.” Skye waved as she slid into her Bel Air and backed out of the driveway. She was giggling again, thinking about her mother’s maneuverings and her father playing mini golf, when a wisp of memory flitted across her mind. She straightened her spine and turned off the radio, trying to lure the elusive thought back, but it was gone.

Frustrated, Skye hit the steering wheel. What was it about miniature golf that had triggered an idea about Alexis’s murder?