Denise Swanson - Murder of a Small-Town Honey

tion, giving Skye the deposit receipt and counting the cash into her hand.

Skye made her escape and hurried next door to the dry cleaners. For once it was a relief to pay the ransom for her clothing. At least none of her relatives worked there.

CHAPTER 16

It's Impossible

Skye was stretched out across her bed with an ice­cube-filled washcloth covering her eyes. Her only movement was a fingertip idly tracing the stitching on the quilt. It had deep rose-colored diamonds and ivory rings on a cranberry background, and had been on every bed she'd owned since her Grandma Leofanti gave it to her when she turned sixteen.

After the scene at the junior high and the run-in with her cousin at the bank, Skye was emotionally exhausted. Upon reaching home, almost before closing the door, she'd shed her clothes and kicked off her shoes. She'd grabbed a hand­ful of ice from the freezer and a cloth from the bathroom, then flung herself across the bed and tried to forget her en­counters with Lloyd and Gillian.

The harder she tried to think of something else, the more the confrontations bothered her. As a psychologist I'm sup­posed to know how to deal with people. Instead, I'm alien­ating them left and right. First Darleen, then Wally, and now Lloyd. Who will be next? Gee, I haven't spoken to the superintendent of schools yet. Or how about the mayor? Maybe the pope will grant me an audience.

A loud ring from the telephone interrupted her self-casti-gation. She reached for the handset without removing the washcloth from her eyes. "Hello?"

"Good, you're finally home. Where have you been? It's almost five-thirty."

"Vince, I've had a bad day," Skye said in a don't-mess-with-me tone.

"I'm just calling to make sure you remember our double date tonight."

"Oh, my God!"

"You did forget," Vince said accusingly.

Skye responded petulantly, "Gee, I'm sorry I forgot something so important, but I have been a little busy trying to clear your name."

There was silence on the line, and Skye wondered briefly if he had hung up.

"Yeah, well, ah, thanks. That's good, because Wally was by the shop again today," Vince mumbled.

"You didn't say anything, did you?"

"No. He said he just wanted to make an appointment for a haircut."

"Well, you don't really believe that, do you?" Skye sat up.

"Of course I don't. I'm not as stupid as everyone in the family thinks."

"This is a stressful time, Vince. No one thinks you're stupid. We need to stick together." She swung her feet to the floor.

"Okay. Let's forget this stuff and have a good time tonight. What are you wearing?"

"Where are we going exactly?"

"We'll pick you up at six, which would put us in Joliet around seven. If we eat at the Red Lobster near Louis Joliet Mall, we could catch the nine o'clock movie at the cin­ema." Vince's voice became more animated.

"That sounds good. I guess I'll wear my black-and-white gingham shorts suit. Will that be all right? Or should I call Abby?" she teased.

Vince responded seriously, "No, that sounds fine. Do you have white flats?"

"Sure, they're ballet-style flats with bows."

"Great. What are you going to do with your hair?"

"Oh, I thought I'd wear it. Unless you think I should shave it off. What's going on here? I thought this was a ca­sual date." She rubbed her throbbing temples.

"It is. I just want you to look nice. Mike hasn't seen you in a long time."

"Is this about my weight?" Skye threw the damp cloth in the direction of the bathroom door.

"No, no, that's not it at all. Mike's a little conservative, and sometimes you dress a little wild," Vince hurried to ex­plain.

"Are you kidding? I dress about as flashy as Marie Os­mond. How conservative is this guy?"

Vince ignored her question. "Everything will be fine. We'll see you at six."

Skye had a bad feeling about this date, but reassured herself by thinking, After all, it's just one date. It's only a few hours out of my life. Vince andAbby will be with us the whole time. And I do want to ask Mike some questions about Honey.

She rolled off the bed and retrieved the wet cloth from the floor, using it to mop up the puddles from the melted ice cubes. After disposing of it in the bathroom hamper, she slipped into her robe, which had been hanging on a hook on the back of the door.

Skye took a moment to admire it. Running her hands over the powder-blue damask cotton, she snuggled in the French terry lining. It had cost more than she made in a day, but she couldn't resist it when she'd spotted it at Mar­shall Field's.

She had developed a clothes addiction when she re­turned from her stint in the Peace Corps. After wearing nothing but denim shorts, jeans, and T-shirts for four years, she had gone on a shopping spree that rivaled Imelda Mar-cos's. She still liked nothing better than to shop until she dropped.

Skye took one look at her rumpled hair and pale skin in the bathroom mirror and switched on her electric curlers. While she was waiting for them to heat up, she washed her face and applied a generous dollop of moisturizer.

Allowing the lotion to soak in, she set her hair before applying her makeup. Skye employed a lot of cosmetics to appear as if she used none. First came the base. Next she used a concealer to cover the circles under her eyes. After a light dusting of translucent powder and some blush she was ready to work on her eyes.

Skye's eyes had always been her best feature. Their ef­fervescent color and large size drew admiring glances and comments wherever she went. The cream and taupe eye shadows, dark green eyeliner, and mascara were merely embellishments.

It was five minutes to six by the time she finished dress­ing. She was fastening her watch when the doorbell rang. Slipping on an onyx ring shaped like a cat's face, she walked to the front door.

Abby, Vince, and Mike were all standing on her porch. Mike was dressed in a conservatively cut navy suit. His light blue shirt matched his eyes, and his hair was cut as short as possible without edging into a crew cut. Belatedly, Skye realized that she should have had something ready to serve them.

Stepping to one side, she gestured them into the foyer. "Please come in. I'm sorry the place isn't more furnished, but I'm still getting settled."

Vince saved her. "We really don't have time to stay. You know Abby, and this is my friend Mike Young."

Mike held out his hand. "Hi. I'm sure you don't remem­ber me, but I certainly remember you. I always thought Vince's little sister was going to be a beauty when she grew up."

Having no answer to that statement, Skye smiled un-

comfortably and wondered if he was disappointed with the

reality.

Mike and Vince did most of the talking on the drive up. They thoroughly discussed the Cubs' latest season before moving on to the best way to work out at the gym. Abby was able to contribute an occasional comment on both sub­jects, but it sounded to Skye as if they were speaking Swahili.

Red Lobster was mobbed when they arrived. The lobby was full, and people were standing outside on the front walk, making it difficult to negotiate passage through the throng. Vince offered to fight his way to the front to find out how long a wait there would be.

The loudspeaker squawked, "Martin, party of four."

A group rose from one of the two benches outside the door. Skye was not able to see how it was accomplished, but miraculously she found herself seated between Mike and Abby.

Mike leaned back, stretching out his long legs, seem­ingly unaware of the dirty looks from the people standing in front of him. "Ah, this is better. You comfortable, girls?"

At the word girls Skye shot Abby a look. A slight shrug of Abby's shoulders stopped Skye from pursuing the mat­ter.