Both the peninsula counter and the table were loaded with food. Jell-O molds nudged casserole dishes, while angel and devil’s food cakes fought the eternal battle of temptation.
Skye edged past the overflow and went through the arch into the living room. Uncle Dante had claimed her father’s favorite lounger, where he sat like Napoleon with one hand scratching his belly and the other aiming the remote. A can of beer sat sweating on the oak end table, a white ring already forming on the wood.
Skye’s gaze swept the room. She was stunned. Uncle Emmett was eating a plate of ravioli, tomato sauce dripping on the white brocade of the love seat. Vince sat next to him gesturing with his fork, which held a bite of chocolate cake—crumbs flew in all directions.
She watched as, without noticing, Uncle Neal ground a cookie under his heel, leaving an oily patch on the russet carpet. Mona scooted closer to Neal on the sofa and tried to pick up the ginger snap’s remains in a paper napkin.
Food in the living room. Her mother never allowed them to eat there. The world as they knew it truly must be ending.
Skye aimed her question at Dante. It had only been a week and she was still angry about the essay contest, so she didn’t want to talk to Mona. She also wasn’t interested in joining the conversation about tractors that Emmett and Vince were having. “Where are Hugo and the twins?”
Not turning from the television screen, Dante said, “Ask Olive.”
Instead Skye headed for the den, a spare bedroom that her parents had converted by adding a love seat, armchair, and television. On her way she fixed herself a plate of food and grabbed the latest mystery from her purse.
It crossed her mind that this might be a good opportunity to talk to some of her relatives about her grandmother’s death, but she was too tired to do a good job. Grief and several nights of just a few hours of sleep had caught up with her. One thing she had learned as a psychologist was that if she didn’t feel good physically, she tended to make stupid mistakes mentally.
So, instead of pressing on with her investigation she set up a TV tray by the small sofa, kicked off her shoes, and snuggled into the corner. Selecting a carrot spear from her dish, she settled in to read.
Skye half heard the twins and their families arrive a little while later. By the time Hugo and Victoria made their appearance, it barely registered. Skye was deep into the fictional world of the story when the den door was eased open and Aunt Minnie slipped in.
Skye reluctantly put her book aside. “Hi. What’s up?”
“Sorry, I didn’t know you were in here. I just wanted to rest a bit before going back to the funeral home. It’s already past six.”
“Have a seat. Did you get anything to eat? How about a cup of coffee?” Skye pushed her tray away.
Minnie sat gingerly on the chair. “I nibbled while we put things away. I don’t eat much anymore.”
Skye looked from her aunt’s plump figure to her own and wondered about genetics.
“How about some coffee then?” Skye slid her feet back into her navy pumps.
“That would be nice, but I can get it.” Minnie tried to get up.
Skye beat her to the door. “Sit down. I want another glass of Diet Coke anyway.”
When Skye returned with the drinks, she found her aunt with her eyes closed. She set the cup and glass on the tray between them, and curled back up on the love seat.
“I’m not asleep.” Minnie stretched and reached for the coffee.
“This whole thing must be a real strain on you. I know you spent more time taking care of Grandma than anyone else.” Skye eased her way into the topic she was interested in pursuing.
“I never begrudged Mom the attention.”
“Of course not. Everyone said how devoted you were.” Skye swirled the ice cubes in her glass. “Still, it had to be hard.”
“A little. Mom didn’t like to acknowledge that she needed help.”
“It must have been tough having to be there three times a day every day to make her meals.”
“The others wanted to let the housekeeper do it all, but I knew she wouldn’t eat right if we let that foreign woman fix her food.”
“Really? You didn’t think Mrs. J did a good job?” Skye leaned forward.
“No. She refused to dust and run the sweeper every day. She would only clean once a week.” Minnie’s cheeks were pink and her eyes had shed their dull look. “She wanted us to put in a dishwasher.”
“Grandma wouldn’t have liked that.”
“No, but she only complained to me. I’d tell May and Mona, and then Mom would say I had gotten what she said wrong.” Minnie sat back and ran a hand over her eyes. “I tried so hard to please her and never could.”
“I’m sure that’s not true. But it would be hard to think that’s the way she felt about you.” Skye patted her aunt’s hand and silently asked her grandmother’s forgiveness for lying about her. “I remember Grandma saying you were the one she could depend on.”
“You know, Mona and Dante treated her like a child and she never seemed to resent them. And May treated her so casually and still was her obvious favorite.” Minnie sniffed and wiped her nose with the paper napkin from the tray. “I must admit sometimes I resented all the time I spent trying to be a good daughter and not getting anything back.”
“That would be hard to take.” Skye knew how fragile her aunt’s mental health was and was reluctant to push her. Still, she had to find out if Minnie was the one who killed her grandmother. She tried to be as gentle as possible. “It sounds as if you’re saying it felt like she was throwing all your love and attention back in your face.”
Minnie didn’t answer.
Skye took a breath and silently apologized to her aunt. If Minnie was innocent, this was an awful thing to say, but if she was guilty, Skye couldn’t let her get away with murder. “It must have been a relief, almost, when Grandma died.”
Minnie shot out of her chair and threw the door open, banging it against the wall. Her normally soft voice shrieked over her shoulder. “I don’t know what you mean. I loved my mother and she loved me. I didn’t want her dead.”
People gathered from different parts of the house. The twins surrounded their mother and led her off into one of the bedrooms. May shot Skye a deadly look from the sink, while everyone else tried to pretend that nothing unusual had happened.
Vince went over to Skye. “I shouldn’t have pressed her so hard,” she admitted, whispering. “This could be the thing that pushes Aunt Minnie around the bend.”
He put his arm around her shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself. She’s had that turn signal on for twenty years.”
CHAPTER 15
Roses Are Red, Lies Are Yellow
Wednesday, the day after the wake, Skye met her parents and Vince at the Reid Funeral Home and rode with them to the church. Saint Francis Catholic Church had been built back when Scumble River was first established in the 1850s. It towered above the other buildings, with walls clad in crumbling brown brick and faded gray concrete overhangs.
Almost a third of Scumble River’s population was Catholic, so parking was always a problem, unless you were among the first fifty cars and secured a space in the small back lot. Later arrivals used the side streets, often angering residents whose driveways they blocked.
In front of the church there was room for three or four vehicles, depending on the size of the car and its owner’s skill in parking. During a funeral the hearse and limousine took up those spaces.
Jed parked in back and he, May, Vince, and Skye entered the church through the side door. They found seats in the second pew from the front and waited for Father Burns to begin.
Dante and his family occupied the first row. Minnie and her brood sat in back of the Denisons. Mona and Neal were once again last. Skye could hear Mona’s complaints from two rows away.
The priest finally started the Mass and they all rose. Skye found it difficult to concentrate on the words of the service. She squirmed and plucked at her clothes as the heat of many people crowded together added to the
