Murder of a Bookstore Babe

“That’s probably best, considering Mr. and Mrs. Yates tried to sue me last year for printing that unflattering article about their daughter in the Scoop.” Skye followed him to the front door. “Even after I rescued Ashley from a deranged killer, I don’t think they completely forgave me.”

Mrs. Yates responded to the doorbell, and when Wally asked to see her husband, she ushered them through an impressive marble foyer containing a striking curving stairway, down a short hallway, and into a huge family room. A wall of floor-to-ceiling windows displayed an in-ground pool surrounded by a brick patio.

Troy Yates lay sprawled on an enormous leather sofa in front of a mammoth TV. It took his wife several tries to get his attention, but he finally tore his gaze away from Sylvester Stallone blowing up people. He muted the set, put down the remote, and said, “Chief Boyd, what can I do for you? Is there a problem at the bank?”

“No.” Wally moved so that Yates could see Skye, who had been standing behind him. “We wanted to talk to you about something personal.”

“Have a seat.”

Wally and Skye settled into matching club chairs that flanked the sofa.

Troy gestured to a mahogany bar in the corner. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thanks,” Wally answered for both of them. “When I said personal, I meant your personal dealings versus the bank. We’re here on police business.”

Yates’s demeanor changed. He straightened and looked at his wife, who had been hovering by the door. “I’ll handle this, dear.”

She nodded and scurried away.

Yates the genial host was gone. He said, “Maybe I’d better phone my attorney before we go any further.”

Skye felt her heart race and her stomach clench, but she managed to maintain a calm expression. Had Yates killed Kayla? He was certainly acting guilty about something. Or maybe his behavior was typical of the wealthy.

“We just have a couple of questions, but if you feel you need the protection of a lawyer . . .” Wally let his voice trail off insinuatingly.

“Of course not. I’ll trust you not to violate my rights.” Yates’s voice was jovial, but his expression was steely. “What do you want to know?”

“I understand you knew Risé Vaughn prior to her move to Scumble River.”

Skye admired Wally’s neutral opening.

“Yes.” Yates crossed his legs. “Although I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.”

“And I understand you lost quite a bit of money when Ms. Vaughn’s boss was arrested and the firm closed down.”

“So?” Yates raised an eyebrow. “What have my private financial affairs got to do with the police? I somehow doubt this is about getting my money back.”

“No. That’s way above my pay grade.” Wally gave him a good-old-boy grin. “We’re investigating the possibility that the intended victim of last week’s murder at the new bookstore wasn’t the clerk but the owner.”

“And you think I might have killed that poor girl by mistake because I lost a few dollars in the market?” Yates asked, sounding amused.

“We have to check out all possible leads. And money is always an excellent motive for murder.” Wally’s face was now impassive. “Do you have an alibi for last Saturday night, from eight fifteen until eleven?”

“Actually, I do.” Yates’s smile was smug. “My wife and I were attending a dinner party hosted by the mayor.” He addressed Skye for the first time. “Your uncle has an impressive wine cellar.”

Wally shot Skye a questioning glance. She shrugged. As far as she knew, Uncle Dante only drank Budweiser or bourbon, but anything was possible.

“And FYI, I never invest more than I can afford to lose.” Yates stood and escorted them to the hallway. “Unlike some people.”

“Who, for instance?” Wally asked.

“I’m not one to point fingers.” Yates walked back to the couch and plopped down, then turned up the volume on the TV. “I’m sure you can find your own way out.”

“What do you think?” Wally asked once they were outside.

“The mayor’s a darn good alibi.”

“Who do you think he meant when he said some people lost money they couldn’t afford?” Wally helped Skye into the squad car.

She was about to say she had no idea, when it hit her. Hell’s bells! Skye forced her face to remain expressionless. It was Xavier. He hadn’t put all his savings and his veteran’s group’s treasury in the bookstore, as he had told Simon. He couldn’t have. Hugo said that Risé and Orlando paid cash to open Tales and Treats and didn’t have any loans or investors.

Xavier must have invested all the money with Risé’s company and lost it when the firm went bust. That had to be the big secret. Shoot! Now Skye had no choice but to tell Wally the whole story. And he wouldn’t be a happy police chief or, come to think about it, a happy fiancé.

Skye waited until they had arrived back at the PD and were parked in the garage before speaking. Stopping Wally before he got out of the cruiser, she told him the whole story. Then she waited for the explosion.