Murder of the Cat's Meow: A Scumble River Mystery (8 page)

After turning down Bunny’s offer of a drink, Skye sat and pulled a yellow legal pad and pen from her tote bag. “You all ready to discuss who Alexis might have stayed behind with and/or who wanted her dead?”

“I don’t think anyone could have talked Alexis into having a tryst in the basement,” Bunny said, smirking. “She would have insisted on the Drake in Chicago, or at least the Hilton in Oak Brook. The only time she was hot for a man’s company was when he owned it.”

Frannie snickered, nodding her agreement.

“Definitely.” Justin sneered. “That’s why she liked the guy she got in speed dating. She ranked all the men by income, and he owns most of the businesses in Brooklyn.”

“What’s his name?” Skye asked, unable to recall meeting him during the show. “Maybe he persuaded Alexis it would be worth her while to take a walk on the wild side with him in the basement.”

“Ivan Quigley,” Bunny answered. “But he stormed out of here before the party really got started.”

“Did Alexis go with him?” Skye asked. Maybe the beautiful judge had been killed elsewhere and then planted in the basement.

“Nope.” Bunny drained her martini glass. “And Alexis was ticked off because her date deserted her. She started hitting on other men.”

“Anyone hit back?” Skye knew an angry woman was often an easy target.

“Uh-uh.” Bunny shook her head. “Everyone was already paired up.”

“Were the women whose dates she was flirting with upset?” Skye asked.

“Not exactly angry, since the guys didn’t respond, just…” Bunny thought for a minute. “Just mildly annoyed.”

“Is that how you felt?”

“I wasn’t with anyone, so her behavior didn’t bother me one way or the other.”

“You weren’t?” Skye tilted her head. “How about the man you left the bar with after the speed-dating event?”

“He wasn’t my date.” Bunny stared at Skye without blinking. “Just some guy asking me to show him where the bathrooms were at.”

“But…” Skye trailed off. She didn’t believe the older woman’s explanation, but she’d wait until she and Bunny were alone to finesse the truth out of her.

The four of them talked a little more about whom Alexis had upset during the cat show, and as Skye wrote down the last name, she said to Bunny, “By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask you—don’t you usually have bowling leagues here on both Saturday and Sunday?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did you cancel them?”

“Yeah.”

“Weren’t the bowlers annoyed?”

“A few were.” Bunny shrugged. “It wasn’t a big deal. I told them we’d make it up at the end of the season.”

“Won’t Simon be mad when he hears?”

“Yes.” A male voice behind her made Skye whip her head around. “He will, and he is.”

“Sonny Boy!” Bunny let out a shriek. “Uh, I wasn’t expecting you until later tonight.” She jumped to her feet and backed away from him. “How was your weekend with your new friend?”

Skye blinked. Was Simon’s new friend a woman? Her stomach clenched, but she made herself relax. Simon
having a girlfriend would be a good thing, right? She wanted him to find someone to love, didn’t she?

“You must be tired from the long drive.” Bunny turned toward the bar. “Let me get you a glass of wine.”

“Mother.” Simon’s tone was firm. “It’s only three in the afternoon. I don’t want a drink. I want to know what the hell is going on around here.”

N
ot wanting to be present while Bunny attempted to explain the weekend events to her son, Skye jumped to her feet. She glanced at Frannie and Justin, noted their fascinated expressions, and grabbed each of them by the hand. As she hustled the reluctant pair toward the bowling alley door, she enticed them with promises of coffee drinks and yummy pastries at Tales and Treats.

The combination bookstore and café had opened last fall to mixed reviews. While many Scumble Riverites were happy to see a new business in town, an equal number resented the change that the shop represented. After protest marches, petitions, and a tragic murder, now, six months later, the controversy had finally died down. And when Skye walked into the store a few minutes later, it was bustling with customers carrying stacks of paperbacks.

Risé Vaughn, one of the co-owners, stood at the front counter talking to a customer and gesturing to the cage that held the store’s pet chinchillas. Skye waved as she made her way through the main room, which contained the register, gift items associated with reading and writing, and a massive glass-front oak cupboard holding rare and first editions.

Radiating from the central hub was the café and four areas decorated according the genre displayed—mystery, romance, science fiction/fantasy/horror, and literature. Skye was tempted to make a quick stop in the mystery section. She’d heard about a new series set in a small-town dime store, and wanted to grab a copy of the first book before the store sold out. But after a moment’s hesitation, she decided she’d better grab a table instead. Because of the wonderful baked goods, the café was often standing room only.

However, when Skye entered the coffee bar, she saw only a few people lingering over their cups, idly turning the pages of magazines or working on their laptops. She’d forgotten it was Sunday. Tales and Treats would be closing in less than half an hour and the pastry selection looked nearly as barren as a plate of goodies in the teachers’ lounge five minutes after the lunch bell rang.

After selecting a seat in the rear corner where their conversation wouldn’t be overheard, Skye gazed at the one remaining red velvet cupcake in the display case. She was thinking about nabbing it before someone else bought it when Frannie and Justin burst through the door, their voices raised in an argument.

Frannie stalked over to Skye, pulled out a chair, and plopped down, her lips pressed together in a thin line. Justin slouched into the remaining seat, crossed his arms, and stared over his girlfriend’s head at the empty wall behind her.

Skye looked back and forth between them. She decided to let them stew for a while. So, instead of asking what was wrong, she said, “What do you two want to drink and eat? There’s not much left.”

“Iced chai tea latte,” Frannie answered. “And if there’s a cinnamon chip scone, I’ll have that, please.”

“Double shot espresso and the red velvet cupcake.” Justin didn’t waste any words.

“Okay.” Skye hid her disappointment. She’d have to settle for the shortbread cookies and a caffe mocha. “I’ll be right back.”

Skye chatted with Orlando Erwin, Risé’s husband and Tale and Treats’ other co-owner, as he prepared their orders. He was the resident baker as well as the rare book scout for the store, and he told her all about a first-edition Sherlock Holmes title he had recently found at a storage facility auction he’d attended in Moline.

Frannie and Justin were still pointedly ignoring each other when Skye set the loaded tray on the table. Since there was no way to overlook their pique, she admitted defeat and asked, “What’s up with you two?”

“He’s being a jerk.” Frannie grabbed her glass and took a gulp.

“And she’s being ridiculous.” Justin shook his head mockingly. “Just think, if it weren’t for girlfriends, guys could go through their whole lives without ever knowing their faults.”

“Glad to be of service, because in that case you’d be even lamer than you already are.” Frannie narrowed her eyes. “Now, admit that I’m right and you shouldn’t have done it.”

“I could do that.” Justin smirked. “But then we’d both be wrong.”

“What did you do?” Skye interrupted—in part to stop the couple’s bickering, but mostly because the suspense was killing her.

“I finessed the numbers a little.” Justin cradled the tiny espresso cup in his big hands and gazed into the dark liquid. “It’s no big deal.”

“What numbers?” Before taking her first sip, Skye blew across the top of her mug. She’d burned her tongue once too often by not being cautious. Orlando was famous for his scorching-hot coffee drinks.

“The speed-dating results.” Frannie popped a piece of scone into her mouth.

“Why?” Skye eyed the three cookies in front of her before making a selection. She liked to save the one with the most sprinkles for last.

Justin took a huge bite of his cupcake, then mumbled around the mouthful, “’Cause Ms. Hightower wanted to end up with Mr. Quigley.”

“But I thought you were upset about your earlier run-in with Alexis, when she wanted to see the cats’ scores before she was supposed to.” Skye wrinkled her brow. “Why would you do her a favor after that?”

“He didn’t. She bribed him.” Frannie glared. “Ms. Hightower paid Justin fifty bucks to make sure she got the guy she wanted.”

“Ah, I see. Greed overcame your wounded ego.” Skye savored a nibble of her cookie, then asked, “So which woman was supposed to end up with Ivan Quigley?”

“Ms. Irving.” Justin stuffed the rest of his cupcake in his mouth.

“Well.” Skye gave herself time to formulate the right response by taking a swallow of her caffe mocha and blotting her lips with a napkin. “What Justin did was unethical.” She raised a brow at him. “You do realize it was wrong to take a bribe and manipulate the outcome. People paid you to be honest. They trusted you.”

“Hey, it is what it is.” Justin shrugged, apparently unimpressed with Skye’s admonishment.

“Maybe,” Skye countered. “But
it
becomes what your choices make it.”

“No harm, no foul.” Justin twitched his shoulders again. “It all worked out fine. I made some money, Ms. Hightower got what she wanted, and Mr. Quigley got a much hotter chick. A happy ending for us all.”

“Except that’s not true.” Frannie swatted her boyfriend’s
arm. “As I explained to you in the car, someone ended up getting hurt.”

“Alexis?” Skye squeaked. She sure hoped that Justin’s actions hadn’t set off a sequence of events that resulted in the woman’s murder.

“Not her.” Frannie shook her head. “Ms. Irving and Mr. Quigley.”

“Because they might have actually made a love match?” Skye asked, and when Frannie nodded, she continued, “I understand what you mean. However, it’s extremely doubtful that a ten-minute speed date could actually predict a romantic connection or end up in a true relationship.”

“But I overheard Ms. Irving talking to Mr. Quigley last night at the bowler disco party,” Frannie protested. “And she was real upset. She was crying and asking him why he hadn’t put her as his first choice after promising her he would. She nearly fainted.”

“What did he say?” Skye glanced at Justin, but his expression was unreadable.

Frannie answered, “Mr. Quigley said he had put her name down in his number-one position, and he wanted to know why Miss Irving hadn’t put him as her first choice.” Frannie shredded her paper napkin. “It was so sad. Neither believed the other and they both walked away mad.”

“Did you know then that Justin had altered the results?” Skye asked.

“No.” Frannie bit her lip. “I was telling him about Mr. Quigley and Ms. Irving on the way here and that’s when he told me.”

“I’m not psychic.” Justin refused to meet either Skye’s or Frannie’s gaze. “How was I supposed to know that something like that would happen? I never meant for anyone to get all jacked up.”

“It’s not your intentions that people judge you by.”
Skye barely kept the disappointment out of her voice. “You may have a heart of gold, but so does a hard-boiled egg. And look how often an egg gets cracked.”

Justin stared at Skye as if she was speaking Elvish, and she swallowed a sigh. She knew it was no use chastising him. Justin was an immature nineteen-year-old, still more a boy than a man. He would learn over time that every action had a consequence. She just hoped he would also acquire the ability to empathize. It was a skill she’d been working on with him since he was in eighth grade. Apparently the training hadn’t been a success.

Although Skye managed to keep the conversation going while they all finished their snacks, she noticed that Frannie and Justin rarely spoke to each other. And when they did, their remarks were cutting.

At five to four, just before the café closed, Frannie turned to Skye and said, “Can you give me a ride home?” She glowered at her boyfriend. “I refuse to be in the same car as Justin until he admits he was wrong to change the speed-dating outcome.”

“Whatever.” Justin jumped to his feet and slammed out of the store, muttering uncomplimentary remarks about spoiled daddy’s girls and Frannie not understanding what it was like to be poor.

After a quick stop to buy the mystery book Skye wanted, she and Frannie left the shop. As they got into the Bel Air, Skye said, “Don’t forget to buckle up.”

“We’re only five minutes from my house.” Frannie dug through her purse. “Just go.”

“Come on,” Skye coaxed. “Put it on. The seat belt makes it more difficult for the Martians to suck you out of the car,” she teased.

Frannie heaved a put-upon sigh, then complied with Skye’s request, but she was silent on the way to her house, and leaped out of the Chevy as soon as it stopped. Shouting her thanks for the ride, she ran in the front door.

Skye was backing out of Frannie’s driveway when her cell phone rang, so she pulled over to the curb to answer it. So few people had her cell number, any call was usually an important one.