Suddenly voices bounced off the walls and filled the small room. Dante’s was the loudest: “What is the meaning of this? You can’t go cutting up someone just to prove you’re a big shot to your girlfriend.” He flung a look at Skye. “Skye, tell him you don’t want your grandmother to have to go through this.”
Skye considered her response. Simon would understand if she didn’t admit that it was her idea in the first place. And Wally and Doc Zello would never tell. But she believed an autopsy was necessary, and it would be spineless not to say so.
Everyone was looking at her, waiting. Vince moved closer.
“I’m sorry, Uncle Dante. I can’t ask Simon not to do an autopsy because I’m the one who talked him into it.”
The roar of voices was deafening, and this time May’s rose above the rest. “Oh, Skye, why?”
Looking at her mother’s face, which seemed to have aged ten years since that morning, Skye was torn. Maybe she should have just let things be. Why did she always seem to be the one stirring the pot?
She had taken too long to answer and now others were shouting questions.
Skye pushed off from the sink and stood straight. “Because when I got here—”
Simon broke in. “Skye, I don’t think you should discuss what you saw. I’m sure the chief would not want that information disseminated.”
The room began to buzz again. Skye heard various bits but couldn’t tell who said them.
“What do you think she saw?”
“Anyone know where Mrs. J is?”
“She’s probably making this whole thing up.”
Most of the babbling stopped at the sound of the door slamming. The appearance of Chief Boyd at the top of the stairs silenced the rest. He looked at Simon, who nodded.
“You all have my sympathies for your loss. I’m sorry that circumstances aren’t different, but I’m sure you all want to know if Antonia was murdered, and if so by whom. The only one who would gain by the termination of this investigation would be the killer.”
When Chief Boyd finished speaking, Skye noticed that the atmosphere in the room began to change. Now her aunts, uncles, and cousins were eyeing each other, perhaps wondering who had been loudest in their objections. Chairs shifted slightly and they appeared to withdraw into themselves.
Chief Boyd allowed them to digest what he had said a little longer, then went on. “We have put an all points bulletin out on the housekeeper. Now, you can all understand when I ask you to leave this house immediately. We will need to keep it secured until we know if it is a crime scene or not, so please do not return without my permission. Also, anyone who went into any room besides the kitchen tonight, please stay behind for a few minutes.”
Some grumbled, but everyone started to gather their belongings and move toward the door. As they formed a natural line, Wally stopped each one of them and asked them to come into the police station the next day to make a statement.
Mona, Ginger, and Hugo admitted to taking a chair from the dining room, but stated they’d gone no farther into the house.
Everyone else had left by the time the Denisons reached the front of the line. Jed, Vince, and May had been through the entire house except the bedrooms. Skye, of course, had been everywhere.
When he heard this, Chief Boyd shook his head. “Okay, well, Skye, I guess that means first thing tomorrow we fingerprint you.”
“Great. When’s first thing to you guys?”
“How about eight?” He didn’t look up from the notes he was taking.
“How about nine?” Skye wasn’t a morning person, and since she’d be taking a personal day due to her grandmother’s death, it would be nice to sleep in a little. She felt tired to the bone.
“Eight. Don’t push it.” He slapped the notebook shut. “Come on, folks, it’s time to leave.” He shepherded them all down the stairs.
After they all shuffled outside, May fetched the hidden key and handed it to the chief, who turned it in the lock. He then went to his car and took a roll of barricade tape out of the trunk. Tearing off a couple of strips, he put them in an X across the front and back doors.
They walked toward their vehicles, everyone having driven separately. Simon accompanied Skye to her car, which was parked in a dark corner beside the garage. As they reached it she noticed that something didn’t look right.
Simon put his hand on her elbow. “I’m surprised your grandmother didn’t have a yard light. Almost everyone in the country does.”
“She does.” Frowning, Skye looked up and pointed. “It must be burnt out.”
“Can you see to unlock your door?”
“It’s not locked. I never lock my door when I’m on the farm.”
“Why? Don’t you think criminals can drive on a gravel road?”
“No, smarty. It’s a habit. On a farm, machinery is always being moved in and out and they have to be able to move the cars to get around.”
“So, you leave the keys in too?”
“Yeah, most of the time.”
“That is really dumb in this day and age.”
“Look, things are different on a farm. I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but usually . . . It’s hard to explain to a city boy. Can we do this a different time? Say anytime except right after my grandmother’s been murdered.” Skye felt tears pushing to overflow but forced them back.
“Fine.”
Her eyes had adjusted to the dark as they stood talking, and what she saw made her gasp.
Simon grabbed her arm. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh my God. My tires.” Skye pointed to the four flats on her car.
“Shit.” Simon walked around the vehicle.
“They couldn’t all go flat at the same time.” Skye moved closer, trying to get a better look.
“No, they couldn’t. Someone slashed them on purpose.”
Skye leaned her head on the leather seat back of Simon’s Lexus. The chief had told Skye he would dust the Buick for prints immediately, but she could wait and fill out a vandalism report when she came in to the police station the following morning. Jed had insisted he would get the tires fixed first thing the next day. Skye hadn’t been able to convince her father that she was capable of arranging for her tires to be replaced herself. And she was too tired to argue for long.
The country roads were dark and Skye almost dozed until Simon stopped for the traffic signal at Maryland and Basin Streets. She shook her head; the only stoplight in town and she always managed to find it on red.
Basin Street, Scumble River’s main thoroughfare, consisted of a six-block area that housed most of the town’s smaller businesses, including the bank and the dry cleaner. Larger establishments, such as the supermarket and hardware store, had moved to the outskirts about ten years earlier in search of parking.
As the Lexus turned onto Stebler, the streetlights became fewer and fewer until they disappeared completely by the time Simon pulled into Skye’s street. She rented a small river cottage from a divorced couple who couldn’t decide who should get ownership. The cottage was ideal for Skye, and she hoped the couple wouldn’t settle their differences until she was able to save some money, find another job, and make her escape from Scumble River.
Simon parked in her driveway and turned to Skye. “Would you like me to come in?”
She frowned, misunderstanding his intent. “I’m really tired and just want to go to sleep.”
He raised an eyebrow. “That’s fine, but wouldn’t you feel better, after all that’s happened, if I made sure the place is safe?”
Skye began to slide out of the car. “Oh, well thanks, but I can take care of myself.”
Simon followed her, watching as she tried unsuccessfully to fit the key in the lock. “Look, your tires were slashed and you’re the one ruffling everyone’s feathers about your grandmother’s death. Don’t you think there might be a connection?”
