Murder of a Sweet Old Lady Page 12

  “She’s thought of that. We’re to draw numbers and keep going around until there’s nothing left that we want.” May held up a bowl filled with slips of paper. “That’s why she requested that the grandchildren not bring their spouses or children.”

  “So, whoever gets number one gets first choice?” Gillian rose to her knees.

  “Right.” May mixed the chits up with her right hand.

  “Who gets to draw first?” Hugo edged forward on his seat.

  “Oldest to youngest. Mom had everything figured out.” May brought the dish over to Dante.

  She then selected a number herself. After putting it in her pocket, May went over to Minnie. “Your turn.”

  Minnie shrank back in her seat. “Let the girls go first.”

  “Sorry, but that’s not how Mom wanted it.” May stood firm.

  Mona was the last of the children. Hugo was the eldest grandchild, then Vince, then Skye.

  “I can never remember. Which twin is older?” May asked.

  “I am.” Ginger snatched one of the two remaining slips from the bowl.

  To Skye Vince whispered, “Bet that’s the last time she ever admits it.”

  May sat back down and glanced around the room. “Who drew number one?”

  No one spoke. Everyone rechecked their chit and then looked at one another.

  Eventually, Minnie raised her hand. “But I don’t know what I want.”

  Ginger and Gillian began whispering furiously to their mother, who looked more bewildered as they spoke. She finally nodded.

  “I want the dining room set.” Minnie sank back in her chair like a deflated balloon.

  Skye hoped this didn’t bring on another of Minnie’s spells. In the past, in any kind of stressful situation, Minnie would close herself in her bedroom and read cook-books for days on end. She’d come out during the wee hours of the morning and raid the kitchen, then retreat back to the bedroom. She wouldn’t talk to anyone, and an attack could last from two or three days to a week. No one could break her out of one once it started.

  “That includes the buffet and china hutch, right?” Ginger hovered over her mother.

  Voices flooded the room. When they quieted, May said, “Yes, anything that is a set goes together. We aren’t doing this fork by fork.”

  Dante stepped toward May. “What gives you the right to say so?”

  “If we’re going by this letter, Mom asked me to settle any disputes.” May looked at Dante without blinking.

  He grumbled, but having number two he took the antique sleigh-style bedroom set.

  “Three?” May’s eyes searched the assembly.

  Gillian flashed her paper triumphantly. “I want Grandma’s good jewelry.”

  “There’s only a necklace and earrings. And it isn’t a set. You’ll have to choose one piece.” As Gillian opened her mouth to argue, May continued, “If you argue you automatically have to go last.”

  “Fine, I’ll take the emerald earrings.” Gillian stuck out her lip.

  Ginger shot Skye a malicious glance. “I have number four. But before we go on, I want to bring something up. Since Skye, as the oldest female grandchild, already got the Leofanti emerald ring, wouldn’t it be fairer for her to go last now?”

  “No.” May’s look dared anyone to disagree. “So, what do you want, Ginger?”

  “I’ll take the emerald pendant.” Ginger sank back on her heels and whispered to her twin.

  “Five?”

  “Me, Mom.” Skye turned the paper she had been clutching to face the room. “I’d like the oak table by the window. It was Grandma’s favorite piece. She talked about it a lot when she was telling me the family history.”

  Mona was next and she took the silver. Hugo was number seven and wanted the living room set. Vince took the safe, saying he could use it in his shop, and May took the china.

  By the conclusion, everyone had four or five things and little was left to be sold.

  Besides the table, Skye ended up with an old trunk, an incomplete set of pink crystal wineglasses, and the everyday dishes. No one mentioned Bingo, and she didn’t remind them.

  As they all got ready to leave, May cleared her throat. “I have one more announcement.”

  They all looked at her expectantly.

  “Chief Boyd found the body of Mrs. Jankowski yesterday in the abandoned well out back. With her, they found a pan of brownies, which they believe were poisoned. They were probably responsible for Mom and the housekeeper’s deaths.”

  The room was filled with voices asking questions.

  May shook her head. “That’s all I know.”

  The family broke into clots, hauling away their loot and whispering about May’s announcement.

  Skye walked out with her parents and Vince. They were the first to go, leaving the others still picking over the last little items.

  As Vince loaded Skye’s table into the Olds, he asked her, “Why didn’t you take one of the more valuable items when it was your turn?”

  “Like I said, this was Grandma’s favorite piece.” Skye paused.

  “There’s something more,” Vince prodded.

  Skye reddened. “Well, not that I believed her, but she used to say it was magical.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Early To Bed

  Skye sat on the closed toilet seat and watched her mother put on makeup at the counter. Saturday night and nothing to do. Even my parents have plans. My life sucks.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t go tonight. Mom only died a few days ago and it feels sort of funny to be going out.”

  “The Grandma I knew wouldn’t want you to sit at home and cry. She’d be the first one to arrive at the party and the last to leave.”

  Tears ran down May’s cheek. “You’re probably right, but I sure do miss her. I find myself holding the phone and dialing her number before I remember she’s gone.”

  “Our after-school visits meant a lot to me.” Skye handed her mother a tissue. “More than I realized at the time. She was quite a ‘high-spirited’ young lady, as they used to say. I kind of got the feeling her family married her off to Grandpa to calm her down.”

  May blotted her eyes and blew her nose. “She never would talk about that with me. She wouldn’t even tell me how Dad proposed or about their first date.”

  “Grandma said that the marriage had been arranged after her original fiancé died.”

  “I never knew that.” May wiped away another tear. “Will you write all this down so you don’t forget?”

  “Oh, don’t worry. I taped all our conversations.”

  “Good.” May took a deep breath and turned back to the mirror. After a few seconds, she held out two containers of eyeshadow. “Which do you think would look better with my dress?”

  “You’re wearing the taupe silk?” Skye studied the palettes. “Go with the shades of wine; I think the brown would wash you out.”

  Nodding, May began the delicate operation of applying the color to the crease of her eyelid. “You sure you don’t want to go to the wedding reception with us?”

  “Mom, I wasn’t invited, remember?” Skye studied her mother’s handiwork.

  “They probably forgot you were back in town.” May clicked the case shut and reached for her mascara. “You really don’t need an invitation. The announcement in the paper said all friends and relatives were welcome. It’s not like it’s a sit-down dinner.”

  “No, I barely remember these people. Who are they again?”

  “They’re your dad’s second cousins.” May carefully colored her lips. “What will you do while we’re gone? I don’t like the thought of you moping around here by yourself.”

  “I am not moping. Maybe I’ll take a ride, or visit Vince or Charlie. Simon’s got a wake tonight, but we’re going out tomorrow for brunch.”

  “How about Trixie? Now that she’s back in town you should try and get together with her sometime.” May stood back from the mirror and checked her face.

  “It’s a Saturday
night, and she is married, so I don’t think this is the time.”

  “Married. Seems like everyone’s doing that lately.” May shot Skye a meaningful look before walking out of the bathroom.

  Thirty minutes after her parents left, Skye sat in the La-Z-Boy with Bingo ensconced on her lap. She was flipping through TV channels, but most programs were reruns of things she hadn’t wanted to watch the first time around. Six o’clock on a Saturday night offered poor television viewing.

  She reached for the phone, careful to leave the cat undisturbed. No answer at Vince’s.

  Next, she tried Charlie, who was just leaving for a poker game with his buddies.

  Skye frowned when she heard this. “But, Uncle Charlie, I thought you weren’t going to gamble anymore, after you almost lost everything last fall.”

  His usual booming voice sounded sheepish. “We play for toothpicks. No money is involved.”

  “Oh, well, I still don’t think it’s a good idea. It feeds your addiction.” Skye sat up straighter.

  Bingo opened one eye and glared.

  “Why don’t you come with me? It’s just Eldon, Homer, and a couple of other old guys. Nothing for you to worry about.”

  “I can’t see me playing poker with the mayor and the high school principal. Thanks anyway, Uncle Charlie. Have a good time.”

  She sat stroking Bingo for a moment, then got up and grabbed her purse. The cat gave a single sharp meow before settling into the warm spot on the chair Skye had vacated. Skye dumped the bag’s contents on the sofa and searched for the piece of paper with Trixie’s number on it.

  Her wallet, checkbook, sunglasses case, and cosmetic pouch were quickly examined, and thrown back in the tote’s gaping maw. Then she made a pile of things for the trash. This is pathetic. I’m cleaning out my purse for entertainment on a Saturday night.

  Finally, the only things remaining were two crumpled sheets of paper. She smoothed the smallest and found what she had been looking for. Skye scooped up the receiver and punched in Trixie’s number.

  On the sixth ring, Trixie answered, just as Skye was thinking of hanging up.

  Skye could hear other people’s voices. “Hi, this is Skye. Is this a bad time?”

  Trixie lowered her voice. “Depends on your frame of reference. We have my in-laws over for the weekend.”

  “Oh, well. I thought you’d probably be busy, but I decided to check just in case you were free. I was thinking we could get together.” Skye hoped the disappointment didn’t show in her words.

  “They’re leaving tomorrow. How about lunch on Monday? You are out of school now, right?”

  “Yes, thank goodness. Monday would be great. Want to go into Kankakee and do some shopping too?”

  “Sounds good to me. Shall I pick you up around ten?” Trixie asked.

  “Ten’s good, but let me pick you up. I’m not sure where I’ll be.” After Skye explained about the broken windows, they hung up.

  Skye gathered the pile of trash she had accumulated from her purse, and walked out to the waste can in the kitchen. As she tossed in everything, a crinkled paper fell to the floor. She picked it up and flattened it out.

  Written in crude printing, all in capital letters, was: “BITCH! KWIT STIKKIN YER NOSE IN OTHER PEEPLES BIZNESS.”

  Shaken, Skye sat at the counter and stared at the hateful message. In a few minutes she drew a shaky breath, stood, and got a Ziploc from the drawer. Edging the page into the plastic bag with a pencil eraser, she sealed the top, and put it in her purse. She knew she had probably already destroyed any fingerprints, but she wasn’t taking any chances. She’d bet money this was the work of Hap Doozier, or maybe Gus Yoder’s father.

  After Skye had dropped the note off with the dispatcher at the police department, she decided to cruise the downtown area of Scumble River. As a teenager she had spent many Friday and Saturday evenings riding from one end of town to the other. The kids started at Mayor Clapp’s used car lot on the north end of Basin Street, and looped around the McDonald’s at the far south extreme. Some called it “shooting the loop”; others labeled it “buzzing the gut.”

  From the parade of cars crawling slowly by and the honking of horns, it appeared that this tradition had not changed.

  Skye rolled down the window and turned up the radio. Pam Tillis was singing about lost love and squandered dreams.

  When the song ended, the disc jockey’s voice oozed out of the speakers. “This is WCCQ, the Love and Desperation Hour. What can I play for you?”

  A low-pitched baritone answered. “ ‘I’m Having a Bad Day’ by The Charlie Stewart Band.”

  “You got a dedication for that?” the DJ asked.

  After a pause the caller answered, “It’s to SD.”

  “Who from?”

  Another pause. “Let’s just say I’m hoping she can figure that out.”

  Skye thought, SD could be me. That voice did sound sort of familiar. Nah.

  She was almost to the south turnaround when she abruptly decided to swing into McDonald’s rather than circle it. Skye parked the Buick, then flipped down the visor and used its mirror to straighten her hair. The open window had allowed her curls to be whipped into a beehive. While she was at it, she powdered her nose and added a light coat of lipstick.

  Her white shorts and navy striped polo had managed to ride up, exposing her upper thighs and midriff. She smoothed her clothes down as she exited the car. Her Keds squeaked on the cooling asphalt.

  The glare blinded her for a moment when she pushed open the door, but she made her way instinctively to the counter. The line wasn’t long and she was able to order her ice cream in a few minutes.

  The girl behind the counter handed her the clear plastic dish and said, “Here you go, Ms. Denison. You were awesome breaking up that fight last night.”

  Skye recognized her from the high school, but couldn’t remember her name. “Thanks. Did the kids know Gus was going to sneak in?”

  The girl’s face reddened, and she muttered as she turned to wait on another customer. “Some.”

  Oh, no, I broke another taboo. I asked one kid to rat on another. There goes my “awesome” reputation. Skye shook her head.

  Sweeping her eyes across the room, Skye headed for one in the back corner. She liked to observe without being watched herself. As she neared her favorite table, she noticed it was occupied and started to veer to the next one on the right.

  A voice stopped her. “Come sit with me.”

  When she hesitated, Chief Boyd added, “I’m having a bad day.”

  Skye slid into his booth and glanced across at him. He appeared haggard. The skin around his eyes was papery looking. “Are you okay?”

  He shrugged. “Better now.”

  Alarms were going off in Skye’s head. He was not dressed in his uniform and thus probably off duty. Why would a married man with no children be alone at Mc-Donald’s on a Saturday night?

  The silence grew awkward and she rushed to fill the gap with words. “Ah, gee, I was just at the police station. I found a threatening note in my purse so I dropped it off.”

  “What did it say?” Wally sat forward with a look of concern.

  She told him, and he shook his head. “Sure seems that someone is not too happy with you. First your tires, then your windows, and now this. What have you been doing to tick people off?”

  “My job.” Skye made a face. “It’s not uncommon for parents to blame others for their children’s failings.”

  “Yeah, some of those kids I get in at the police station, I just want to shake some sense into them. The first thing out of their mouths is: ‘It’s not my fault.’ ”

  “Oh, it’s never their fault. And what amazes me is eighty percent of the time the parents think that way too.”

  “Yes, and these are the same kids who say to their folks: ‘It’s my life,’ and ‘You’re not my boss.’ It doesn’t make sense. If they really believe that it’s their life and their parents aren’t their boss, then there is no
one to blame but themselves.”

  “Too bad the parents would sue us if we said half of what we’re really thinking.” Skye snorted inelegantly, then realized what she had done and felt a blush start up her cheeks.

  Wally didn’t help. He just looked at her with a goofy smile.

  Skye glanced around. If anyone overheard their conversation, they would think she and Wally didn’t care about the kids they worked with. But in truth they were probably more concerned than the parents who let their children run wild. Like all people in high-stress professions, they needed to vent.

  When the silence lengthened, Skye once again searched for a topic of conversation. “So, what’s new with my grandmother’s case?”

  She saw disappointment flash in his eyes before he recovered his usual mild expression. “They’ve found that her housekeeper was murdered using the same poison.”

  “Just as we suspected. Now the question becomes, why was my grandmother left in her bed, but Mrs. Jankowski dumped in the well?”

  He leaned forward, his forearms on the table. “My guess is that whoever did it thought your grandmother’s death would be written off to old age, and no one would bother to find some poor Polish woman with no relatives or friends.”

  “Or maybe they didn’t expect Mrs. Jankowski to die. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to get hold of the brownies.” Skye, too, leaned forward, lowering her voice. “My aunts were always fighting about what Mrs. J ate. They’d bring a plate of cookies for Grandma, who would eat one or two, and then Mrs. J would polish off the rest.”

  “If I remember correctly, the contents of both stomachs were similar.”

  “Did you find anything when you went through the house?”

  “Yes. Someone had been violently ill, but the mess had been cleaned up. This supports the physical evidence the doctor found the day she was murdered. He found signs that she had vomited, but had been cleaned up. We found dirty rags, one of your grandmother’s dresses, and a set of her underclothing. It was all stuffed down that well.”

  “That was what Simon was referring to the night of the murder when he said they had found irregularities.”