“We need to get Owen’s DNA,” Wally said after a few minutes of silence. “But I don’t want to come right out and ask for it.”
“Because, as you said earlier, you don’t want him to know he’s a suspect?”
“Right.” Wally twitched his shoulders as if his neck were stiff.
“I really would like to be able to look him in the eye again, without having that nagging doubt in my mind.”
Wally passed a slow-moving combine, waving to the driver. “Too bad there’s no legal way to get his blood without his knowledge.”
“Yeah.” Skye stroked Toby, letting her thoughts wander ; then, as Wally guided the T-bird into the self- storage lot, she blurted, “The Red Cross.”
“What?”
“The Farm Bureau had a blood drive this past Monday, and Owen always gives.” Skye twisted to look at Wally. “That means, if you can get his blood from them, you don’t need a warrant for it. Once he donates it, he gives up all expectations of privacy.”
“How do you know that?”
“I saw it on some TV program,” Skye admitted. “But surely the show’s writers would have to get something like that correct.”
“Maybe.” Wally sounded unconvinced. “I’ll check with the city attorney.”
While Wally made that call, Skye examined the storage facility. It looked a little like a fifties-style motel, albeit a windowless one surrounded by a six-foot-high chain-link fence with razor wire strung across the top.
There appeared to be two types of spaces available: one the size of a single-car garage, and the other twice that large. The siding was a dirty tan, and paint was peeling off the steel doors.
Skye and Wally were parked in front of one of the larger units. She couldn’t see any other vehicles, and the facility was silent except for the sound of Wally’s voice as he talked into his cell phone.
Several minutes later, he clicked the sleek black device shut, exited the T-bird, and opened Skye’s door. “Ready to investigate?”
“Yep.” Skye wiggled out of the low-slung sports car, conscious of her skirt riding up, and asked, “Is it okay to bring Toby inside?”
“Sure. There’s nothing in there he can hurt.”
Once Wally took the key from his pocket and opened the lock, Skye preceded him into the dark interior. It had an eerie, deserted vibe, and she was glad when Wally reached past her and pulled a chain attached to a bare bulb, flooding the room with light.
Now she could see the labyrinth of cardboard boxes surrounding her. The entire unit was stacked with bins, crates, and cartons as far as Skye could see. A narrow path wound through the maze, but Skye could make out only a few feet in front of her.
“Where do we start?” Skye tried to keep her voice even, and not reveal how overwhelmed she felt by the sheer volume of records.
“Let’s do a walk-through.” Wally’s tone was grim. “Maybe there’s some organizational method that isn’t obvious at first glance.”
“Okay.” As Skye navigated the warren, she read the words hand lettered in black on the sides of the boxes. “It looks like they’re arranged by year.”
“That’s something.” Arriving at the back of the space, Wally pulled the chain on another bare bulb, then motioned to a long table against the rear wall. “We can sort through the cartons on this.”
“Sure.” Skye gripped Toby’s leash; he’d begun trying to tug her forward. “I wonder if anyone’s been here since they dropped off the records.”
“I doubt—” Wally broke off and pointed to the floor, then said softly, “I guess they have, and I’d say fairly recently, too.”
A fresh trail of footprints disturbed the thick layer of dust that covered the floor. The prints led away from where Skye and Wally now stood and into an aisle they hadn’t been down yet.
Skye started to reply, but Wally put a finger to his lips and motioned her behind him. He unsnapped his holster and rested his hand on the butt of his gun, then moved forward.
Skye picked up Toby and followed. The cartons near the door bore dates beginning in the 1990s, and as she moved down the second aisle, she saw boxes marked 1980, then 1979.
Wally stopped abruptly. He stood motionless, but everything about his stance screamed that he was on high alert. Suddenly, he tilted his head, and at the sound of a door easing closed, he took off running.
Toby whined and tried to leap from Skye’s arms to follow him, but she tightened her grasp and clamped a hand over the canine’s muzzle. Should she go after Wally? No, better to stay here and not distract him from his pursuit. It wasn’t as if she could run fast enough to catch anyone, not while wearing high heels, a dress, and carrying a dog.
Skye crept forward a few steps and saw papers scattered across the floor. Taking out a bag she’d tucked into her pocket to dispose of any future doggy deposits, she slipped it over her right hand. Using one plastic-covered finger, she fanned out the sheets and glanced through them. They were records concerning a twenty-seven-year-old bicycle theft from the park’s bike rack.
Next, she righted a carton that was lying on its side and saw black Magic Marker numbers scrawled across the edge. She squinted until they came into focus—1978. Underneath the year, MAY—JUNE was written in smaller print.
Glancing around, she noticed an empty file folder crumpled in a corner. She gingerly moved it toward her with the toe of her shoe. A white label across the top read PAULETTE NEAL.
CHAPTER 17
“Hey Good Lookin’”
The windows along Scumble River’s main drag were dark when Skye and Wally drove back to town. Wally hadn’t been able to catch the intruder, who had presumably stolen the contents of the Neal folder, so he’d had to call in a county crime technician to dust the empty box and the other files for fingerprints. By the time the tech arrived, did her job, and departed, it was close to eight thirty, which meant Skye and Wally didn’t get home until after nine.
Skye’s stomach growled as Wally turned the T-bird into the church parking lot. Both she and Toby were starving, and she’d bet Bingo would be yowling for food as well.
“You sure you don’t want to get a bite at McDonald’s ?” Wally asked, opening her door.
“No.” Skye slid behind the wheel of her Bel Air and deposited Toby in the backseat. “I have a hungry cat waiting for me.”
“Okay.” Wally kissed her cheek. “Then I’ll stay here and work on the case awhile.” He jutted his chin toward the police station behind him. “Although I’m not sure where to start.”
“Yeah.” Skye sighed in sympathy. “I imagine it’s hard to figure out who had a motive to kill Suzette when you have so little information about the real person behind the public persona.”
“Exactly.” Wally shoved a hand through his hair. “We’re not aware of any Scumble Riverites with whom she had more than casual contact, although we’re still looking. And so far, all of the owners of black pickups we’ve located have alibis. We’ve interviewed the Country Roads employees and the laborers who were on the theater construction site, but everyone says she kept to herself.”
“Even Kallista Taylor and Flint James?” Skye asked, then said, “Dang it! I never did tell you the negative things they said about her Saturday night, did I?” Skye described the scene in the trailer, ending with, “So both Flint and Kallista were jealous of Suzette. For Flint it was professional; for Kallista it was personal.”
“No one mentioned a word about that yesterday or today in any of the interviews we conducted with the Country Roads people.”
“Of course not.” Skye crossed her arms. “Who would volunteer that kind of information about the star or the boss’s wife?”
“Nobody who wanted to keep his or her job.” Wally’s eyes were cold. “But tomorrow will begin round two of
