Murder of a Bookstore Babe

As Skye pulled into her driveway, she checked her watch. It was only a few minutes past five thirty; for once she wouldn’t have to rush. She had time to fix a decent meal, freshen up, and still get to the bookstore in plenty of time to lead the teen discussion group.

Skye had just begun heating a skillet to brown a salmon filet when the phone rang. She turned the flame down and checked caller ID, congratulating herself on having finally gotten it installed. It had been worth the monthly cost ten times over these past few days, when she had been able to avoid her mother’s calls.

Seeing the number of Wally’s private line at the PD, Skye smiled and scooped up the receiver, then froze when May’s voice blasted from the earpiece. “Where have you been? Why haven’t you called me back? And what’s going on with your brother?”

Since Skye didn’t have acceptable answers for any of those questions, the conversation with her mother was long and painful.

Skye had long since lost her appetite and put the fish back in the refrigerator when she broke under her mother’s relentless grilling. “I didn’t call you, Mom, because I have nothing to tell you. I haven’t been able to reach Vince. He hasn’t answered his phones, and he’s not at the salon or his apartment.”

There was dead silence; then Hurricane May broke loose. Looking back later on her mother’s reaction, Skye realized she should have cut out her tongue as soon as she heard May’s voice on the phone rather than talk to her. Instead, she had ended up promising that she would let her mom know the minute she located Vince.

Because of May’s intense interrogation, Skye arrived at Tales and Treats less than fifteen minutes before the book club was scheduled to begin. Entering the store, she noted that all signs of the break-in were gone. The rare-book cabinet was back in position, its glass front replaced and the valuable tomes restored to its shelves.

Even the spot where Kayla had lain was undetectable. The polyurethane finish on the wood-laminate flooring had prevented the blood from soaking through and thus had been easily wiped clean. It somehow saddened Skye to think that the young girl’s death had left no mark.

Still, she couldn’t help but smile as she spotted Risé behind the counter. The store owner was busy checking out a huge stack of books for a woman who was chattering enthusiastically about how much she loved the selection of mysteries and romances.

Today, Risé wore a colorful T-shirt emblazoned with the words ONE GOOD BOOK DESERVES ANOTHER. Skye wondered how many different T-shirts with witty book sayings Risé owned.

Risé saw Skye and pointed to the literature alcove, mouthing, “They’re in there.”

Skye found Trixie and two girls arranging folding chairs into a semicircle. The desk, generally used to give the impression of a college professor’s office, was shoved against a wall, and a pitcher of lemonade, a stack of paper cups, and a tray of fancy cookies were spread across the top.

Trixie walked over to Skye and whispered, “Any news on the murder?”

“Not since I talked to you at school.” Skye drew Trixie farther out of earshot of the two preteens. “I still haven’t questioned Hugo, but everyone else we’re aware of who was angry at Risé has an alibi.”

Skye hadn’t meant to tell her friend about her suspicion that the store owner was the killer’s real target, but Trixie had independently come to the same conclusion, and Skye had had to admit she was looking into that possibility.

“Shoot!” Trixie stamped her foot. “On one hand I’m glad that none of them is guilty of such a horrible crime, but now what?”

“Exactly.” Skye made sure no one was listening, then said, “If Hugo is in the clear, which I certainly hope, then the case is pretty much at a dead end. Officer Martinez is doing a background check on Risé and Kayla, but she hasn’t found anything on either of them so far, and Wally said that no one involved in the case has any warrants in the system. All we can hope for is that the police get a lead from something the crime scene techs come up with.”

Trixie’s expression of frustration matched Skye’s, but a steady stream of girls had started to arrive, and they were forced to turn their attention to the matter at hand. Both women knew that a roomful of unsupervised teenagers was never a good thing.

While the attendees helped themselves to refreshments and settled into their seats, Skye said to Trixie, “I wonder why Risé put us in here. I hope she doesn’t expect our discussion to be literary.”

“Nah.” Trixie grinned. “She told me this area has the least amount of customer traffic, so we’ll be less likely to be interrupted.”

Although Skye had a minor in English, she was relieved that she wasn’t supposed to be conducting the club like a class. She didn’t think the kids would enjoy treating their book as if it were Tolstoy.