Murder of a Bookstore Babe

now that those people have been cleared.”

“That’s good, then.” Neva nodded, seemingly satisfied, at least for now.

“I’m going to mingle to make sure Kayla’s friends are handling their grief okay and no one gets carried away.” Skye pushed the chair into its original position and got up. “I’ll see you later.”

As Skye moved around the floral display, a commotion at the entrance drew her attention. Standing just inside the room, arguing in loud whispers, were Xenia and Chase. Skye had thought it odd that neither Kayla’s boyfriend nor her BFF were there when she arrived, but now she wondered whether it hadn’t been for the best.

Skye moved toward them in time to hear Chase say to Xenia, “I told you not to show up here if you were going to dress like a freak.”

Chase was wearing a charcoal wool suit, gray shirt, and striped silk tie. He looked as if he had just stepped out of GQ. Xenia had on ripped tights, an oversize leather coat that dragged behind her like a train, and army boots. Then again, they were all black.

“Hi, Ms. D.” Xenia saw Skye before Chase did. “This moron thinks that the dead care about how you dress. Tell him he’s wrong.”

Not giving Skye a chance to answer, Chase said, “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” His voice cracked, and he blinked furiously. “Of course the dead don’t care, but you need to have some respect for Mr. and Mrs. O’Brien.” He appealed to Skye, “Right?”

Xenia didn’t wait for Skye to respond either. “Those hypocrites?” She tossed her hair, the scarlet stripe looking eerily like a vein of blood as it curled through the black tresses. “The only time they paid any attention to Kayla was when they needed her to babysit or wanted her to cook and clean.”

“That’s not true.” Chase’s handsome face was mottled with red. “They only wanted her to be sensible and act like a proper young lady.”

“Just leave me alone.” Xenia sniffed, then marched off, saying over her shoulder, “I refuse to star in your psychodrama.”

Chase turned to Skye. “Kayla was going to, you know.”

“Going to what?” Skye asked

“Be a proper young lady. She was going to quit film school and marry me. I told her my wife would never have to earn a living. I make plenty of money working at my dad’s real estate agency.”

“Oh?” Skye encouraged him to continue. Kayla hadn’t impressed Skye as the stay-at-home-wife type.

Chase stared blankly at the casket. “I should never have let her take that job. My salary would have supported us both.”

“I see.” Wow! Skye had really read Kayla wrong. She’d thought the girl was way more independent than that.

“Everyone said we were the perfect couple.” Chase nodded, as if Skye had agreed with him, then lumbered toward where Xenia had stopped to talk to a group of teenagers.

Instead of following him, Skye pondered what she had just heard. Who was right? Neva and Xenia, who were certain Kayla’s folks were neglectful and used her like an indentured servant? Or Chase, who thought Mr. and Mrs. O’Brien were employing good old-fashioned values—which was just fine with him?

The remaining hours crawled by, and Skye moved through the room chatting with as many attendees as she could. Everyone concurred with Neva’s assessment of Kayla. The girl had been well liked by all, extremely hardworking, and truly helpful to her friends. Those who had seen her films also agreed that she was enormously talented and would have been a famous director one day.

Feelings were more mixed about Kara. Most didn’t approve of the way she had treated her daughter, but they were somewhat understanding of the woman’s dilemma. When she had married Mick fifteen years ago, Kara had been a single mother of a four-year-old with no education or skills to support herself or her child. Mick had been a savior, and she was willing to do what he said.

In contrast, Mick was nearly unanimously thought to be a controlling jerk who ruled Kara with an iron fist, had no interest in Kayla, and had been happy she would be moving out completely in a month. Still, no one could think of any reason for him to kill his stepdaughter.

It was nearly seven thirty when Skye felt a wave of exhaustion hit her. She’d been on the go for more than twelve hours and had not eaten since noon. She needed a break and a candy bar. Making her way to a sofa situated off to the side of the row of folding chairs, she sat down, prepared to intervene if any of the remaining teenagers needed comforting. So far, although Kayla’s friends had been sad, none had become hysterical, but it took only one to set off all the rest.

Skye settled back, relieved to be off her feet, and fished a Kit Kat from her tote bag. She had spoken briefly with Simon, but he’d had no new information about Xavier, who had the night off.

Nevertheless, as Skye bit into the chocolate-covered wafer, something was bugging her. Something Hugo had said had pertained to Xavier. But what was it? Finally she stopped trying to think of it, hoping it would come to her after she had a good night’s sleep.

CHAPTER 21

All the King’s Men

Saturday afternoon, Skye arrived at Tales and Treats early for the store’s first author event. She was eager to meet a real live novelist, as well as intent on talking to Rise about her previous job. Wally had agreed that since Skye had established a rapport with the shop owner, she would be the best one to approach Rise regarding her past and to ask her if any locals had lost money when her employer went to jail.

A chat with Xenia was also on Skye’s to-do list. She didn’t believe for a minute that the girl was really working at the store to earn a salary. Xenia’s true motivation had to be something more Machiavellian.

As per Skye’s usual luck, both Rise and Xenia were busy with customers when she stepped through the door. Frustrated, she walked over to a rack of greeting cards near the register. From this location she could watch and seize whatever opportunity arose to speak to either woman.

Skye was giggling over a humorous birthday card featuring a black cat wearing a tiara when a commotion near the entrance drew her attention. Curious, she looked over her shoulder, blinked several times, then froze, unable to believe her eyes.

Oh, my gosh! What were the Dooziers doing at a book signing? They weren’t a family that generally valued the written word, nor did they attend many of Scumble River’s social occasions. So, what in the heck were they doing here? Spelling not being their long suit, had they supposed that a store with “tales” in its name sold hunting dogs? Or maybe, because beer was the ultimate delicacy, they figured that the “treats” part had to mean a bar?

Earl Doozier, the patriarch, led his brood straight through the middle of the store. Tattoos covered most of his body, and he usually wore shorts and a tank top so everyone could enjoy them. But today he had on overalls, a corduroy blazer with leather elbow patches, and a limp fedora with a chunk missing from the brim. Skye wondered whether one of his hounds, or possibly one of his offspring, had taken a bite out of it.

Following him like reluctant ducklings were his son Junior, his nephew Cletus, and his twelve-year-old daughter Bambi. All three of the kids’ sullen expressions matched that of the woman who brought up the rear.

Earl’s wife, Glenda, was clad in a denim miniskirt that showed her butt cheeks with every step she took and a red T-shirt that had been ripped open and tied back together just under her breasts. Skye thought the high-heeled purple cowboy boots were a nice touch.

Glenda’s chalk white skin and heavily made-up face caused her to look more corpselike than any cadaver Skye had ever seen in a casket. Topping off this fashion disaster was a head of poorly dyed-blond hair that had been styled into an elaborately teased tower that soared a good two feet in the air. By comparison, the six-inch feather earrings and daggerlike fuchsia fingernails seemed almost ladylike.

Skye had dealt with most of the Dooziers in the years she had been the Scumble River school psychologist. They had a family tree full of stunted twigs and thorny branches, but in a funny way, she counted them among her friends. Maybe not pals she’d go to the movies and dinner with, but allies she could count on.

With that in mind, and not wanting them to stumble into any trouble or get their feelings hurt, Skye replaced the greeting card she’d been reading in the rack, pasted a smile on her face, and sprinted over to the Dooziers.