Murder of a Sweet Old Lady Page 7

  Finally, she heard a yowl and spotted the cat just a few yards ahead of her. He was sitting by a round concrete slab with a cast-iron ring embedded in the middle. The cover, which was supposed to be flush to the ground, was slightly ajar.

  As Skye approached, an odor stopped her. It was sickeningly sweet and smelled a little like the time her refrigerator broke down when she was gone for the weekend. She forced herself closer and grabbed Bingo, who protested the abrupt treatment by squirming and yowling.

  Turning, she ran toward the orchard. “Wally, Wally! Come quick.”

  Skye stopped at the Buick and retrieved the cat carrier from the trunk. She shoved Bingo inside and secured the door then continued toward the trees, calling for the chief.

  He burst out of the grove with his hand on his gun. “Skye, are you all right?”

  She stopped to catch her breath. “I’m fine.” Panting, she explained about the stench.

  They retraced her path until they were a few feet from the concrete slab.

  “Do you know what this is?” Chief Boyd asked.

  “It may be the old well. We were never allowed to play back here because Grandma was always afraid we’d fall into it. I think they covered it when the great-grandchildren were born.”

  Nodding, he tried to move the cover with his foot. It wouldn’t budge. “It would probably be easy to move using the metal handle, but until it’s been dusted for fingerprints I don’t want to touch it. Let me see what I’ve got in the squad car that I can lift it with.”

  Skye trailed him back to his car, and while the chief got some tools and a big flashlight from the trunk, she fed Bingo. They returned to the well.

  The chief inserted a jack handle into the opening. Skye watched the veins pop in his arms as he strained to move the lid. The muscles of his chest rippled under the khaki uniform shirt and his broad shoulders strained against the fabric. Without warning the concrete moved with a loud screech.

  Immediately, the odor intensified and Skye backed away. Chief Boyd covered his mouth with a handkerchief and aimed the flashlight beam down the well. “It looks like a body is stuck about nine or ten feet down.” He turned to Skye. “Can you stand to look? Maybe you know who it is.”

  She screwed up her face and shook her head, but finally moved closer. Putting her hand over her mouth and nose, she leaned forward and followed the stream of light with her eyes.

  Stumbling back, Skye said, “I think it’s Mrs. Jankowski, the missing housekeeper.”

  Chief Boyd had told Skye she could leave, but cautioned her not to tell anyone about their discovery. One part of her wanted to stay and see what the evidence people turned up, but mostly she was thankful she wouldn’t have to view the body as it was dragged from the well.

  She stopped at her cottage to drop off Bingo and set up his equipment. When she opened his case in the foyer, he poked out a delicate pink nose and sniffed. Satisfied, he stepped all the way into the room and proceeded to investigate his new surroundings.

  Meanwhile, Skye filled his food and water bowls, leaving them for him to discover when he reached the kitchen. She tucked his litter box under the sink in the small bathroom off the foyer, and immediately showed him its location.

  Bingo instantly used the facilities.

  “That’s what I forgot, Bingo, a litter scoop. I better make a list and get to the grocery store sometime today.” Skye walked to the kitchen and took a small pad of paper.

  Glancing at her watch, she knew she’d never make it to school by ten and decided to take the rest of the day off since they would dock her for a full day anyway. This time when she called she asked to speak to the principal directly.

  “Mrs. Greer, this is Skye Denison. Did you hear my grandmother died on Monday?”

  “Yes, dear, I was very sorry. Antonia was a wonderful woman. I used to love sitting in her kitchen and watching her bake. We’d talk about gardening. She always had the best tips and grew the biggest peonies.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize you knew my grandmother.” Skye let her tone rise at the end of the sentence, hoping for an explanation.

  “Well, it was over forty years ago, but I dated your Uncle Dante for a time when we were in high school together. He was so handsome and had such a wonderful sense of humor. All the girls were crazy about him.”

  Skye didn’t know what to say to that. This was a side of her uncle she hadn’t pictured. What had happened to change him? It had been years since she’d thought of Dante as fun. As the silence lengthened, she knew she needed to say something. “Wow. Small world. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Anyway, I was planning on coming in today, but some things have come up so I was wondering if it would be all right to take a personal day?”

  Mrs. Greer didn’t answer right away. “I’m sorry, Skye, but I booked an appointment with the parents of Perry Underwood for us this afternoon. Is there any way you can make it? These aren’t easy people to deal with, and they would take it as a personal insult if we canceled.”

  Careful to keep the sigh out of her voice, Skye said, “What time are they coming in?”

  “One-thirty.”

  “Okay, I’ll be in around one.”

  “Great, I’ll brief you then.” Mrs. Greer sounded relieved.

  After hanging up the phone, Skye went out on her deck and sat on a lounge chair. She watched the river go by with Bingo curled up on her lap, purring as she stroked him. Two more days of school and she’d be free.

  Her big plans for this summer included lots of reading and lying on the beach.

  She couldn’t afford to go anywhere on vacation, but one of the local abandoned strip mining areas had been turned into a recreational club with swimming and boating. It cost five hundred dollars to join and a hundred a year in dues, but her godfather, Charlie Patukas, had given her a membership for her birthday.

  Normally, she wouldn’t have accepted such an expensive gift from anyone, but Charlie rarely took no for an answer—especially since he’d inherited a large sum of money last year. He had bought Vince an electric golf cart, May new carpeting, and Jed a satellite dish. He got such a kick out of surprising his “family” with gifts and playing the big shot that he made them feel like ingrates when they tried to turn down his presents.

  Skye smiled fondly. Charlie was one of a kind. The soothing motion of the river lulled her and she wasn’t aware of time passing until she was roused by the ringing phone.

  Dumping Bingo unceremoniously inside the door, she ran for the kitchen. “Hello?”

  “What in the hell is going on at Ma’s now?” It was Uncle Dante.

  Skye counted to ten before answering. “Hello, Uncle Dante. Thanks for asking, I’m doing fine.”

  “I said you could pick up the damn cat, not tear up the backyard.”

  “Uncle Dante, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m talking to you so I can’t be the one tearing up the yard.” She knew logic was a waste of time with him but she always tried it anyway.

  “Then I repeat: What is going on?” Dante’s voice was now so loud that Bingo was cowering in the space between the washer and dryer.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve been asked not to discuss that with anyone. You need to talk to Chief Boyd.” Her eyes fell on the microwave clock and she was startled to see it was already twelve-forty-five.

  “You tell me right now, Missy. I’m trustee of the estate and have a legal right to know what’s going on.” His voice cracked. “What are you doing to my mother now?”

  She heard the pain in his voice, but didn’t have an answer. “I truly am sorry. This is not hurting Grandma, honest. She’d want us to find out the truth.”

  He jumped on her words. “What have you found?”

  “I’m really, really sorry, Uncle Dante, but Chief Boyd ordered me not to talk about it. I don’t want to get in trouble with the police over this. Please call Wally and ask him to explain.”

  She let him yell for a moment, then cut back in. “I have to go now. Sorry. The chief will explain.
Bye.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Three, Four, the Cousins Are Sore

  Skye pushed open the door of Scumble River Elementary School. The principal, Mrs. Greer, was waiting in the hallway. She was a tiny woman with a puff of white hair, dressed in a soft pink suit. They walked to the office without speaking and closed the door. Mrs. Greer sat in a royal-blue wing chair and indicated that Skye should take its companion.

  It was obvious to Skye that Mrs. Greer had spent her own money fixing up her office. The Queen Anne-style desk was mahogany and the cream-colored walls were hung with quality reproductions.

  Picking up a file, Mrs. Greer said, “Perry Underwood is a first grader who receives assistance from the special education teacher and the speech therapist. He began receiving services when he was three and attended a special education preschool until this year. He transferred to Scumble River Elementary last fall.”

  Skye nodded. “Yes, I’ve observed him in Mrs. Hopkins’ room. He has a language disorder that makes it difficult for him to process what is said to him and almost impossible for him to communicate complex thoughts.”

  “Exactly. Have you met his parents?”

  “No, the special ed coordinator from the co-op held the intake staffing without me. All I’ve done is review his file and take a look at him in class.”

  “Well, supposedly Perry was involved in a dreadful fight yesterday in the hallway on the way to lunch. I had the school nurse look at him, and Abby says there’s not a mark on him.”

  Before Skye could reply, there was a knock and Fern Otte, the school secretary, peeked around the door. “The Underwoods are here.”

  “Send them in.” Mrs. Greer stood and ushered the couple inside, seating them on the blue-and-cream brocade sofa facing the chairs. “Would you like some coffee, tea, or a soft drink?”

  They refused. While Mrs. Greer made introductions, Skye sized up the couple across from her. Mr. Underwood was dressed in fatigues and his brown hair was cut in a military-style crew cut. His wife wore cargo pants tucked into commando boots and an olive drab T-shirt. Both sat at attention.

  Mrs. Greer settled back into her chair and tilted her head toward Mr. Underwood. “You asked to see us regarding your son, Perry.”

  “Yes,” Mr. Underwood said. “I’ve taught my son to take care of himself, but he was ambushed yesterday by three boys. He managed to defeat them and give them a good thrashing, but I’m concerned about the security in your hallways.”

  “I spoke to his teacher. She says the boys weren’t in the hall long enough to have the type of fight you describe. Could Perry be exaggerating?” Mrs. Greer smiled kindly at both parents.

  “No.” Mr. Underwood clenched his cap in his hand. “My boy doesn’t lie. Your teacher doesn’t want to admit she’s at fault.”

  Fixing him with a steady gaze, Mrs. Greer said, “My teachers don’t lie either.” She let silence prevail before continuing. “Setting that aside for a moment, your son doesn’t have a scratch on him.”

  “I told you he’s been taught to take care of himself. It’s the other kids who got hurt, not Perry.” Mr. Underwood puffed out his chest.

  “There are no injured students in any of the first-grade classrooms. And none of the children recall anything happening yesterday beyond the regular hallway pushing and shoving.” Mrs. Greer did not yield eye contact.

  “Kids stick together.”

  “None of the teachers in the surrounding classrooms heard any commotion in the hall.”

  “They want to keep their jobs,” Mr. Underwood said. “I know my boy.”

  Skye leaned toward the parents. “We’re not saying that Perry lied. Everyone’s perception of reality is slightly different and your son has a severe problem with the usage and comprehension of language, which makes his understanding even more dissimilar than those around him. Maybe this is no more than a misunderstanding.”

  “What?” Mr. Underwood frowned.

  “Can you recall the exact words Perry used when he told you about the fight?” Skye asked.

  The Underwoods looked at each other and shook their heads.

  “Think back now. What was his manner like? Excited? Scared?”

  Mrs. Underwood spoke for the first time. “At first, I thought he seemed happy.”

  “So, could it have been that the three boys included him in their group and the play was a little rough?” Skye held her breath.

  Mrs. Underwood started to nod, but her husband shot her a censorious look and she turned it into a cough.

  Skye directed her next remark to the woman. “I’m wondering if maybe the speech pathologist, Mrs. Whitney, might be able to help you understand what Perry is saying a little better.”

  Mr. Underwood’s face closed. “We don’t need an outsider interpreting for us. We understand Perry good enough.”

  “But—” Skye was cut off as the Underwoods rose to their feet.

  “I told you it was a conspiracy,” Mr. Underwood hissed into his wife’s ear. “They’ve got the whole incident buried deeper than the real identity of Kennedy’s assassin.”

  When the door closed behind them, Skye let out a big sigh. “That felt like an episode of the Twilight Zone.”

  Nodding, Mrs. Greer leaned back in her chair. “This is a good example of why you should have all your ducks in a row before meeting with parents. They’re so sure of themselves they can almost convince you that you’re mistaken.”

  “You were great. I think handling the parents is the hardest part of the job. It’s so difficult for them to admit that their children could ever be in the wrong.”

  “We make a good team. I take them down with facts, and you give them something to go home and think about.”

  Reflecting upon the meeting, Skye asked, “Are Mr. and Mrs. Underwood in the military?”

  “No. They’re a part of that survivalist group that bought some of that land from the mining company and moved in all the trailers and mobile homes.”

  “Oh, the ones up against the back forty of my grandmother’s land.” Skye narrowed her eyes. “She had a lot of trouble with those people—trespassing and hunting near the house. Maybe I should go visit the Underwoods. I’m concerned that they have such a bad opinion of the school.”

  Skye was almost safely to her car when her cousins struck. Ginger and Gillian surrounded her and started haranguing her before she could speak.

  Ginger was first. “We’re tired of you causing trouble in the family.”

  “You always have to be the center of attention, but you’ve gone too far this time.” Gillian poked Skye in the chest with her index finger.

  “What are you two talking about?” Skye edged closer to the Buick.

  “Oh, no you don’t.” Each twin took an arm and forced Skye to walk with them.

  Although Skye had several pounds on each of them, combined they were a force to be reckoned with. Skye’s thoughts were mixed. She didn’t want to create a scene in the school parking lot. All she needed was for it to get around that she was punching it out with her cousins. But this was getting a little scary.

  “Where are you taking me?” They didn’t answer. “Look, this isn’t funny.”

  When the trio reached Ginger’s van, they shoved Skye into the open back door and Gillian climbed in beside her. After Gillian slammed the sliding panel shut, Ginger walked around to the other side, climbed into the driver’s seat, and started the motor.

  Skye tried again. “What’s going on? This is just silly.”

  Ginger put the TranSport in gear and squealed out of the parking lot.

  “I’m sure we can work this out like civilized human beings.” Skye was losing her initial feeling of annoyance and beginning to get alarmed.

  “Relax,” Gillian said. “We just want to talk to you, alone and uninterrupted.”

  They drove out of Scumble River, passed Skye’s parents’ place, and seemed to be headed for their grandmother’s farm when Ginger slowed and pulled into a driveway obscured with wee
ds. It was the old Leofanti homestead that had been destroyed by the tornado.

  The twins climbed out of the van and Skye followed, after checking the ignition to see if Ginger had left the keys. She hadn’t.

  “Now what?” Skye asked.

  “We want to know what’s going on with Grandma,” Gillian said, settling on a concrete block. The foundation and chimney of the old farmhouse were the only reminders that there had ever been a building in that spot.

  “The last I heard, Simon ordered an autopsy,” Skye answered. “That takes a few days. After they determine a cause of death they’ll release the body. Then we’ll have the wake and funeral as usual.”

  “Grandma died of old age. She was eighty, for heaven’s sake. You’re just making it harder on all of us by refusing to admit that, and making us go through all this mumbo jumbo with the police,” Ginger said.

  “You would have never gotten your own way on this if you weren’t dating the coroner. Which, by the way, is pretty pathetic in itself.” Gillian stood and crossed her arms.

  “Whether you two like it or not, Grandma was murdered. I’m sorry if it isn’t convenient for you.” Skye turned on Gillian. “And it would be a real good idea to leave my relationship with Simon out of this, or I might be forced to examine your marriage a little closer.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Gillian screeched and started toward Skye.

  “Let’s just say I’ve heard things about Irvin that make me think he’s a real prince—only spelled differently.” Skye refused to back down.

  Gillian raised her hand and swung at Skye, who grabbed her by the wrist and twisted it to the right. Gillian howled in pain.

  “Try not to forget that I’ve had training in takedowns for uncontrollable kids.” Skye stepped back.

  Ginger joined her twin. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. Skye, this whole murder investigation not only gets everyone in town talking about us, but it also holds up getting the estate divided.”