That would be a good place to put the crushed pills.”
“I’ll let them know that.” He made a note. “Anything else?”
“Well, since you didn’t find a container, would it prove anything to you to test the inside of Aunt Minnie’s purse for residue?”
“You mean, would the absence of residue prove she didn’t take the pills?”
Skye nodded.
“No, negative evidence isn’t considered compelling.”
“Oh.” Skye turned and sat on one leg so she could face him. “Thanks for telling me all this.”
The tips of his ears turned red. “Just because I don’t have enough proof doesn’t mean your thinking wasn’t helpful.”
“Thanks.” Skye gulped. “What a sweet thing to say. I’m so glad you don’t think I’m interfering.”
“Not as long as you come to me and don’t try to investigate on your own.” Wally took her hands. “I don’t want you to put yourself in danger.”
A shiver went down the back of her neck at his touch. His fingers were warm and slightly calloused. She tried to draw away but he tightened his grip.
When she spoke her voice sounded as if she had just finished jogging. “Would it be possible for me to see my grandmother’s reports?”
He chuckled deep in his chest. “That might be arranged.”
She tried to find something to say, but her focus shifted to his lips, which were moving toward her. This time when she tried to free her hands he let them go, only to wrap his arms around her a moment later.
He smelled like cinnamon and the last thing she noticed before he closed the slight distance between them were his eyes. Usually a warm milk chocolate, they had darkened until they were almost black.
Wally’s mouth settled gently on hers, then increased its pressure. At first she nestled closer, allowing her fingertips to explore his jaw and wander into the thick, blunt texture of his hair.
But as he began to deepen the kiss, a tiny part of her common sense pushed its way forward. She levered herself from the circle of his arms.
Skye could barely get enough breath to speak. “This isn’t a good idea.”
“Why?” A line appeared between his eyebrows. “Are you saying you don’t feel anything for me?”
Skye backed toward the foyer. “No. I mean yes. I mean, I do feel something for you. I always have, but this is way too soon. Darleen could still decide to come back.”
Wally opened his mouth, then closed it without speaking. He looked at her with troubled eyes, picked up his notebook and tucked it into his shirt pocket before walking to the door. “This isn’t the end of it, you know.”
Skye nodded and whispered to his back as he walked toward his squad car, “I know.”
She sighed and started in on the remaining chores. She finally understood what the song, “Torn Between Two Lovers” meant. Hustling Simon out so quickly had been a bad idea. But having both men in the same room was far too uncomfortable. She needed to make some decisions pretty darn soon.
The afternoon stretched ahead of her and the cottage felt empty. Skye finished cleaning about three and, after taking a shower, sat down to read. But for once the printed page couldn’t hold her attention. Something she had seen or heard was teasing the edge of her unconscious. She knew the only way to lure the bit of information to the surface was to totally ignore it and do something else. It was time to visit the survivalists.
CHAPTER 17
Sing for Your Supper
Skye had considered asking Wally to go with her to the survivalist camp, but having the chief of police along did not go with her cover story. She was stopping by to see how Perry Underwood was doing after his problem at school. In fact, if she didn’t go alone, her explanation of why she was there wouldn’t hold up. She had to be there as Ms. Denison, school psychologist. And Ms. Denison would not have an escort.
If a pickup had not been pulling out as she drove up the road, Skye would have missed the entrance to the camp entirely. A camouflaged gate guarded the entry and there was little evidence on the ground that vehicles regularly went in and out.
She stopped her car and got out. How did the gate open? She put her fingers through the leaf-covered wire mesh and tugged. It slid smoothly to the right on well-oiled tracks. Thank goodness it wasn’t locked.
As Skye guided the Buick down the tightly packed dirt lane, she wondered how the heck she was going to locate the Underwoods. Then she realized she could work the circumstances in her favor. She had an excuse to stop and talk to other people as she tried to find them.
Trailers and tents of every description were set up along the hills and lakes. All were heavily screened by dense foliage. This area had been one of the many coal mines, and the unique landscaping was the result.
When the mining companies abandoned Scumble River thirty years ago, the huge holes in the ground and equally large slag heaps next to them were eyesores and dangerous nuisances. After a while, though, some of Scumble River’s citizens figured out how to make the mines into money-earning recreational areas. They hauled sand in to line the shallowest of the coal pits and put fish in the deeper holes. While they were getting the beaches and fishing ponds ready, grass and trees were planted everywhere else. Now, people from the city spent their summer weekends paying dearly to swim in an old coal pit.
Skye wondered how the survivalists had been able to afford to buy such a huge tract of recreational-quality land. Either they purchased it before prices rose or someone in their group had a lot of money to throw around.
After what seemed forever, Skye spotted a log cabin to her left. It was bigger and more permanent than any other dwelling she’d seen so far. Perhaps it was the camp’s head-quarters. She parked her car between a pickup and a Suburban with a red cross painted on the side, and walked up to the porch.
The memory of Simon’s telling her about the shooting out here suddenly popped into her mind. She looked around nervously. Was there a gun pointed at her this very minute? No, she was being silly. He had said it was an accident, hadn’t he?
She took a deep breath and knocked on the screen door, smoothing her khaki pants and black polo shirt as she waited. This had been another tough wardrobe decision. What does one wear to infiltrate a survivalist camp? Unfortunately, her camouflage suit was at the cleaners.
Abruptly a huge man filled the doorway and growled, “Yeah, what do you want?”
“I’m Ms. Denison from Scumble River Elementary School. Could you direct me to the Underwoods?” Skye forced her voice not to quaver.
“They went back to Michigan.” He turned to go.
“Wait. Ah, as long as I’m here, could I talk to you for a minute?”
“About what? I ain’t got no kids.”
“But you are the leader out here, right?” She took a wild guess.
He narrowed his eyes. “Why do you say that?”
“Well, it’s obvious that you would be the top guy.” Skye stole a peek at his face and laid the flattery on thicker. “Your bearing, your aura of authority, your size, they all scream commander.”
“Yeah?” He straightened his back and squared his shoulders. “I suppose you’re right. The major don’t live out here and I’m in charge when he’s not in camp.” He stuck out a hand bigger than Skye’s purse. “I’m Sarge.”
Skye swallowed nervously as she watched her hand disappear in his grip, which was surprisingly gentle. “My name’s Skye.”
“Aw, that’s a pretty name.” Sarge leaned against the door frame. “So, what you want to know? We ain’t got no secrets. We’re just getting ready for when civilization fails.”
“Well, preparedness is always a smart thing.” Skye searched her mind for a good question, figuring this was a limited opportunity. “You may have known my grandmother, Antonia Leofanti. She lived on the farm next to this property.”
“Heard of her. Never met the lady.” Sarge examined his fingernails. “Saw in the paper she was killed. Shame, not being safe in your own home.”
“Ah, no offense, but I know some of your people occasionally forgot where your camp ended and her farm began and went across the line.” Skye watched him closely for a reaction. “I was wondering if anyone out here had seen anything.”
