Denise Swanson - Murder of a Small-Town Honey

"Simply a concerned citizen." Skye paused for effect. "But I'd be happy to call the police if you prefer to deal with them."

The woman swept her belongings into a large, discol­ored straw purse and slid her feet into rubber thongs. Her face wore an ill-tempered expression. "I don't have to take this. I'm telling Vince."

Skye smiled and crossed her arms. "Please do. I'm sure my brother will be interested to hear why you allow your children to damage his property."

Huffing and puffing like the Big Bad Wolf, the woman appeared to see the children for the first time. She snatched them away from Skye and jerked them toward the door. "Junior, Bambi, get away from her." Tugging at the crotch of her denim shorts, her halter top exposing a large expanse of chalk-white skin, she spun back toward Skye. "You keep your hands off my kids."

Skye lifted both hands, palms forward. "My pleasure."

As the woman scuttled out, dragging the children behind her, the little boy looked back at Skye. His smile appeared victorious, and she realized that he had gotten exactly what he wanted: his mother's attention.

The banging of the door brought Vince hurrying from the shampoo area. His long butterscotch-blond hair was tied in a ponytail, and there were beads of sweat above his emerald-green eyes. Through the window in the door he saw his customer's retreating form. "What did you do to Glenda Doozier?"

"Told her the truth."

Skye marveled at how out-of-place Vince looked for Scumble River. Dressed in chinos, a blue chambray shirt, and boat shoes without socks, he could have just stepped off a movie set.

In contrast, she'd summed up the town years ago by ex­plaining that there are white-collar communities and blue-collar communities, but Scumble River is a no-collar community. Consequently, the rednecks could be identified without obstruction.

Brother and sister stared at each other for a few seconds before Vince made the first move, as he always had since they were children, gathering her into a hug. "What have you done to yourself?"

Feeling uncomfortable, Skye plucked at her shorts and shirt. "What do you mean? I know I need a trim. That's one of the reasons I stopped by."

He shook his head. "No, I mean your weight. How much have you gained?"

"A few pounds, but it's no one's business but my own. I admit I'm calorically challenged, but I've decided to exit from the diet roller coaster."

Vince held her at arm's length and examined her. "But, Skye, you have such a pretty face. You can't let yourself go like that."

Skye stood tall. "Let's get this straight once and for all. The decision has been made. I am tired of eating less than eight hundred calories a day. This is my natural weight. I stopped dieting right after Christmas and have been where I am since April. This is what they call my set point."

"Does this have anything to do with breaking up with your fiance?" Vince questioned.

"No. And I've told you I don't want to talk about him— ever."

"Look, I know keeping thin hasn't been easy for you, but what will people say?"

"I can't believe you would care what people say, Vince. Haven't I always accepted you for yourself? Who has al­ways defended you to Mom and Dad? I've never asked you to get a more masculine job so people won't talk. How can you do less for me?"

Vince had the grace to look chagrined. "You're right, Sis. It was just such a surprise. I guess you still look pretty good. At least you filled out in most of the right places."

"Thanks a lot. I know some people won't think I look good unless I become anorexic, but I'm finished obsessing about my weight. End of discussion."

"Okay, okay. Since I seem to have an unexpected can­cellation, I can cut your hair as soon as I finish with lona." Vince gestured toward the woman in the styling chair, who had been following their conversation with great interest.

She waved.

"Great. I'll wash it myself while I wait." Skye started in the direction of the shampoo bowls but turned back. "By the way, why are you working alone?"

"Things have been kind of slow, so I had to let the re­ceptionist and the other stylist go."

Skye emerged from the shampoo area with her hair in a towel and plopped herself into the chair, still warm from lona's recent occupation. Vince whipped off the towel and started to comb out her tangles.

She squirmed and frowned at his image in the mirror. "Don't cut off too much. Only any inch or so, to get the split ends."

"Why don't you let me try something different? Maybe a shoulder-length pageboy."

Skye gave her brother a forbidding look. "No! No! No! I like it long and one length so I can tie it back or put it up."

"You're no fun."

"Last time you had fun with my hair I ended up looking like a Navy recruit."

"Fine. If that's how you feel, I'll just trim it." Vince grabbed a section of hair and held it straight up from her head.

They both turned to look as the front door opened. A UPS deliveryman held out a small package and a clipboard. "Hi. Sign right here, please."

Vince grinned and reached for the pen. "Thanks." He scribbled his name, grabbed the box, and tore it open. "I've been going crazy without these."

After the UPS man left, Skye asked, "What was that all about?"

"I misplaced my styling shears last Saturday. I've had to make do with an old pair until these got here. The other ones just aren't as sharp."

Vince continued talking as he started to cut her hair. "I'm glad you stopped by. I Wanted to ask you about dou­ble-dating with Abby and me on Wednesday."

"I don't know. She and I didn't get off to a very good start."

"Oh, I forgot. Did she give you the silent treatment?" Vince began snipping off pieces of hair.

"Yes. Why didn't you just tell me how you felt? I never knew you thought of me as Miss Perfect, until Abby ex­plained about you feeling unsuccessful around me."

"It's not a big deal."

Skye looked him in the eye via the mirror. "It sure seemed like one to me. Can't we talk about it?"

Shrugging, Vince looked away. "There's nothing to talk about."

She sighed and changed the subject. "This is the longest you've dated anyone since that awful girl in high school. What was her name?"

"I don't remember."

"Are you serious about Abby?"

"Maybe, if other things work out." Vince finished cut­ting and took out the blow-dryer.

"I'm really happy for you. I'd sure like to start over with Abby, but who would make up the fourth in this little out­ing?" Skye gazed up at him warily.

"For crying out loud! It's only dinner and a movie in Joliet, not a lifetime commitment."

"True, but I still would like to know who I'll be sharing a backseat with."

"He's a good friend of mine. You probably remember him. Mike Young."

"I saw him at the chokeberry jelly judging last Saturday. He sure hates Chokeberry Days." Skye raised an eyebrow.

"Well, he's pretty religious now. Chokeberry Days prob­ably reminds him of his wild youth."

She narrowed her eyes. "How interesting. He's your age, right?"

Vince nodded.

"Has he ever been married?"

Shaking his head, he switched off the dryer and picked up the curling iron.

Skye pounced. "What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing. Boy, try to do you a favor and this is the thanks I get." Vince shook his head in disgust. "You have such a suspicious mind."

"That's one drawback of being a psychologist," Skye conceded. "You're always looking for what's beneath the surface."

"So, are you going out with us or not?"

"Against my better judgment, I'll say yes. I've learned that anything or anyone that sounds too good to be true usually is."

"Mike's a great guy. He's good-looking, and he has his own business." Vince attempted to sound straightforward but failed.