Murder of a Cranky Catnapper (6 page)

But Dorothy only swallowed loudly and said, “Oh, my God. What if my other clients drop me?”

“They won't,” Skye assured her, stepping away from the trashcan.

Although she wasn't experiencing morning sickness anymore, strong odors made her stomach roil. Certain smells seemed more pronounced now that she was pregnant and it didn't take much to make her gag. She forced down the bile rising in the back of her throat.

“This sucks!” Dorothy tossed Skye her cell and headed for the door.

Skye followed, and when they were both outside, she said with a straight face, “If the world didn't suck, we'd all fall off.” It was a retort she often made to teenagers who expressed that sentiment.

There was a moment of silence, then Dorothy
snickered, breaking the tension. The two women walked around the house and Skye suggested they sit in Dorothy's car, an old Cadillac Catera, while she called the police.

Wally's cell went directly to voice mail, as did their home phone and his private number at the station. Sighing, Skye dialed the nonemergency police number. As she listened to the phone ring, she checked her watch. It was after eight, which meant her mother should be finished with her shift and on her way home.

May worked part-time as a police, fire, and emergency dispatcher. Normally she worked afternoons, but Thea, the daytime dispatcher, was on vacation this week. If May was working a double shift to fill in for her, the situation would take twice as long to explain.

By the sixth ring, Skye was beginning to worry that she'd stumbled into the
Twilight Zone
, where everyone had disappeared except Dorothy and her, and of course, the naked body upstairs in the bedroom. She was about to hang up and try 911 when her call was finally answered.

“This is Skye.” She identified herself. “I need to talk to Wally.”

“He's busy.” A sultry feminine voice that Skye didn't recognize as belonging to any of the regular dispatchers said, “Call back later.”

“No! I'm—” There was the distinct click of a disconnection and Skye frowned at her cell. What in the hell was going on?

A cat bitten once by a snake dreads even rope.

—ARAB PROVERB

“Y
ou can't hang up on me,” Skye muttered at her cell. “I'm his wife.”

“What's wrong?” Dorothy asked, her brow wrinkling. “Who hung up on you?”

“I have no idea.” Skye shrugged, trying to appear unconcerned. “Guess I'll have to call 911 after all and hope someone else answers.”

Skye dialed and for once was relieved to hear her mother's voice. Her previous thoughts about having to deal with May as the on-duty dispatcher aside, she was happy to reach someone at the police station who knew her.

“Mom, it's me,” Skye said, immediately adding, “I'm fine. The baby's fine. Everyone you care about is fine. But I need to talk to Wally ASAP.”

“Why?” May's single word oozed with suspicion. “Are you positive you're okay?”

Skye repeated her assurances and her request to speak to Wally.

“If everything is okay, why are you calling 911 to talk to him?”

“There is a problem,” Skye said carefully. “But it doesn't involve me.”

“What kind of problem and who does it involve?” May demanded.

Skye ignored her mother's interrogation. “I really need to speak to Wally.”

“He's kind of occupied at the moment,” May said. “Tell me and I'll tell him.”

“What's going on there?” Skye gave up trying to get Wally on the phone and decided to get some information instead. “Who was that who answered the nonemergency number a few minutes ago?”

“Hold on a second while I transfer your call to another line.” There was silence, then a click, and finally May said, “Chantal from the American Legion picked up the phone before I could stop her.” May's disapproval of the woman's actions was evident. “Around two in the morning, someone smashed the Legion's front door and tried to get into their safe.”

“Is that what Wally is working on?” Skye asked, realizing the only way she was going to talk to her husband was to tell May about Lynch. “Because, I can trump a break-in with a dead body.”

Immediately, the Fifth Dimension singing “Going out of My Head” blared in Skye's ear. Before the song's chorus repeated, Wally got on the line.

Sounding out of breath, he asked in a rush, “Are you okay? Is the baby okay? Did something happen at school? Who's the deceased?”

Skye assured him that she and the baby were fine, then rushed to explain. “I'm with Dorothy Snyder at Palmer Lynch's house.” Skye rattled off the address. “Dorothy cleans for him, too. We're sitting in her Cadillac, but we were previously inside and he's dead.”

“I take it you don't believe it was natural causes,” Wally stated.

“There's a bullet hole in his chest,” Skye answered. “So no.”

“Son of a b!” Wally bellowed. “Are you sure the killer's not still around?”

“Dorothy claims to have searched the house and didn't find anyone.” Interrupting Wally's cursing, she added, “I wasn't here. She knows it was stupid, but it's done and we're now in her car.”

“I'll be right there,” Wally said. “Sit tight and keep the doors locked.”

“Will do,” Skye agreed, then added, “You'll want to keep the particulars of this case quiet so you might want to stay off the radio.”

“What—” Wally cut himself off and said, “Never mind. I'll be there in five. You can explain then. Call my cell if anything happens.”

“Come alone,” Skye warned just before he hung up. She turned to Dorothy and said, “On a positive note, everyone will be so caught up in the attempted burglary at the American Legion, maybe the more salacious details of Mr. Lynch's murder might not get out.”

Dorothy grunted, then leaned against the back of the seat and closed her eyes. While the older woman rested, Skye called the high school and left a message that she wouldn't be coming into work and asked that all her appointments and meetings be canceled.

She indicated that her absence be marked as a personal day. There was nothing in her current contract that allowed for time off because of involvement in a murder investigation. Although considering Skye's past record, she should try to add a dead body clause next time she signed a new agreement.

Seconds later, Wally's cruiser, without lights flashing or sirens wailing, raced down the street. He pulled the squad across the driveway, effectively blocking anyone from entering or leaving, and leaped from the vehicle.

Skye popped the lock, scrambled out of Dorothy's Catera, and threw herself in her husband's arms. He
ran his hands over her as if to check for injuries and rained kisses on her face.

Once he was convinced she was okay, he said, “Why all the secrecy?”

Summing up the housekeeper's call, what happened once Skye arrived, and the condition of the corpse, she concluded, “One way or another, if bondage is truly Lynch's sexual preference or the killer did this to him to humiliate him, as soon as the details get out, we both know the case becomes that much harder to solve.”

“Of course.” Wally gave her one last squeeze, then released her and said, “Let me go look things over, then I'll decide how to proceed.”

“Shouldn't you have backup?” Skye asked. “I know I said to come alone, but—”

“How long were the two of you in the house?” Wally raised a brow, but didn't wait for her answer before adding, “And Dorothy was there awhile before that, so unless the murderer is dumber than a box of rocks, they were already long gone before either of you arrived. Or at least he or she escaped when you two came out and sat in the car waiting for me to get here.”

“Right.” Skye knew she was being silly. Surely the killer would have attacked Dorothy or her rather than wait for an armed police officer.

When Wally returned a few minutes later, he was tucking his cell phone into his shirt pocket. His expression was grim and he rubbed the back of his neck.

Approaching Skye, he said, “The county crime techs will be here in about forty minutes. Reid is on his way. He was preparing for a memorial service so I caught him at the funeral home. And Quirk will be here as soon as he drops off a witness at her car.”

Sergeant Roy Quirk was Wally's right hand at the PD. Simon Reid was the coroner and owned the local funeral parlor and the bowling alley—which his mother,
Bunny, managed. Unfortunately, Simon was also Skye's ex-boyfriend.

They had dated on and off for over two years, until Skye thought she caught Simon cheating on her. He'd been too stubborn to explain his actions, and shortly afterward, Wally and Skye became an item. To say that the three of them working together presented an awkward situation was way beyond an understatement.

Skye nodded her understanding, then leaned against the car. Dorothy was still inside and had either dozed off or was now in a catatonic state. Skye hoped it was the former because she wasn't ready to deal with the latter.

“While we wait, are you up to giving me some more details about what transpired thus far?” Wally asked.

“Of course.” Skye took a deep breath. “I was walking into the high school when Dorothy called me on my cell. She wouldn't tell me what was wrong, just begged me to come to Palmer Lynch's house.”

“Where's your car?” Wally asked, looking both ways down the block.

“Dorothy asked me to walk over, then she hung up and stopped answering her phone.” Skye shoved her hair behind her ear. “She was waiting for me when I arrived. She led me into the house via the patio doors and explained that Lynch had asked her to do an unscheduled cleaning job, but when she got here, he didn't answer the door.”

“But she didn't go away?” Wally crossed his arms. “Why in God's name would she break into a house to clean it?” Skye opened her mouth, but he answered his own question. “Because she was on a tight schedule and didn't want to disappoint either him or us.”

“Uh-huh.” Skye nodded. “But she didn't really have to break in. According to Dorothy, she saw that the bar that Lynch normally kept in the sliding door tracks
was leaning against the cupboard. She just wiggled the handle and was able to slide it open.”

“So it might not have been locked?” Wally ran his fingers through his short black hair, ruffling the silver strands at his temples.

“That was my thought.” Skye nodded. “When Dorothy led me down the hallway to the stairs, I saw that the front door's chain guard was in place and figured the killer left through the sliders.”

“Did she show you the body right away?” Wally had taken out a small pad from his uniform shirt pocket and was jotting down notes.

“No.” Skye's teeth caught her lower lip and worked it for a moment. “Actually, it took what seemed like quite a few minutes to get to the point before Dorothy finally showed me Lynch. That was when I tried to call you, but she grabbed my cell.” Skye shook her head. “Dorothy wanted to put some clothes on him first.”

“Since he was still buck-naked when I saw him, I take it you stopped her.” Wally's dark brown eyes were warm.

“Yes.” Skye nodded again. “Lynch's mother is a widow and is a friend of Dorothy's from church. She didn't want the poor woman to be subject to gossip. When Dorothy realized there was no avoiding the rumor mill, and that she would probably be tainted by the innuendos, too, she vomited in the trashcan. After she stopped being sick, I was finally able to get her out of the house, into her car, and I called you.” Skye puckered her brow. “Or at least, I tried to call you.”

“Yeah.” Wally rolled his eyes. “The mess at the station.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Shortly after you left for school, May phoned for me to come into the PD. The American Legion break-in has had me tied up ever since. Chantal was working late last night, and when the would-be thieves broke into the building, she
locked herself in a utility closet. By the time she came out this morning, she was nearly hysterical.”

“She sounded pretty calm when I talked to her.” Skye smoothed her black shirt over her baby bump. “I don't think I know Chantal.”

“She's new in town. She just started managing the Legion a few months ago.” Wally didn't meet Skye's gaze. “She's a friend of Emmy Jones. They both belonged to the same dance studio in Chicago.”

“I thought Emmy came here from Nevada.” Skye wasn't sure how she felt about the gorgeous performer.

“Who knows all the places Emmy has probably lived.” Wally shrugged.

Emerald Jones had arrived in Scumble River after getting into some kind of trouble in Las Vegas. She had promptly flirted with Wally at his gun club, then ended up dating Skye's ex. Not exactly BFF material. Skye and Chantal didn't seem to be starting out any better.

Oh, please!
What was wrong with her? So Chantal had hung up on Skye, had a sexy voice, and was a friend of Emmy's. None of those facts meant the woman was trying to seduce Wally. For all Skye knew, Chantal resembled Peppermint Patty more than she did Jessica Rabbit.

Skye frowned. She had never been a jealous person, but some combination of her recent marriage, pregnancy hormones, and Wally being so handsome was setting her off. She needed to stop imagining every woman was trying to steal her man before she turned into a shrew.

Swallowing hard, Skye realized that maybe she wasn't really jealous. Maybe she was just trying to avoid thinking about the real issues. Palmer Lynch was dead. He apparently enjoyed an alternative lifestyle that would set Scumble River on its ear once the news got out. And Uncle Charlie would be a prime suspect.

Skye blanched.
No!
Charlie would never do something like this. He might want to remain school board president, even be willing to fight a little dirty for it, but he'd never kill to retain the position. Still, Skye prayed that he'd have an airtight alibi.

Uh-oh.
She must have been quiet for too long because Wally stroked her arms and said, “Do you feel all right? I can drive you home.”

“I'm fine,” Skye reassured him. “Just considering what I know about Lynch.”

“Right.” Wally tapped his chin. “I'd forgotten about that business with the pet therapy and that he was on the school board. Tonight, you'll have to give me the whole rundown on who might have had it in for him.”

“Sure.” Skye's smile was halfhearted. “It's a date. Suspects and supper.”

Wally looked at her quizzically, but before he could respond, Simon pulled his Lexus behind the squad car. He jogged up the driveway carrying a black doctor's case, containing a camera, stethoscope, flashlight, rubber gloves, and liver thermometer. The body bag would arrive with his assistant in the hearse.

As soon as Simon got near them, Wally put his arm around Skye's shoulder.

At the same instant, Simon took her free hand and asked, “What happened?”

Simon was the antithesis of Wally. Where Skye's husband was muscular, her ex was lean. Wally's hair was cut close to his head while Simon's auburn tresses were professionally styled. But the biggest difference was Simon's golden-hazel eyes. Even in the heat of passion they were cool and appraising, while Wally's were always warm when Skye looked into them.

“The vic's in the master bedroom,” Wally said, stepping back and bringing Skye with him, which caused
her hand to slip from Simon's. “We'll have to wait for the crime techs to get here before you can move the body, but in the meantime, try to get a time of death.”

Clearly unhappy with Wally's dictatorial tone, Simon didn't budge. The two men glowered at each other, and Skye held her breath.

Relieved, she spotted a patrol car driving down the block and said to Wally, “Oh. Look. Sergeant Quirk is here already.”

“Good.” Wally glanced over his shoulder. “He can set up the perimeter.”

“Do you want me to wait in the car with Dorothy?” Skye asked. She rubbed her belly and added, “I'd like to get off my feet for a bit.”