Murder of a Small-Town Honey

super­market. She winced as a flash of lightning illuminated the asphalt. Hunger, stress, and heat had given her a raging headache.

As she cruised the lot looking for an open slot, her emo­tions ranged from self-pity to outrage, settling somewhere near resignation. In her exhausted state she felt as if she had been looking for a parking place for hours. She recovered somewhat when she saw someone getting into a car parked only three spaces from the door.

Pulling up almost behind the occupied vehicle, Skye put her turn signal on, indicating her intention to claim the spot. True to the tenor of her day, the people in the car took an eternity to get settled and start to move out. Finally their brake lights came on and they began to inch backward.

They were barely out of the parking place when a white Lexus zipped into the space, narrowly missing Skye's right front bumper. She pounded on her horn, which produced only a feeble whimper, but the auburn-haired driver exited his car and entered the store without glancing back.

Still fuming, Skye finally made her way into the store after being forced to park what seemed like a mile and a half from the door. By that time the rain had started and she was soaked.

Scraping her wet hair back into a ponytail, she headed for the soda aisle. It looked almost as barren as her refriger­ator.

She was reaching for the last six-pack of Diet Coke on the shelf when a long, tanned arm reached above her and grabbed it.

Whirling around, Skye came face-to-chest with the man who had stolen her parking spot. As her eyes reached his face, she realized she knew him. It was the coroner, Simon Reid.

Resentment she had only partially contained all day broke loose. 'Give that back to me right now!'

'I can't give it back to you. You never had it to begin with.'

Skye seethed; her voice rose. 'First, you snatch my parking place when it was evident to any moron that I was waiting for that car to leave so I could pull in. Then, you rip the last cans of Diet Coke from my hands. What's next? Are you on your way to steal the Social Security checks from little old ladies?'

The man leaned on his grocery cart, completely at ease and comfortable with himself. 'Boy, you sure have a tem­per. I like a woman who—'

Interrupting him in midsentence, she fought the urge to scream. 'I have a temper? You ill-bred, mannerless boor. How dare you? You give that soda back to me or you're going to be sorry.'

'What are you going to do? Kick me in the shins?' he asked over his shoulder as he walked around the end of the aisle. In his grocery cart, the six-pack of Diet Coke sat in solitary splendor.

Skye started to run after him but stopped before reaching the next aisle. Sagging against the shelves, she thought, He's right. What can I do? I'm powerless.

Simon reminded her of her ex-fiance—selfish and ego­tistical. It had been only a few months, and the pain he had caused her hadn't diminished. Not only had he robbed her of her dream to join New Orleans society, he had also taken her self-confidence.

Her head drooped and her shoulders bowed as she re­turned to the soda aisle and settled for a six-pack of Diet Pepsi. Just like her ex-fiance', Simon was long gone and she

had to live with the consequences. She hated men who made her lose her temper and her Diet Coke.

She finished her shopping and was headed toward the checkout when a voice stopped her. 'Hey, Skye, what are you doing here so late?'

She turned to find her cousin Ginger Leofanti Allen hur­rying toward her. Ginger was dressed in a garishly striped muumuu that hung on her tiny frame and had rollers the size of juice cans on her head. Her feet were stuffed into canvas shoes that had holes in the toes, and her face was devoid of makeup.

'I got home late from school and found the cupboards bare.' Skye attempted to edge around her cousin.

Ginger gave Skye a hug. 'I heard the news about Char­lie's niece. That poor man. How's he doing?'

Leaning back against the cart, Skye made herself com­fortable. She knew there was no graceful way to hurry this conversation along. 'He's doing okay.'

'He's such a sweet guy. He conies in the bank two or three times a week, and he always stands in line for my window.' Ginger absently rewound a wisp of hair that had escaped from its curler.

'So, what are you doing here so late?' Skye asked. Most people in Scumble River did their grocery shopping right after work and were tucked in watching TV by eight o'clock.

Ginger looked down at her attire. 'I was just getting ready to sit down and relax when Bert spilled an entire gal­lon of milk on the floor.'

'Bert's your four-year-old, right?'

'Yes, and he's not supposed to touch the gallon cartons of milk. Anyway, that meant I wouldn't have any for the kids' cereal tomorrow.'

'Your other two are in school, but who takes care of Bert while you work?' Skye switched the strap of her purse from one shoulder to the other.

'Either my mom or Flip's.'

'What a great arrangement. I understand good child care is hard to find.' Skye judged that her social obligation was almost fulfilled. She turned and took hold of the cart's han­dle. 'How are the kids and Flip?'

'The kids are growing like weeds. I had to buy them all new clothes for school. And Flip's doing real fine. This time of year he's got more construction jobs than he can deal with. How're your folks?'

Skye started to edge her cart down the first aisle. 'Fine.'

'How's poor Vince taking this thing about Honey?' Ginger followed closely behind Skye.

It always amused Skye the way people shied away from certain words like murder and death. 'He's hanging in there, hoping they find the killer.'

'At first we were all real worried about a murderer stalking the citizens of Scumble River, but now we figure it was someone Honey knew from Chicago.'

'That's probably true,' Skye said noncommittally. 'Well, I'd better let you get going. We both have an early day tomorrow. Tell everyone hello.'

Ginger was not easily dismissed. She kept pace as Skye quickened her steps. 'You know, we were all real sad for you when your fiance jilted you.'

Skye bit her lip. She did not want to talk about him to anyone, let alone a cousin she didn't really like. 'Thanks, but I'm fine. I've put that behind me.'

'Good. Then it's true. You are dating Mike Young.'

'No. I mean, it's just one double date with Vince and Abby.'

'Do I hear wedding bells?'

'If you do, it's time to recharge the old Miracle Ear,' an­swered Skye, making her escape.

When she reached the front of the store, three of the eight lanes were open. The two nearest her had several peo­ple in line, all of whom had their carts piled high.

Skye hurried toward the farthest row, where two people with only a few items were waiting. An instant before she stepped into line someone cut in front of her. She looked up into Simon's lively gaze.

'My, you are having bad luck today,' he said. 'Tell you what—I'll take pity on you and let you go in front of me. After all, women are naturally slower than men.'

Her head throbbed. 'I wouldn't dream of taking your place or anything else of yours.'

'Do you often cut off your nose to spite your face?'

'Turn around and leave me alone, or I'll call the man­ager.'

'And say what? Some horrible man offered to let you go in front of him in line?' With that, he leaned back against his cart and stared at her until it was his turn at the register.

CHAPTER 15

That'll Be the Day

Timing is everything in a junior high. Too early and you have to wait around for the next bell. Too late and you have to face a hostile teacher as you interrupt his class. It's the tyranny of the forty-minute hour.

Keeping this in mind, Skye arrived at Scumble River Junior High on Friday with only a few minutes to spare before sixth period began. She hurried to the office and wrote a pass for Zach Van Stee, asking Ursula to give it to him when the bell rang. Zach was the lucky boy who had won the reevaluation lottery, his good fortune due to his parents' being the first to sign and return the consent form.