Murder of a Bookstore Babe

“How about what isn’t relevant? Come on, Skye. You’re the police consultant and engaged to the chief. The girls expect me to tell them stuff everyone else doesn’t know.”

Skye opened her mouth, but Jed spoke first. “Ma, gossip’s not very Christian of you.”

May’s cheeks reddened. “I can’t help it. I got RLS.”

“What’s that?” Trixie asked.

“I saw it on that talk show,” May explained. “That one with the Hollywood psychiatrist. He says people like me have Restless Lips Syndrome.”

For a nanosecond the group was silent; then they all chimed in with their opinions regarding TV hosts and their medical qualifications. As the voices reached a peak, Skye caught a blur of black fur out of the corner of her eye and rose from her chair.

With everyone distracted, Bingo must have decided this was the perfect time to make a move on the roast. He ran past the people seated at the table, crouched, and launched himself at the counter. They all watched as at the last moment he apparently realized he couldn’t make it and flailed all four legs as if he were trying to fly, then dropped to floor. Everyone roared with laughter, and Bingo stalked out of the kitchen.

“Poor kitty,” Trixie murmured. “Do you think he’s hurt?”

Skye shook her head. “Just his pride.” She sat back down. “A cat’s irritation rises in direct proportion to his embarrassment times the amount of human laughter.”

Bingo’s antics had served to sidetrack the conversation, and May remembered that supper was ready. Which was a relief. Skye was starving. As the others discussed the burglary, the new store owners, and Kayla’s death, Skye devoured several slices of juicy roast beef, a mountain of creamy mashed potatoes, and heaping spoonfuls of corn casserole, then finished it off by using one of May’s homemade Parker House rolls to sop up the rich, dark gravy.

Once her hunger was appeased, she tuned back into the conversation just in time to hear Charlie say, “I don’t think it was a break-in at all. I bet you six ways to Saturday someone meant to kill that Risé woman.”

Skye asked, “What makes you say that, Uncle Charlie?”

“That woman and her husband have rubbed a lot of people the wrong way.” Charlie took the last swallow of his Budweiser and held up the can, jiggling it to indicate he was in need of another. “They’re sticking their hands into a lot of people’s pockets, and you mess with someone’s livelihood and you’re likely going to get burned.”

“Who?” May hurried to replace Charlie’s beer. “Anyone important?”

“Me, for instance.” Charlie reached for the bowl of Waldorf salad. “Flip Allen told me they’re fixing up rooms above their store to rent out to tourists. That’s going to cut in on my business at the motor court.”

“How did Flip know they were going to use that space as a bed-and-breakfast?” Skye asked. Flip was married to her cousin Ginger Leofanti Allen.

“He was the one who did the remodeling for them.” Charlie emptied the remaining potatoes onto his plate. “Said they tried to stiff him.”

“How?” Trixie asked.

“Wouldn’t pay him after he did all the work.” Charlie ladled gravy over the snowy mound.

Skye was silent for a moment, remembering that Kayla had mentioned overhearing that argument; then she said, “I thought Flip worked for that big builder who’s been putting in that development west of town. When I talked to him about doing some stuff at my house last summer, he told me he signed a contract with them not to do any independent jobs.”

“I don’t know anything about that.” Charlie shrugged. “He must have gotten some kind of dispensation.”

“Who else, Uncle Charlie?” Vince’s green eyes gleamed with interest, and he absentmindedly smoothed back the sides of his butterscotch blond hair. He was an extremely handsome man who had dated most of the single women in Scumble River and its surrounding counties at least once.

“Tomi over to the Feed Bag’s not too happy at the prospect of them siphoning off her morning-coffee-and-donut crowd.” Charlie forked a piece of beef into his mouth, then spoke around it. “That, and people stopping in the afternoon for a piece of pie, is a good chunk of change for her. With Erwin baking fresh stuff all day, folks might go to Tales and Treats instead.”

Skye wondered whether Charlie was aware of Hugo’s and Pru’s grudges against the store owners, so she asked, “Anyone else you can think of?”

“Your cousin Kevin Denison had a run-in with them about their insurance.” Charlie gestured with his knife. “They gave him a hard time about the premium he quoted being different from the actual amount they had to pay.”

Great! Another cousin was unhappy with the bookstore owners—that made two from the Denison side and one from the Leofantis. “But why do you think they’d want Risé dead versus Orlando?” Skye asked.

“Because she’s a bi—witch.” Charlie finished eating and wiped his mouth. “Her husband is just an idiot.”