Murder of a Bookstore Babe

The only thing that might persuade everyone to hang around was the complimentary refreshments. An open bar tended to keep most Scumble Riverites happy for quite a while.

Skye fanned herself with the old grocery list she had found in the pocket of her khaki capris and watched for Wally Boyd. Wally was her fiancé, but tonight he was on duty as the chief of police.

Usually he wouldn’t be working on a Saturday night, but the entire Scumble River police force was patrolling this event—six full-time officers and two part-timers. An affair like this needed all the crowd control available. It wasn’t often that a celebrity like Flint James performed anywhere near Scumble River, let alone in a free concert.

Which brought up a good question. Why? Why would Flint James agree to come to the middle of nowhere and sing, especially without charging for tickets?

As Skye slapped at a gnat buzzing around her ear, she caught sight of her uncle, the mayor. Dante Leofanti was seated front and center on something resembling a red canvas throne. It had a canopy, a table attached to the arm, and even a footrest. His wife, Olive, sat by his side in a smaller version of the same elaborate chair, although hers was baby blue.

Skye narrowed her eyes. Nothing happened in his town without the mayor’s knowledge and permission. Dante had to have approved the use of the park, the permit to build the grandstand, and the authorization to serve alcohol. He would certainly know why Flint James was singing here, but did Skye care enough to go over there and ask him? No. Dante treated information like a commodity, and she didn’t want to be in his debt.

More to the point, she really didn’t need to know. There was an extremely fine line between concerned and nosy. Skye usually erred on the wrong side of that line, but not this time. She had learned her lesson and was minding her own business for once.

Skye wasn’t on duty as either the town’s school psychologist or psychological consultant to the police department. She was just at the concert to hear some good music and have fun with her friends. Whatever was going on was not her problem.

Speaking of friends, where was Trixie? Skye’s BFF, Trixie Frayne, and Trixie’s husband, Owen, were supposed to have shown up half an hour ago. Skye checked her cell phone. It was on—she often forgot to power it up—and she didn’t have any messages so her friend hadn’t tried to reach her.

Skye attempted to call Trixie, but got her voice mail. After leaving a message asking Trixie and Owen to meet her by the refreshment stand, Skye threaded her way through the crowd, looking for her friends.

While she walked, Skye dug through her purse for a barrette, desperate to get her humidity-frizzed chestnut curls out of her face. The freshly ironed sleeveless white blouse she had put on just before leaving home was now wrinkled and limp, and it clung to her ample curves like a damp shower curtain. Autumn had begun three weeks ago, but the unusually high temperature made it feel like it was still the dog days of summer.

Skye considered giving up on Trixie and Owen and just going home. She could relax in the air-conditioning, watch a movie, and spend some quality time with her cat. Although she liked country music, without both Wally and her friends, the concert wouldn’t be much fun.

Besides, she wasn’t fond of outdoor events unless the weather was perfect. A circumstance rarely found in the Midwest, where it was often necessary to switch from the heat to the AC and vice versa on the same day.

Still, when you lived in the small town where you grew up, worked in public education, and were engaged to the police chief, it was a good idea to show your face at social gatherings. And Skye had finally admitted that she did want to be a part of the community. It had taken her a while, but after five years, she recognized that moving back to Scumble River, despite its rigid sense of right and wrong, had been a good decision.

Not that she’d had much choice at the time since she’d lost her job, maxed out her credit cards, and been jilted. But now, even though she’d saved a little money, could count on a decent job reference, and had a brand-new fiancé, given the choice, she would stay in her hometown for the rest of her life. Too bad this evening was beginning to feel like it was going to last at least that long.

Skye had reached the edge of the lawn-chair- and blanket-seated audience without spotting her friends. Where in the heck were they? She ground her teeth. Shoot! Not only was there no sign of Trixie and Owen, but now she needed to find a bathroom—fast.

Unfortunately, both Port-a-Potties had lengthy lines, and Skye was fairly sure she couldn’t wait however long it would take to get to the front of the queue. On to plan B. There were bathrooms in the picnic area, located behind the grandstand at the far end of the park. With any luck no one would have thought of them.