Die Me a River Read online

  Wally sighed and continued to read Quirk’s report. The Illinois Secretary of State Police Bomb Squad had collected the remains of the explosive device along with any related debris. Their experts would examine the evidence and send a report in a few days as to how the bomb was detonated—by a timer or someone nearby using a signaling device. Wally chafed at the delay, but he knew that the squad was stretched thin serving communities extending from just past Joliet to the southern tip of Illinois.

  With the exception of the enclosed gaming lounge, the structural engineer had signed off on the overall safety of the building, allowing authorized personnel to enter it. But before the bowling alley could reopen for business, the windows, doors, and interior staircase needed to be replaced. In addition, the area directly damaged by the blast would have to be completely demolished and rebuilt to code.

  Wally thought about the explosion and the resulting death. Was Paige Myler the target? Or was she collateral damage, and destroying the bowling alley’s gambling lounge the real objective?

  From what he had gathered, a lot of Scumble Riverites hated Paige and wouldn’t cry at her funeral. But there were also a heck of a lot of townsfolk who were unhappy that gambling was allowed in their small community. Individuals who had lost a lot of money on the video gaming machines, or were anti-gambling, or even one of Bunny’s competitors would be happy to have the bowling alley lounge closed down. And that didn’t even take into account Bunny’s former gentlemen friends. Who knew how many bitter exes were in her past?

  Turning to his computer, Wally did some research. The minimal destruction done to the building suggested a fairly low-level blast, which made bombing an extremely poor method for murder. Not that perps were known for their common sense and ability to make good decisions.

  Before he totally ruled out Paige’s death as the goal, he needed to know why she’d been in the bowling alley after hours and how she’d gotten inside. The search for those answers would have to start with Bunny.

  It was frustrating that his key witness was a woman who was about as candid as a CIA agent and about as skillful a liar as Bernie Madoff. Wally would have a better chance of getting the CEO of Coca-Cola to give him the secret recipe for the famous soft drink than he had in getting Bunny to tell him the truth.

  Unfortunately, his best bet in getting the shifty redhead to come clean was asking Skye to talk to her. Wally’s gut clenched and he scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. His wife had enough to do without dragging her into this investigation.

  Pushing aside his instinctual protectiveness where Skye was concerned and his need to spare her any stress, Wally took a moment of self-reflection and shook his head. Yes, Skye was busy with the twins and with the new house being built, but she’d probably appreciate a break from those responsibilities. And she considered Bunny a friend, so she would want to help her get the bowling alley up and running as soon as possible.

  Guilt tugged at his insides when he admitted that there was the uncomfortable little fact that he didn’t really have the right to decide for her. Skye was a grown woman who could make up her own mind. He certainly didn’t want to turn into the kind of husband who, in the name of love, thought he was in charge of his wife’s choices.

  Wally slowly took his cell phone from his pocket and reluctantly dialed Skye’s number. One way or another, he needed to talk to Bunny ASAP.

  Skye answered on the first ring. “Hey, sweetie. Everything okay?”

  “Yep.” Wally smiled. Skye was her mother’s daughter all right. Her first impulse on receiving an unexpected call was to think something was wrong. “The body at the bowling alley has been identified as Paige Myler, the woman from Homestead Insurance.”

  “Oh. That’s not good,” Skye said slowly. “I’ve heard some unflattering stuff about her.”

  “Yeah.” Wally rocked back in his chair. “Thing is, I need to question Bunny. I’m not convinced she wasn’t aware of Ms. Myler’s presence in the building.”

  “I agree.” Skye paused, then asked, “Do you want me to go with you? Bunny will probably share things with me that she won’t with you.”

  “If you’re not too busy?” Wally wasn’t really sure if he wanted her to answer yes or no. “Do you think your mom can babysit?”

  “She stopped by with a pan of lasagna and she’s just leaving. Hold on and I’ll ask her.” The line went silent.

  While he waited, Wally jotted down a few questions he wanted to ask Bunny.

  “I’m back.” Skye’s voice was breathless. “I had to chase her down the driveway, but I caught Mom before she pulled away, and she says since she doesn’t have to work this afternoon, she’s happy to watch little Antonia and Joseph for as long as we want.”

  “Who?”

  “She’s decided we should name the twins after her parents.” Skye chuckled.

  “No.” Wally shook his head even though no one could see him. “Just no.”

  “Don’t worry. I told her that if we used one of her parents’ names we’d have to use one of your father’s parents’ names and she backed off.”

  “What’s wrong with Cornelius and Clementine?” Wally pretended to be offended.

  Skye giggled, then said, “Do you want to meet me at the motor court, or maybe you should pick me up since we might have to track down Bunny?”

  “When can you be ready?”

  “Give me ten minutes,” Skye said before disconnecting.

  Staring at the mess in front of him, Wally quickly pulled the bowling alley file toward him and inserted the reports he’d been reading along with his own notes. Then he grudgingly placed a call to Kathryn Steele. Since the next of kin hadn’t been notified, he couldn’t reveal the vic’s identity, but he gave the newspaper owner a statement that the bomb was being examined by an expert and the body that had been found suffered a crush injury due to a fallen slot machine.

  After promising to give Kathryn Steele the name of the victim as soon as he could, he called Martinez and put her to work locating Paige Myler’s next of kin, as well as finding out if the woman had been staying in the area, and if so, where. Once he had the rookie working on the vic’s background info, Wally informed Thea that he was going out to interview witnesses, hurried to the garage, and slid behind the wheel of the squad car. Backing out, he headed home to pick up Skye.

  As always, the sight of the sheared-off trees and fields still littered with debris saddened him. Eventually, most of the trees would grow back and the rubble would be cleared, but the invisible scars left by the tornado would take a lot longer to heal.

  Pulling into his driveway, Wally studied the mammoth RV his father had arranged to be hauled to Scumble River and set up on their property when their old house had been destroyed in the storm. He and Skye were fortunate to have a comfortable motor home to live in, but he couldn’t wait for their new place to be completed.

  They had chosen to build the new house closer to the river with a deck running the entire length of the rear wall facing the water. Since they had plenty of land, they’d picked a sprawling Prairie-style ranch with a welcoming front porch and a screened-in gazebo in the back, as well as a full basement. Having made it through one tornado, he would never live anywhere without a basement again.

  May’s white Oldsmobile was in the driveway next to the Mercedes-Benz SUV that Wally had bought for his wife right before the birth of their babies. Skye’s old Bel Air and his Thunderbird had been totaled when the garage collapsed under the impact of a downed tree.

  He pulled the squad car to a stop and opened the driver-side door. As he got out of the cruiser, he heard what sounded like the tinkling of tiny bells and the hair on the back of Wally’s neck rose. He whirled around. There weren’t many places left for someone to hide with the trees shorn and the landscape mostly barren, but there still were a few bushes and piles of rubbish.

  The RV was parked a good
distance from where their new house was being built and Wally peered toward that site. He saw the usual workers’ vehicles parked near the construction area but nothing else.

  Turning back, he looked toward the front of the property. For a second he thought he caught a glimpse of pink near the road, but when he blinked it was gone. Was the stress finally getting to him, or had someone been watching the motor home?

  Chapter 9

  Bossa Nova Baby

  As Skye slid into the squad car, she said, “Since your father and Bunny are probably together”—she ignored Wally’s wince and continued—“should I try his cell?”

  “Don’t you have Bunny’s number? Just call her.”

  Wally put his arm across the top of the seat and turned to get a better sight line as he backed out of the long driveway. He reversed slowly and Skye wondered why. He seemed to be examining the front yard closely.

  “Are you looking for something?” Skye finally asked.

  “What?” Wally shot her a guilty glance. “No. Just thinking that, come spring, we need to get a landscaper here to plant some trees.”

  “Right.” Skye didn’t entirely believe him, but she shook her head and went back to their original conversation. “I already called Bunny, but I got an automated message saying the number was no longer in service.” Skye glanced sideways at her husband. “I could text Simon and ask him for his mother’s new phone number.”

  “No.” Wally’s gaze was glued to the road, but tiny lines appeared around his mouth as he sighed. “Just call Dad.”

  When Carson didn’t pick up, Skye left a message, then said, “Well, that didn’t get us anywhere. Guess we’ll just have to track them down.”

  “It’s after three o’clock.” Wally tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “We’ll try the motor court first, but I doubt they’re just sitting around the room, and if they aren’t there, where would they be?”

  While Skye considered the possibilities, she stared out the windshield. There had been a gentle breeze earlier, but it had picked up and with every gust the long grass by the side of the road was nearly flattened to the ground. The sky was an unusual steel blue and the clouds were swirling like milk as it was added to a latte.

  Refocusing, Skye said, “Your dad’s been volunteering on the cleanup crews who walk the fields and clear out debris.”

  Wally rolled his eyes. “Bunny certainly wouldn’t be with him doing that. Can you see her tripping along in her stilettos picking up litter among the cornstalks?”

  “He also helps at the vet clinic,” Skye offered. “A lot of the animals that Linc took in after they were displaced by the tornado are still there. Either the owners can’t have them in their temporary housing or they’ve been abandoned. It’s sort of turned into a no-kill shelter at this point.”

  “I can’t imagine Bunny scooping dog poop either.” Wally chuckled.

  “I suppose not. But I sure hope she finds something to do.” Skye twisted a curl around her finger. She’d put her hair into a french braid, but there were always one or two tendrils that escaped. “I’m worried that without the bowling alley to occupy her time, Bunny could have a relapse.”

  When Bunny had first come to town she had been dealing with an addiction to prescription painkillers. Since then, she’d kicked the habit and had been clean for several years.

  Wally glanced at Skye. “Reid would be well advised to put her to work at the funeral home until the bowling alley is ready to reopen.”

  “Or maybe Bunny could help me out with the twins,” Skye teased. “Your father’s been offering to pay for a nanny and I could—”

  “Skye.” Wally’s voice was unamused. “No.” He opened his mouth as if to elaborate, then shook his head and said, “Just no.”

  “Party pooper.” Skye folded her arms. Then, as Wally turned into the Up A Lazy River motor court, she gestured to the empty parking lot and said, “It doesn’t look as if anyone’s here. Not even Charlie.”

  “Let’s check anyway.” Wally pulled into a spot in front of the office.

  Skye hopped out of the squad car, holding down the bottom of her trapeze top so the wind didn’t blow it over her head. She met Wally as he was walking around the trunk. The cold front hadn’t quite made it through yet and it was still hot and humid. Sweat dripped down her back as they approached the door and when the sun emerged from the clouds, it felt like a curling iron pressed against her spine.

  A handwritten sign taped to the window part of the door greeted them: No Vacancy. Office closed. Slip key under door if checking out.

  Wiping his forehead with his handkerchief, Wally cursed. “Son of a—”

  “Want me to call Charlie?” Skye offered, waving her cell phone.

  “Nah.” Wally smiled. “Thanks, darlin’, but I doubt Charlie would know Dad’s and Bunny’s whereabouts.”

  “Any better ideas?” Skye asked. “It’s too early for cocktails. If the Feed Bag were still open, I’d suggest trying there. Maybe Mickey D’s, but your dad seemed fed up, pun intended, with fast food.”

  “True,” Wally agreed. “I guess it’s time for good old-fashioned police work.”

  “And that would entail what exactly?” Skye raised a questioning brow.

  “Driving around town until we see Dad’s truck,” Wally explained.

  When Carson had decided to stay in Scumble River for an extended period of time, he’d had his tricked-out F-150 Platinum SuperCrew Cab brought in from Texas. Its distinctive metallic-ruby exterior was pretty easy to spot. The high-end Ford was as luxurious as a Mercedes and stood out among the rest of the more commonplace pickups in use around the area.

  Getting back into the squad car, Skye reached over and kicked up the air-conditioning, turning the vent to blow on her overheated face.

  As they slowly cruised through the streets of Scumble River, Skye asked, “Did the ME have any details that suggested Paige was the target of the explosion versus the bowling alley itself?”

  “At this point, there’s no way to tell.” Wally slowed when a red truck passed them going in the opposite direction, but he sped up when it was obviously not Carson’s vehicle. “I’m leaning toward the alley since it’s difficult to guarantee anyone would get killed in a bombing like the one yesterday.”

  “Unless you didn’t care if that person ended up dead or only injured,” Skye said thoughtfully. “Maybe the goal was just to get Paige out of commission.”

  “Okay.” Wally turned west on Basin Street. “But in that case, the bomber had to know Ms. Myler would be in the gambling lounge.”

  “Which brings us back to Bunny,” Skye said, then yelled, “Stop!”

  The squad car’s tires squealed as Wally hit the brakes, and although Skye was wearing her seat belt, he put his arm out to hold her back. She patted his hand, then leaned forward and pointed.

  Wally squinted through the windshield, then said, “Tell me my dad’s truck isn’t in front of your aunt Olive’s dance studio.”

  “I thought we promised not to lie to each other.” Skye grinned.

  “There’s a fine line between fibbing and offering your dear husband the comfort he so badly needs.” Wally tapped Skye’s nose, then pulled the squad car into a parking spot in front of the school. “Just wait until your family is driving you crazy again.”

  “You did not just jinx me.” Skye shot him an outraged glare.

  “If the curse fits.” Wally shrugged, exited the vehicle, and went around to Skye’s side to escort her. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Olive Leofanti had opened the Scumble River School of Adult Dance a little less than two years ago. When her original partner had been unable to come up with her half of the money for the business, the future of the studio had seemed uncertain until Olive had found another investor.

  Her new business partner, Ruby Jones, was from out of state, but sh
e’d sent her daughter Emerald—a.k.a. Emmy, a.k.a. Simon’s new girlfriend—to represent her interests in the studio. Agreeing with Emmy’s suggestions, Olive had changed the name of the school to Turning Pointe and expanded to include lessons for children. Immediately, business had picked up and now the place was thriving.

  Skye had only been to the school twice—once for the grand opening and once to investigate a previous murder. However, her mother’s bulletins usually kept her informed. Either May didn’t know that Carson was taking lessons or he’d sworn her to secrecy. Skye’s mom loved a good gossip session, but she always kept her promises.

  Loud music greeted Skye and Wally as they walked through the glass doors and into the lobby. Beyond the entrance were three separate rooms that had been carved from the original large space. The studio had started life as a grocery store, but Skye’s aunt Olive had gutted it, then added laid hardwood over the cement floors, mounted track lighting along the high ceiling, and installed mirrors on the walls.

  Couples ranging in age from millennials to baby boomers and beyond were practicing line dancing in one room, swing in a second, and ballroom in the third. Although there were walls between them, all three rooms had their double doors wide open and Skye wondered how the students were able to block out the peripheral music that spilled into their space and follow the correct beat.

  Emerald Jones, a beautiful woman in her early thirties, stood near the entrance of the middle room. She was teaching a half-dozen teenagers the steps to the Lindy Hop. When she noticed Wally and Skye, she told her group to take a break and approached them.

  “Well, if it isn’t the proud new parents.” The stunning blond, dressed in skintight low-rise boy-cut shorts, a barely there crop top, and thigh-high tights, playfully tapped Wally’s arm. “When are you going to bring those babies to the club for us all to admire?”

  “Hi, Emmy.” Wally smiled warmly. “The twins will have to be a little older before they make their first trip to the shooting range.”