her eyes shut, then exclaimed, “Suzie! That was the girl.” She tried again but shook her head. “Nope. I can’t recall the boy’s name.” She made a wry face. “Nowadays my mind works like lightning. One brilliant flash and it’s gone.”
“Shoot!”
“Sorry. It was so long ago and the Neals weren’t much for neighboring. The mother never let the kids play outside.”
“Do you think your husband might remember?” Skye asked, crossing her fingers.
“He might have. Henry had a good memory.” Jenny sat back. “But he died last year.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Skye could have bitten her tongue.
“Thank you. The damn fool tried to beat a train across the tracks.” Jenny’s expression was hard to read. “My son moved back in to keep me company.”
“I’m sure that was a blessing.”
“Are you?” Jenny raised an eyebrow. “You know the old saying about setting something free?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it needs to be revised. Because if that something sits on your couch, hogs your TV, eats you out of house and home, and doesn’t seem to understand you set it free, then chances are you gave birth to it.”
Skye chuckled sympathetically. “Is there anyone else on the street who might remember the Neal boy’s name?” Skye asked, then added, “Or can you think of anyone at all who might know it?”
“We’re the only ones who’ve been here for more than five years. The others . . . well, they come and go.” Jenny paused, then leaned forward and whispered, “Quentin Neal’s mistress might know.”
“Who was that?” Skye fought to keep her expression neutral. No one else had mentioned a mistress. Quentin must have been good at keeping secrets.
“I only saw her twice,” Jenny confided. “The first time when she dropped him off in front of the house one afternoon when his wife and the kids weren’t home.”
“Maybe it was just a friend, another teacher, or someone from the choir.”
“Friends don’t spend twenty minutes making out in the front seat.” Jenny crossed her arms. “She drove a fancy Cadillac, and they even disappeared from view a few times. It was real obvious what they were doing in that car, and it wasn’t grading papers or singing solos.”
“How about the second time?”
“Funny. Now that I think about it . . .” Jenny scratched her head. “It was the day of his wife’s accident. In fact, not too long before the ambulance arrived.”
“What did his lover look like?” Skye asked. “Was there anything special about her that you remember? Anything special about the car?”
“Well, she had ash blond hair that she wore in one of those chignon thingies. Plus her clothes looked expensive. And I’d say she was several years older than he was. She seemed real stylish, like she lived in the city, not Scumble River.”
CHAPTER 21
“Friends in Low Places”
Jenny Vanda hadn’t been able to answer any more of Skye’s questions, but she promised to call her if she thought of anything. Next on Skye’s agenda was a stop at the supermarket. After picking up cold cuts, macaroni salad, and more dog food, Skye got into the checkout line.
Ahead of her, paying for his purchases, was the fiddle player from Flint James’s backup band. He looked at Skye, cocked his head as if he should know her, then shrugged and walked away. He appeared to be in his late teens, and Skye certainly hoped Kallista hadn’t told Rex that this boy was her lover.
The pear-shaped young man sacking her purchases peered at each package as he deposited it in the bag. When he handed her the sack, he said, “You know, all this processed food isn’t good for either you or your dog.” He stroked his barely-there goatee. “You really should be eating organic.”
“Thanks for your concern.”
As Skye drove home, she tried to figure out the identity of the mysterious other woman in Quentin Neal’s life. Still thinking about Jenny Vanda’s information, Skye parked the Bel Air in the garage, left Toby in the car, and carried her groceries into the house.
She fussed over Bingo until he’d had enough affection, then fed him his Fancy Feast. Only then did she return to the Chevy to get Toby and bring him inside. Skye still didn’t quite trust that he and Bingo would coexist peacefully, but he trotted over to his dish, which she quickly filled with Canine Cuisine, and he chowed down without giving the feline a second glance.
While the animals were occupied with their dinners, Skye changed out of her work clothes. She had already put on a pair of jeans and was pulling an emerald green sweatshirt over her head when she heard the muffled sound of the doorbell ringing.
It was going on seven thirty, around the time Wally had said to expect him. Had he forgotten his key? That wasn’t like him at all.
Curious as to who could be dropping in on a Friday night, she ran down the stairs, pushed aside the curtain covering the front window, and caught her breath. What was Darleen Boyd doing on her front porch?
There was no love lost between Skye and Wally’s ex-wife, so when she opened the door, she kept the chain on. “Darleen, what a surprise.”
“I’ll bet.” Darleen was nearly six feet tall and cadav-erously thin. “I need to talk to you, woman to woman. Can I come in?”
Skye hesitated. It was probably best to exercise a certain amount of caution. “I’m sort of busy right now. Maybe we could meet for coffee tomorrow morning at the Feed Bag, or the new bookstore in town has a cafe that serves fabulous baked goods and cappuccinos.”
“Please.” Darleen held out a hand, and Skye could see that her nails were bitten so short they looked raw. “It needs to be tonight.”
Skye couldn’t think of an excuse to turn Darleen away. Wally’s ex-wife might dislike her, but she’d never been violent. “If it’s important—”
“I promise I’ll make this short.” Darleen was shivering uncontrollably, and her baby-doll minidress revealed skeletally thin arms and legs.
“Well . . .” Why wasn’t Darleen wearing a coat? Skye bit her lip. It went against her nature to turn down someone in need, especially such a waiflike creature. Darleen looked as if a stiff wind would blow her away, and October was known for its blustery weather.
“Please, just five minutes.” Darleen’s voice was desperate, but her expression was hard to read. “Really. I’ll be in and out before you know it.”
“Okay.” Skye nodded, unhooked the chain, and swung open the door.
Instantly, a man who had been standing just out of Skye’s line of sight propelled Darleen over the threshold, crowding in right behind her. He was huge, with bulging biceps and long blond hair tied back in a ponytail. An enormous cross hung from a thick gold chain around his neck.
Darleen stepped aside and Mr. Muscles grabbed Skye so that his forearm rested against her throat. She screamed and tried to wiggle free, kicking back at his shins and clawing at his arm, but the Incredible Hulk seemed impervious to her efforts to free herself.
He swung Skye around so that she was facing the staircase, and ordered over his shoulder, “Dar, don’t just stand there like an idiot. Check out the place and make sure we don’t have company.”
“Uh, sure, Gary. Sorry,” Darleen stuttered, then disappeared up the steps.
Realizing she would not accomplish anything by struggling, Skye decided it was time to use her skills as a psychologist. “If you tell me what you want, I’ll be happy to get it for you—then you can leave. We don’t need all this drama.”
Gary snorted but otherwise remained silent, still holding Skye prisoner. While they waited, she tried to think of an escape plan. Just before the creep had grabbed her, Skye had noticed that neither Darleen nor her boyfriend
