Skye let his words sink in as she took the Weber Road exit and followed it until it curved left onto Naper Boulevard. “You don’t want fame and fortune? You don’t want to be someone?”
As she maneuvered the huge aqua vehicle into a parking spot, Vince patted her knee. “I am someone. I have a feeling fame and fortune aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.” He bounded out of the car. “Besides, now that I’m drumming again, maybe I’ll hook up with a band and we’ll become the next teen craze.”
Skye joined her brother, and together they walked into Meijer Superstore. She had never been there before, although she had heard a lot about the megamart. It was gigantic. People were stationed every few feet, holding red flags to direct customers to the correct section of the building. They looked like the flight crew on the deck of an aircraft carrier.
Vince went to price supplies for his shop. Skye followed the greeter’s directions to the beverage aisle. Twin walls full of every kind of soda, juice drink, and specialty water made her gape. She had never seen so many different ways to say “fruit juice.” She was midway down the second side when she spotted the bottle she had seen next to Lorelei’s dead body. She picked it up off the shelf. It was clear with a rounded bottom, a slight indentation about a quarter of the way up, and a neck that appeared to have been twisted several times. The cap was gold.
Eagerly, Skye turned the label toward her. It was blue, and printed in yellow letters were the words SEA MIST. Right beneath were smaller black letters that said: “ginseng, astragalus & agave.” To the right of those words was a sailboat and farther down was the single word VAPOR.
Besides Vapor, it also came in three other flavors—Shore, Star, and Blaze. She took one of each and went in search of the store manager. He confirmed her suspicions. Meijer’s was the only chain in the Chicago area that sold the Sea Mist brand.
It was nearly five by the time Skye got home from the megamart. After putting away the Sea Mist and changing into slacks and a twin set, she immediately began preparing supper. The doorbell was ringing as she slid a tuna casserole into the oven. It had to bake for half an hour. She hoped Kent was starving.
“That color suits you. It must be
“Thank you.” She guided him into the back half of the cottage, which consisted of an open area lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, intermixed with bookcases and a set of French doors. “How were rehearsals?” She wanted to keep the discussion away from their relationship until she had a chance to question him about Lorna.
“Fine. Zoe has more talent than I gave her credit for. She makes a fine little Sleeping Beauty.” He settled into Skye’s newest piece of furniture, a cream-colored recliner.
“Would you like a drink? I have soda, Sea Mist, wine . . .” She wanted to see if he’d react to the name of the drink found beside Lorelei’s body.
Kent didn’t appear to notice. “No whiskey?”
She shook her head.
“Damn, I could do with a whiskey. Wine it will have to be.”
Skye’s mouth tightened. She’d been taught it was impolite to ask for something the host didn’t offer. “Coming up.”
In the kitchen, she poured the cheap wine into a crystal goblet, put it on a silver tray, and carried it out to him. She watched closely as he took a healthy swallow.
“This is awful.” Kent plunked down the glass with such force Skye was sure it would break.
“Really? I’m so sorry.” Skye played innocent. “And it’s the only liquor I have in the house. Would you rather have a soda?”
He took another sip and grimaced. “No. I need a drink.”
Skye saw her opening. “Has that VanHorn woman been bothering you again?”
“She’s relentless. She wants her daughter to win. It doesn’t matter if it’s a quiz worth ten points or a national beauty pageant; Zoe must have it all.” Kent drank steadily and Skye kept topping off his glass.
“Isn’t that typical of most moms?”
“It’s the length she and some of these women go to that’s astonishing.”
“I suppose some have even offered to sleep with you,” Skye said casually.
He smirked. “It goes with the territory. Of course, I’ve always turned them down.”
Skye moved into the kitchen to check on dinner.
Kent followed. She handed him the platter of Jell-O. He held it as if it were alive. “What is this?”
“Surely you’ve seen blue Jell-O before.”
“But what’s suspended inside?” Kent swallowed hard. “They look like . . .”
“Gummy worms. See how the Jell-O mold is sitting on shredded cabbage? It’s supposed to look like a pond in the middle of the field.” Skye bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “Go ahead and put the platter on the table by the French doors. I’ll be right there.”
She took the casserole and bowl of mashed potatoes in herself.
After they had helped themselves to the food, Skye continued, “What’s your opinion of Zoe?”
“A mouthwatering little morsel with the morals of an alley cat.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I hear the kids talk. She’s slept with the entire football team, except Troy, and she’s working on him.” Kent took a bite of the entree. “What the devil is this?”
“Captain’s casserole.”
“Huh?”
“Tuna with cheese, noodles, peas, and potato chips crumbled on top.”
“You’re kidding.”
“It’s an old family recipe.” Skye fought to keep a straight face.
“What’s this orange stuff?” Kent thrust his fork toward her.
“A cheese that is in the recipe.”
“It looks like Velveeta.”
“Yes, doesn’t it?” Skye hurried with another question, hoping to get in a few more answers before Kent realized he was deliberately getting a miserable meal. “So, did Lorelei have a reputation for sleeping around like Zoe?”
“No, very different. She didn’t seem to be that attracted to teenage boys. They called her the ice queen.” Kent forked up some mashed potatoes. “Where’s the gravy?”
“Sorry, no gravy. Here, try some butter. How about some pickled beets? They’re Midwest soul food.”
Kent shook his head and muttered. “I see why we’ve always gone out to eat.”
“What?” she asked sharply.
“Just wondering what’s for dessert.”
“I’ll get it. I’m sure you’ll like it.”
She returned carrying a full glass bowl.
Kent leaned forward eagerly. “Is that my favorite?” He took a big spoonful, put it in his mouth, and frowned. “That’s not Tiramasu.”
Skye pasted on a sad expression and allowed her shoulders to slump. “Not exactly. I had to use banana pudding for the custard and vanilla wafers for the lady fingers.”
“Ah, Scumble River’s grocery store doesn’t carry the real ingredients, I suppose.”
Why had she ever dated this guy? Skye wondered. Her taste in men was truly atrocious. So far this week one had trapped her in a coffin, another had arrested her, and now this jerk had insulted her cooking
She said coolly, all traces of her fake remorse gone, “That’s not it at all. I just didn’t think you deserved a good meal.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Skye ignored his question. “I’ll bet Lorna Ingels would serve you a meal more to your tastes. She seems pretty sophisticated.”
