employee?”
“A police officer, yes, but your position is unique, so I’m not sure.” Wally shrugged. “Anyway, I have no problem lying to the bad guys if it means putting them behind bars or saving you from harm.”
“Thank you.” Skye smiled. “I’d do the same for you, even though I’m not a great liar.”
“I know. You’re better at avoiding the truth.” Wally took the last bite of his sandwich, swallowed, then asked, “Does drug rehab really work?”
“Sometimes.”
“What do you think Darleen’s chances are?” Furrows appeared in Wally’s forehead.
“Not great.” Skye slumped back in her seat. “But it’s probably her only hope.”
“Yeah. I guess I owe her that much.” Wally put his arm around Skye. “Even if she was the one to leave me for another man, in reality I was never a good husband because I couldn’t fully love her. My heart always belonged to you and I think she sensed that.”
“You really are a special kind of guy—to not only admit you might have been at fault, but to recognize it in the first place. That’s why I love you so much.” Although Skye felt a warm glow at Wally’s words, she felt more sympathy for Darleen than she ever had before. Knowing you were second best had to be a horrible way to live your married life. “But why me?”
“Darlin’”—Wally tilted her chin up—“that’s hard to put into words.”
“I know you’re the silent cowboy type,” Skye teased him, “but try.”
“Okay.” Wally grinned. “You remind me of a good wine. Full bodied with just the right amount of nuttiness.”
“Very funny.” Skye whacked his biceps, then sobered. “You know, until tonight, it never dawned on me that as the fiancee or wife of a potentially wealthy man, I could be a target.” Shuddering, she nestled closer. “If I’m ever kidnapped, I don’t want you to pay the ransom.”
“I appreciate that.” Wally stroked her hair. “And even though the odds aren’t in favor of a kidnap victim, I would still have to try. You are my whole world and I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t do everything in my power to save you.”
“Aww. You are the sweetest man.”
Some moments later, Skye was almost asleep when she remembered what she had found out. “I have some info about Suzette’s father. He was having an affair.” Skye explained what she’d learned from Jenny Vanda, finishing with, “So, do you think the mystery woman killed Paulette?”
“Anything is possible.”
Skye nodded. “I just remembered. Hank Vanda mentioned a drug house in his neighborhood.”
“I’ll put Quirk on that in the morning.” Wally grabbed the bottle of Sam Adams from the coffee table. “Too bad Mrs. Vanda didn’t know the name of Neal’s lover.” He took a slug of beer, then mused, “I wonder how many sophisticated-looking blondes driving Cadillacs were around here back in 1978.”
“At least one.”
CHAPTER 22
“When I Call Your Name”
The next day, Wally left right after breakfast. He usually had the weekends off, but this Saturday morning Darleen and her boyfriend were being transported from the Scumble River jail to the county facility, which meant Wally had to meet with the Stanley County state’s attorney to discuss the two desperadoes’ crimes.
Once Wally was gone, Skye started in on the housecleaning. While she worked, she pondered the identity of Quentin Neal’s lover. Where would he have met her? Most places he’d go, he’d be accompanied by his wife and children, and the woman Jenny Vanda had described didn’t sound like someone who would hang out at the local gin joints.
So where else would Quentin and his girlfriend have had the opportunity to meet and form an intimate relationship?
Skye was putting away the vacuum cleaner when it struck her. The most obvious places were school and the church choir. Could his lover be Noreen Iverson? No. The music teacher was neither blond nor sophisticated.
Furthermore, Skye seriously doubted an affair conducted at the high school could have been hidden from Pru Cormorant. That woman was better at sniffing out scandal than Bingo was at inhaling cat treats.
That left the church choir, which had practiced every Wednesday night for as long as Skye could remember. And since Paulette didn’t participate, it was the perfect place for Quentin to make a love connection.
Skye finished the housework by ten thirty, and after showering and dressing in jeans and a long-sleeved T- shirt, she settled in to make some calls. Several of her aunts and cousins currently sang in the choir, so she just had to find a relative who had been a member twenty-seven years ago and remembered an elegant blonde who drove a Caddy. Easy peasy, right?
Although Aunt Minnie hadn’t been able to think of any sophisticated fair-haired women in the choir around 1978, she had promised to keep trying. Skye had just said good-bye to her aunt when the phone rang again, and hoping Minnie had thought of a name, she scooped up the receiver without checking the caller ID.
“Skye,” Simon’s voice surprised her. “I may have figured out why Suzette looked familiar. Who she reminded me of.”
“Great.” Skye reached for her pen and a legal pad. “Who is it?”
“I’d rather not say until I’m certain.” Simon’s tone was cautious.
“So why did you call me?” Skye tried not to sound impatient.
“I want to see if you agree that this person resembles Suzette.”
“Then I need to know who we’re talking about.” What was up? Simon wasn’t usually this unsure of himself.
Simon paused for a couple of seconds, then said, “Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll pick you up and we’ll go over to the Brown Bag. You look at everyone there and tell me if any of them reminds you of Suzette.”
“You want me to go to a bar with you? At noon on a Saturday? Here in Scumble River?” Skye’s voice grew more incredulous with each question. This excursion sounded suspiciously like a date, albeit not a typical one for Simon to plan, but still a date. Wally would have a fit if word got back to him. “I can’t do that. Just tell me who you think it is.”
“No,” Simon argued. “I’m sure this person will be there. And I want to see if you can pick him or her out.”
“I don’t have anyone to watch Toby.” Which was true, but also a good excuse.
“It’s a nice day. We can leave him in the car. We’ll roll down the window a little, make sure he has water, and give him a rawhide chew.” Simon’s voice was firm. “He’ll be okay for the ten or so minutes we’ll be inside the bar.”
Skye felt backed into a corner. Simon was right—the weather had warmed up since yesterday, and a high of seventy was predicted. Toby would be fine. Not to mention that Simon was incredibly stubborn and would never give her a name unless he was sure of what he was saying.
“Okay.” Skye hoped that as long as she told Wally beforehand, it would be all right.
“Good. I’ll be over in ten minutes.”
As soon as Simon disconnected, Skye punched in the number of Wally’s cell. When she got his voice mail, she hesitated, wondering if she should try his house or his private line at the police station, then realized that leaving a message was the perfect solution. She could inform Wally of what she was about to do, thus not keeping secrets from him, but he couldn’t tell her not to accompany Simon. Skye told herself that getting a lead on Suzette’s killer was too important to allow petty jealousy to get in her way.
After all, Wally had no reason to be upset. She was just doing her job.
When Skye and Simon arrived at the Brown Bag, half a dozen guys were lined up on barstools watching a football game. The enormous wall-mounted flat-screen TV showed every grain of dirt and drop of sweat in full high-definition detail, and the men at the bar cheered when blood shot out of a tight end’s nose.
