Murder of a Bookstore Babe

When Skye entered the principal’s office, Neva, seated at a gleaming cherrywood writing table roughly the size of a cruise ship, looked up and said, “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Uh.” Skye was immediately wary. Neva had never offered her any refreshment before. “Sure.”

“How do you take it?”

“Cream and two packages of Sweet’N Low, if you have it, or three sugars.”

Neva made a moue of distaste but rose and walked over to a sideboard that contained an elaborate apparatus. As she pressed various buttons, Skye took a seat on one of the pair of Queen Anne chairs facing the desk. She fished in her tote for her calendar, a notepad, and a pencil, then put the bag by her feet.

“Enjoy.” Neva handed Skye a delicate cup and saucer decorated with tiny pink roses.

“Thank you.” Skye breathed in the wonderful aroma, then took a taste. Wow! “This is fantastic.”

“Yes, it is.” Neva sat back down and straightened the immaculate leather-bound blotter on her desktop. “I’m very particular about my coffee. One needs the right machine, filtered water, and of course, the best beans to make a good cup.”

“I see.” Skye wondered where Neva was leading. She wasn’t usually inclined to waste time chatting. “Any particular brand you prefer?”

“I usually order my beans directly from Kona, Hawaii, but these are from Tales and Treats.” Neva took a sip. “Mr. Erwin suggested it, and I must say, he was correct in his assessment.”

“He seems very knowledgeable about that sort of thing,” Skye agreed.

“Which, in a way, brings me to why I wanted to see you this morning.” Neva ran a fingertip along the rim of her cup. “I understand both you and Tales and Treats had a difficult weekend.”

“Yes, that’s true.” Shoot! Was Neva also going to yell at her about being the pied piper for the dead? “The protesters on Saturday were bad enough, but finding that poor girl on Sunday was awful.” There. Maybe if Skye made it clear she didn’t enjoy discovering bodies, Neva wouldn’t berate her for doing so.

“I imagine it was,” Neva whispered. A single tear slid down her cheek, and she wiped it away, then cleared her throat. “You’re probably unaware that Kayla Hines was my goddaughter.”

“Oh, my.” Skye swallowed hard. “You’re right, I didn’t know. I’m so sorry for your loss. Would you like to talk about her?”

“Thank you for your condolences.” Neva leaned forward. “But I didn’t bring you in here for sympathy or grief counseling.”

“Oh?” Skye’s heart jumped in alarm, but she forced an unperturbed look on her face.

“From what I’ve been told, the authorities are claiming that Kayla’s death was a result of a break-in gone wrong.” Neva’s intense gaze bore into Skye. “Which means the police will use that as an excuse to limit the investigation.”

“No, but—”

“You’ve got to find out who killed her,” Neva interrupted Skye. “The murderer must be punished.”

“Do you suspect someone?” Skye asked. “Was there anyone who hated Kayla or had it in for her?”

“No.” Neva shook her head. “Everyone loved her. There was something about Kayla that drew people to her.” She frowned. “And that’s the problem. There’s no obvious villain, so the police will give up after only a cursory investigation and blame it on the burglary.”

“I’m sure the officials will use every means available to find Kayla’s murderer.” Skye hadn’t asked Wally whether she should mention that he no longer considered burglary the motive. “And since I do work as the police consultant, I will offer any help I can.”

“That’s not enough.” Neva tapped a manicured nail on the desktop. “As I understand it, the police only seek your advice if the crime was psychologically motivated.”

“That’s often true.” Skye searched for a way to set Neva’s mind at rest without revealing anything Wally might want kept quiet. “But since I found her, I’m already involved, and I will be working the case.”

“Kayla’s parents won’t push.” Neva shook her head, clearly not accepting Skye’s reassurances. “My cousin is under her husband’s thumb and too busy with her second family to spend any energy on Kayla. And Kayla’s stepfather doesn’t care what happened to her.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. It sounds as if Kayla had to grow up fast and rely on herself and her friends to get by.”

“Kayla had such talent and ambition,” Neva explained. “But she was torn because she yearned for a real home but wanted a career that would make it difficult to settle down.”

“That’s a tough choice.” Skye’s tone was soothing.

“I’m counting on you.” Neva gazed at Skye unblinkingly. “You seem to have a special talent for solving mysteries.”

“Not really.” Skye stood up. “The Star has exaggerated my part in previous investigations.” She backed away from the desk, bumping into a delicate butterfly table and leaving a scuff on the ivory wall.

Neva rose, too. A line appeared between her brows as she contemplated the scrape on her formerly pristine paint, and Skye winced. That mark was undoubtedly going straight onto Skye’s permanent record. The one Neva kept in her head.