Skye scooted to the edge of the raft and dangled her feet in the water. “She’s still in the hospital. And actually I’m wondering if her so-called suicide attempt wasn’t really a murder attempt.” Skye told her about Minnie’s aversion to pills.
“Why would anyone want to kill her?”
“Maybe she knows something. I’ve been doing a little asking around and there’s a lot more to her past than I ever knew.”
Trixie shaded her eyes. “I thought your grandmother was telling you the family history.”
“She was, but we didn’t get to my aunts’ and uncles’ generation.”
“How about Minnie’s daughters?” Trixie eased back into the water.
“They certainly thought there were more jewelry and valuables than there turned out to be.” Skye followed Trixie into the water and they headed slowly back to shore. “Their husbands spilled the beans about their misconception at Grandma’s funeral lunch.”
“Of course you don’t suspect your own mother or brother.”
“No, thank goodness they have alibis. And I really haven’t found a motive for Aunt Mona, besides the fact that she’s a mean-spirited, sanctimonious bitch.” Skye filled in Trixie about the essay contest at school as they emerged from the water and crossed the hot sand.
“What a horrible thing to do to a child. And to have to sacrifice all your hard work with him. How awful for you too.”
Skye settled on the spread and began to apply sunscreen. Trixie joined her and oiled her own limbs.
Skye lay down in the bright sun and was almost asleep when Trixie’s voice woke her. “I know how to check to see who filled Minnie’s prescription.”
“How?”
“My cousin works at the pharmacy in town. She can check the records for us.”
“But isn’t that illegal?” Skye asked.
“Only if we get caught.”
CHAPTER 19
Five, Six, More Nasty Tricks
Before Skye dropped her off, Trixie agreed to call her cousin that evening. They parted with promises to stay in close touch.
As Skye went past her parents’ place she noticed her dad out in the yard, and on an impulse she pulled the Buick into the gravel drive. She had always found it difficult to talk to her father. His clipped way of speaking, and lack of interest in anything not farm related, made it hard to have a conversation with him.
“Mom home?” Skye asked, approaching her father.
“Nope, she’s working afternoons. Just left.” Jed sat on his haunches looking at a snowblower that he’d turned upside down.
“Is she still mad at me?” Skye warily circled the pile of greasy parts.
He shrugged.
It was the kind of response she had been getting from him all her life. His refusal to communicate at a personal level drove her to say things for their shock value alone.
“Do you think someone in the family killed Grandma?” Skye said abruptly.
He shrugged again. It took a lot more than words to make Jed react.
“Almost every one of them has a motive.” Skye stepped back as Jed’s tool slipped and oil sprayed outward.
“Any proof?” Jed tightened a bolt and wiped it with a dirty cloth.
“Not really.” Skye steered the subject away from her lack of evidence and continued in the same vein. “I was wondering about Uncle Dante. Is he a good farmer?”
Jed was silent, finally wiping his hands on the rag and sticking them in his overall pockets. “Can’t really say. Has different ideas than me or Emmett.”
“Oh?”
“Emmett and me, we pretty much agree on most things. You know, do ’em the way it worked before.” Jed looked at Skye. “Dante likes to try new stuff.”
“Is that bad?” Skye’s knowledge of farming was surprisingly limited for having grown up in the country.
“Sometimes. Depends if they work or not.” Jed flipped over the snowblower.
“And were his new methods successful?”
“Not so’s you’d notice.”
“Has he bought a lot of new machinery lately?” Skye knew that a simple tractor could cost more than fifty-five thousand dollars.
“Yeah, he likes new equipment. Likes things to be shiny and bright.”
Skye pictured her father’s machinery. Most of it was decades old, and one would be hard-pressed to tell what color it had started out, but it all ran as if brand-new, thanks to Jed’s talent as a mechanic. She knew her father kept Emmett’s equipment running too, but she couldn’t recall Dante ever asking for help.
“Do you think maybe Uncle Dante was skimming a little off the top of the Leofanti trust?”
Jed took out his pocketknife and started to clean his nails. “You best leave that idea alone.”
“Why?” Her tone sharpened.
“ ’Cause none of his sisters wants to go down that road.”
“Oh, so they know.”
“Nah, but they don’t want to know either.” Jed finished with his fingernails and replaced the knife in his pocket.
Skye was stumped as to where to go from that point. To buy some time to think she asked a question she had always been curious about. “Why do you farm, Dad?”
At first she didn’t think he was going to answer. “ ’Cause I like bein’ my own boss and doin’ what I want when I want.” Jed pulled the bill of his International Harvester gimme cap down over his eyes.
She nodded thoughtfully. It was a feeling she could relate to. Jed was gathering his tools and wiping them down. Silences never seemed to bother him. She admired that trait even though she found it difficult to deal with at times.
“Does Uncle Dante make a good living from his land?” Maybe her mother and aunts didn’t want to know what Dante was up to, but she still did.
Jed lifted his cap and scratched his head. “Well, now, the last couple of years have been tough for us all. Not enough rain for growing and too much for harvesting.”
“Has he had to sell anything off?”
“That would never happen. Selling land is against his religion.”
“I’ll bet he was upset then when it looked like some of Grandma’s land would have to be sold to take care of her.” Skye watched as her father coaxed life out of the decrepit snowblower’s engine.
“Yeah, he was fit to be tied. Said no way were they selling his heritage.”
It was nearly five when Skye parked the Buick in her driveway. She grabbed her tote bag from the backseat and started up the sidewalk toward her cottage.
Blood. There was blood everywhere. Skye had never seen so much blood.
Skye stood transfixed on the sidewalk. Splashes of crimson decorated her door. BITCH was written in four- foot letters across the white siding.
Her eyes frantically searched the surrounding area.
She backed slowly to the car, and after gaining the safety of the front seat, locked all the doors. Her heart was beating twice its usual pace and sweat poured down her face and puddled under her arms.
Inconsequential thoughts kept crowding into her mind, while the movie projector in her brain insisted on replaying the scene over and over, at different speeds, as she put the Buick in gear and tore out of the
