Murder of a Small-Town Honey

Skye forced herself to speak. 'I'll get a vase. You can put your hat on the hall table. Please make yourself com­fortable.' Skye gestured him into the great room.

When she came back with the flowers in their hastily improvised vase, a plastic pitcher, Simon was sitting on the sofa leafing through a magazine.

Coming closer, she noticed it was the copy of Better

Homes and Gardens in which her mother had concealed the police report—the report she had not yet removed.

Trying to distract him before he came to those pages, Skye hurriedly placed the roses on a shelf and sat down be­side him. 'Would you like a cup of coffee before we leave?'

As he put the magazine down, a sheet of computer paper slid to the floor. Skye and Simon reached for it simultane­ously. He won.

He glanced down while handing it to Skye and stopped abruptly. 'How did you get this?'

'That's none of your business.'

'This looks like an official police report. As an officer of the court, it certainly is my business.' Simon's expression was implacable.

Skye struggled to answer him without whining, which she knew was not an attractive trait. 'Look, I'm trying to figure out who killed Honey Adair.'

'Isn't that the police department's job?'

'Maybe, but they're doing an extremely poor job of it. Chief Boyd is convinced my brother is the culprit, and he refuses to look for any other evidence.'

Simon put the paper down and absentmindedly poured himself a cup of coffee. 'I know it's hard to think of your sibling being involved in a murder, but facts are facts.'

'That's just it. He's not looking at all the facts.' Skye took the opportunity to surreptitiously push the offending page under a pile of other magazines.

'What do you mean? And hiding it is not going to stop me from wanting to know how you got it.' Simon sipped his coffee and reached for a Danish.

Skye held on to her temper, though with difficulty. She hated losing control of a situation. 'I've found six other people who had motive and opportunity to kill Honey.'

'Who?' Simon asked, setting his cup in its saucer with a clink.

After Skye listed her suspects and explained why and how each of them could be the murderer, Simon sat without speaking.

Nervously nibbling on a pastry, she waited.

'I see your point,' he conceded grudgingly, 'but I think what you're doing could be very risky. And you still haven't told me how you got hold of that document.'

Getting up, she plucked a rose from the pitcher and twirled it between her fingers. 'I'll tell you, but you have to promise not to reveal my source.'

'Okay, I promise.'

'Actually, you could figure it out pretty easily just by asking around,' Skye said, excusing her lack of discretion. 'My mother is a police dispatcher.' Skye watched him carefully as she revealed this information.

Simon smiled as if in relief. 'That explains it. I thought maybe you had a relationship with one of the cops, or even Wally.'

'Chief Boyd is a married man.' Skye put the blossom back in the vase.

'True, but women seem to find him attractive, and he appears to be quite fond of you.' Simon stood up and straightened the crease in his trousers. 'Are you ready to go? Our reservation is for one o'clock.'

He followed her into the hall, where she picked up her purse. 'If Wally's so devoted to me, why is he after my brother?'

Brunch was wonderful. They drove to Chicago and ate at Cite, a revolving restaurant on top of Lake Point Tower. It offered views of both the skyline and Lake Michigan. Their conversation was animated, with no awkward pauses or uncomfortable silences. The subject of murder was not raised again.

They talked of travel—where they'd been and where they'd like to go. Both confessed to being addicted to

books and chocolate. Best of all, Simon revealed himself to be a bridge player.

Sitting back, Skye watched a seagull swoop and dive over the water. 'Do you play in a club?' she asked.

'No, unfortunately I haven't been able to locate one in the area. Friends in the city occasionally call me to fill in when one of their group members can't make it, but it's a long drive.' Simon took a last swallow of coffee and pushed the cup away. 'How about you?'

'Nope. I played all the time in grad school, but I don't know anyone in Scumble River who plays.'

'Too bad. Maybe we can find another couple and teach them.'

So we're a couple. Skye wasn't sure how she felt about that. Out loud she said, 'That would be fun.'

The waiter brought over the check in its leather folder and put it on the table. Simon took out his wallet and se­lected a credit card.

She tried to stop herself, but she couldn't resist an at­tempt to peek at how much the meal had cost him. But he was too smooth for her to catch a glimp.se.

While they were waiting for the server to return, Simon asked, 'Do you feel like a walk by the lake?'

'What a good idea. It'll be good to feel a fresh breeze after these last couple of weeks of air-conditioning.' Skye stood up. 'I'll use the rest room and meet you up in front.'

They strolled hand in hand down the sidewalk bordering the lake. When the breeze blew a strand of hair into Skye's eyes, Simon tucked it behind her ear. The memory of his touch lingered on her cheek.

The moment was broken when another jogger—-the third one—knocked into Simon. Both the pathway and the beach were teeming with people enjoying both the Labor Day weekend and the break in the heat.

Simon pulled Skye to one side. 'Maybe this wasn't such a great idea.'

Having had a stroller wheeled over her foot only mo­ments before, Skye had to agree with him. 'It is a little crowded. I do have another idea of what to do.'

'Sure, whatever you'd like.'

Skye grinned wickedly. 'Anything?'

Simon faltered. 'I... I guess so. What did you have in mind?'

Skye had easily convinced the doorman that she was helping out Honey's uncle. Convincing Simon was a little more difficult.

'Are you sure Charlie asked you to do this?' Simon looked nervously over his shoulder. 'Did he clear it with the police?'

Skye, busy trying to figure out how to get the door open without letting Simon see she didn't have a key, didn't reply.

'What are you doing?'

'The key must have slipped out of my pocket when I was in your car. Could you run down and check?' Skye asked.

Once he was gone, she took her trusty Swiss Army knife from her purse and opened it to the thinnest blade. She in­serted it into the space between the door and the jamb and prayed that Honey hadn't invested in a good dead bolt. This only worked with cheap thumb-button locks.

As Simon reappeared at the end of the hall, the door opened and she walked inside.

When he didn't follow immediately she went back, grabbed him by the arm, and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind them.

'So, you found the key after all.'

When she didn't answer, he put his hand on her shoul­der. 'This is a really bad idea. We could both get into a lot

of trouble. Let's leave before the doorman changes his mind and calls the police.'

'No, Charlie asked me to look around for him. You can wait in the car, but I'm going to search Honey's condo.' By this time she almost believed that what she said was true.

They were in a tiny foyer. To the left was a small kitchen, straight ahead was a living room, and a short