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  Copyright © 2017 by Denise Swanson Stybr

  Cover and internal design © 2017 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover design by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover art © Traci Daberko/Rapp Artist

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious and are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks, Inc., is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published by Sourcebooks Landmark, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

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  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  An Excerpt from Tart of Darkness

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  This book is for all the survivors of the Coal City tornado. And for the wonderful volunteers who appeared as if by magic and helped my mother so much.

  Mega thanks to:

  Ronette and Mike Ksiazak

  Bob and Joelle Elberts

  Jim and Angie Hutton

  Darla Hutton

  Tiffany Votta

  Traci and John Curl

  Gene and Naomi Bianchetta

  Gina, Vince, and Jacob Piatak

  Travis, Joe, JT: Orland Fire Protection District firefighters who turned up with their trusty chainsaw just in time to clear away all the downed trees.

  I apologize if I’ve forgotten anyone.

  Dear Readers,

  To those of you who have journeyed to Scumble River before, thank you for traveling with me down my rocky road to publication. To those of you who are first-time visitors, come on in and sit a spell. I hope you enjoy getting to know my sleuths, Skye Denison-Boyd and her husband, the chief of police Wally Boyd. I promise you that you will be able to pick up this book and feel right at home.

  A lot has changed in Skye’s and Wally’s lives and in mine since I first met them back in 2000, which is why I felt it was time for a restart. In Dead in the Water, I’m so excited to launch a new incarnation of their hometown in the Welcome Back to Scumble River series.

  Because the Scumble River series is being reborn as Welcome Back to Scumble River, I’ve decided to reboot the timeline of the books going forward. It is now present day. Although the characters haven’t aged and only a few months have passed since Skye and Wally’s adventures in Murder of a Cranky Catnapper, it is now 2017 in Scumble River.

  I also hope you all will forgive me for this leap in time—figuring out how to handle the years passing is just one challenge that comes with writing such a long-running, well-received series, and I have to thank you, my wonderful readers, for supporting Skye, Wally, and all the rest for so long that I have to make these kinds of decisions! There are a lot of new adventures waiting for Skye and Wally, and I promise you exciting things to come for them and the rest of the gang in Scumble River.

  Chapter 1

  “There’s a cyclone coming, Em.”

  —Uncle Henry

  School psychologist Skye Denison-Boyd woke with a start. She jerked upright, nearly falling out of the brown leather recliner, and her black cat, Bingo, hissed his displeasure. With a glare in her direction, the fuming feline settled back on what little lap Skye still had at nearly thirty-four weeks pregnant.

  Rain hammered against the glass of the sunroom windows and when lightning ripped open the darkness outside, the table lamp flickered. Skye had been reading the first book in a new mystery series set in a nearby college town, Bloomington-Normal, when she’d dozed off and awakened to a dark and stormy night. The cliché didn’t escape her notice.

  Skye shivered when the air conditioner suddenly kicked on and goose bumps popped up on her bare arms. Although it had been hot and muggy all day, the television meteorologists had promised that a cold front was headed their way. However, Scumble River was seventy-five miles south of the city and the Chicago weather forecasts were rarely accurate for her tiny corner of Illinois, so Skye wasn’t convinced that relief from the heat was on its way.

  When her stomach growled, she wrapped her arms around her huge baby belly and whispered, “Patience, sweet pea. Daddy’s not here yet.”

  Skye had been waiting for her husband, Wally, to get home so they could have supper together. Since their marriage eight months ago, she’d gotten used to eating later. But the more advanced her pregnancy, the harder it was to delay a meal. And now she was ravenous.

  Wally had called around four to say he would be late because the officer scheduled for the afternoon shift had, at the last minute, called in sick. As the chief of police, Wally needed to find a replacement for the guy before he could leave the station. The town’s population might be only a little over three thousand, but someone still had to be on duty at all times.

  What time was it? Skye glanced at her wrist, frowning when she discovered her trusty Timex was missing.

  Shoot! After her first day back at work after summer vacation, she’d been so warm and sticky that she’d stripped and showered as soon as she got home. The high school’s AC had been on the fritz and Skye’s office had felt like a sauna.

  Because her job included working with students at all three schools in the district, she could have moved over to one of the other buildings. But it was highly unlikely any of them would have been much better. Before she’d claimed the space, her offices at the elementary and junior high had both been storage closets. Even in the best of circumstances, those rooms were usually hot as heck or colder than Antarctica.

  Instead of seeking a cooler place to work, Skye had ignored her discomfort and spent the majority of her time getting her calendar set up for the rest of the year. She’d had her testing and counseling schedule mostly in place before she’d left for summer break, but there were always transfer students to accommodate.

 
; She had wasted a good half hour trying to figure out how to pronounce the name of one of the new girls. It was listed as Le-a, and initially, Skye had assumed it was pronounced Leah, but she hated to call the teen by the wrong name. It could be Lee-a, or Lay-a, or even Lei.

  Finally, Skye had just telephoned the student’s mom to ask, and she was really glad she’d made the call. The girl’s mother had explained that her daughter’s name was Leedasha. Evidently, the dash in Le-a wasn’t silent.

  Paying attention to details such as correctly pronouncing names was one of many tidbits Skye intended to pass on to her new intern, Piper Townsend. In fact, she’d hoped to use today, before the students started school, to familiarize the woman with her duties, but Piper had had car trouble and wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow.

  The woman really should have been better prepared and moved to town over the weekend. Her lack of planning made Skye wonder if she’d hired the right applicant. Of course, there hadn’t been that many candidates to choose from. A ridiculously low stipend and the promise of a heavy caseload hadn’t exactly been enticing to the new grads.

  Plus, there was the fact that Skye would have six weeks at the most to help Piper get settled before going out on maternity leave. In theory, during Skye’s absence, a school psychologist from the Stanley County Special Education Cooperative would supervise the woman. In practice, Skye feared that even if it meant she had to guide the intern via telephone while cradling her newborn, she would end up with the brunt of the responsibility.

  At that disquieting thought, Skye bit her lip. She really hoped there wouldn’t be any crises until after she got used to being a mother. Coping with—

  Oomph! Everything below Skye’s waist tightened as if a giant fist had closed around her uterus. She dug her nails into the smooth leather armrest while she tried to breathe through the pain. The first time she’d felt the squeezing sensation, she’d panicked and called her ob-gyn, convinced she was going into labor.

  Dr. Johnson had reassured Skye that the baby wasn’t about to make an early appearance. Instead, she was experiencing Braxton-Hicks contractions. And although uncomfortable, unless the contractions grew consistently longer, stronger, and closer together, everything was fine.

  Now, as she panted through the contraction, Skye gripped the wooden lever on the side of the recliner and pushed until the footrest lowered. Then, risking the wrath of Bingo, she picked up the cat, put him on the floor, and struggled out of the chair.

  She shoved her swollen feet into a pair of flip-flops and began to pace. Walking usually provided some relief from the Braxton-Hicks throbbing, but as Skye marched the length of the sunroom, the pain continued. Her doctor had warned her that dehydration could worsen the discomfort and she’d been sweating all day. Maybe water would help.

  Heading into the kitchen, Skye snagged a bottle of Dasani from the refrigerator and chugged it. As she drank, she checked the microwave clock. It was five thirty. She’d been asleep for more than an hour. Where was Wally?

  When the contractions eased, Skye glanced at the telephone hanging on the wall near the stove. The tiny light on the base glowed a steady red, indicating there was no voicemail. Pulling her cell out of her pocket, she saw she’d missed a text. Wally had sent a message at 4:55, saying he was having trouble finding someone to work.

  While Skye contemplated calling him for an update, she hurried to the hall bathroom. Along with all the other joys of her pregnancy, it seemed that the baby was nearly constantly kung fu fighting on Skye’s bladder and she always had to pee.

  She had just lowered herself onto the toilet when she heard tires crunching over the gravel of the driveway. She assumed it was Wally, but a few seconds later, the sound of two car doors slamming instead of one convinced her she was wrong.

  Darn! Why was it that the only time she ever got company was when she was in the bathroom? Of course, since she had been expecting, she had been spending a lot of time in there.

  Skye hastily finished her business, straightened her clothes, washed her hands, and hurried into the foyer. She reached for the dead bolt but jerked her hand back. Granted, they lived in a rural area near a small town, but Wally had drummed into her head the need for caution enough times to make Skye peer out the side window rather than fling open the door.

  She squinted through the pouring rain. Trudging toward the house were two people huddled under a neon-yellow umbrella. The halogen lamp attached to the garage didn’t illuminate the sidewalk and it was too dark to make out their faces.

  Flipping on the porch light, Skye frowned when she saw her visitors were Frannie Ryan and Justin Boward. What in the world were those two doing slogging up her sidewalk?

  Skye had become extremely close to the pair during their high school years, and after their graduation, that professional relationship had grown into a personal one. Normally, she would have been happy to see her friends, but the young couple should be at college, not on her front porch.

  Frannie and Justin both attended the University of Illinois, and the fall term had started last Monday. Before they’d left to drive down to Champaign, Skye had had breakfast with them. And as far as she knew, there was no good reason they’d be back in Scumble River so quickly. Something bad must have happened.

  Her pulse racing, Skye threw open the door and demanded, “Why are you here?”

  She winced as the words left her mouth. She sounded like her mother. It was a good thing Frannie and Justin were no longer her students, because that wasn’t a very empathetic greeting. But between the weather, her advanced pregnancy, and Wally’s absence, Skye was spooked.

  “Can we come in?” Justin asked, closing the umbrella and leaning it against the outside wall.

  “Sure.” Skye stepped aside. “Sorry. I’m just surprised to see you.”

  Justin allowed Frannie to enter first, then followed her into the foyer. At twenty years old, Justin seemed to have finally reached his full height of six feet two. And although he’d probably always have a slender build, his weight was finally catching up with his last growth spurt.

  Justin pushed his damp brown hair off his forehead and reached into his pocket for a handkerchief to wipe off his glasses. As he cleaned the lenses, his long-lashed brown eyes blinked, adjusting to the brightness inside the house.

  Skye smiled. Justin hadn’t been an attractive or socially comfortable teenager. But he was turning into a nice-looking young man who appeared finally to be comfortable in his own skin.

  “Let’s sit in the kitchen.” Skye started down the hallway, forcing herself to be patient. Frannie and Justin would tell her what was up in their own good time. “How about a soda or some tea?”

  “A Diet Coke would be great.” Frannie caught up to Skye and gave her a one-armed hug.

  Frannie was tall and solidly built. Skye had spent most of Frannie’s high school years trying to raise the young woman’s self-esteem. She’d attempted to help Frannie navigate a world dominated by media that insisted anything above a size four was huge. Unfortunately, much of that work had been undone during Frannie’s first semester at a Chicago university.

  After a couple of months of feeling like an outcast and missing home, Frannie had returned to Scumble River, completed her freshman and sophomore years at a local community college, and then transferred to U of I. Unlike her previous university experience, U of I’s journalism program was more concerned with a student’s abilities than her appearance or clothes. It had been just what Frannie needed and she’d thrived.

  Justin had also lived at home while getting his associate degree at the same local community college as his girlfriend. Being nine months younger than Frannie, this was his first year joining Frannie in Champaign.

  “Any chance of some chips with the pop?” Justin asked, dropping into a chair as if exhausted. “We haven’t had dinner yet.”

  “Sorry,” Skye said. “Not much in the way
of snack food around here since the doctor gave me heck for gaining fifteen pounds almost overnight. Her exact words were: ‘Thou shalt not be bigger than thy refrigerator.’” She patted her gigantic belly and made a face. “I’ve got salsa chicken in the Crock-Pot for dinner and there’s plenty if you’d like some.”

  “That would be awesome.” Justin straightened and reached for the bowl of fruit in the middle of the table. “I’m starving.”

  Skye took two cans of Diet Coke from the fridge and handed them to Frannie, then reached back into the refrigerator and grabbed the Tupperware container with the Mexican rice. After spooning half into a covered Pyrex bowl, she popped it into the microwave and pressed the reheat button.

  Waiting for the side dish to get hot, Skye put plates, silverware, and napkins on the table. Although Justin had already devoured a pear and was gnawing at the core of an apple, Frannie was only chewing on her thumbnail and staring into space.

  When the microwave dinged, Frannie jumped, then shot a worried glance at Justin. Something was definitely up. Skye just hoped whatever the problem was, it was fixable.

  Justin dug into the chicken as if he were a squirrel and his plate of food was the last acorn on earth. Frannie never lifted her fork to her lips.

  Having decided she was too hungry to wait to eat with Wally, Skye helped herself to a serving of the casserole. After pouring herself a glass of milk, she took a seat across from Justin and Frannie.

  She waited to see if either of them would start the conversation, but when they both remained silent, Skye said, “Now tell me why you’re here and not at college.”

  “My parents weren’t answering their phone and I got worried,” Justin mumbled through a mouthful of chicken.

  Justin’s father was in constant pain due to degenerative arthritis of the spine and his mother suffered from a debilitating depression. Neither was able to hold down a job or handle the minutia of everyday life. Until Justin had left for school last week, he’d been the one to take care of those details.