Denise Swanson - Murder of a Small-Town Honey

Simon and Charlie were sitting on the sofa, paging through what at first looked like a book of wallpaper sam­ples. When Charlie saw Skye at the screen door, he motioned her inside. Not knowing what to expect, she reluctantly pushed the door open and headed for a chair.

"Come sit over here, sweetheart. I need you to help me pick things out for Honey's funeral."

Reluctantly, Skye went to the couch and sat in the only space available, next to Simon. "What's going on, Uncle Charlie?"

"When Simon called this afternoon to let me know they were finished with the autopsy and were going to release Honey's body tomorrow, I asked if his funeral parlor could handle the arrangements. He said yes and offered to bring me these books tonight so I wouldn't have to find a ride over to him. Wasn't that obliging?"

"Very," said Skye, thinking to herself, So, Mr. Simon Reid, you've heard about Charlie's inheritance. She looked at Simon and said aloud, "How kind of you, but Charlie knows my parents or I would be glad to drive him anywhere he wants to go."

Simon sat back, looking totally at ease. "Oh, it's noth­ing. I often go to people's houses to make the arrange­ments. It's so hard for older people to get around. That's why I got these books made up. It makes the whole process somewhat easier."

"I've got the cemetery plot already," Charlie said. "I bought it when her folks died. There's plenty of room for Honey, and me too when it's my time." He pointed to a pic­ture of a casket on the open page in Simon's lap. "I thought this white one would be nice, with pink satin lining. Do you think it's okay?"

Skye noticed that it was one of the most expensive on the page. "Did Simon suggest that one?"

Simon shot her a look before answering smoothly, "I try not to influence people's selections. It's such a personal matter."

She wondered if he was intimating that she had no busi­ness helping Charlie choose. "It's kind of expensive. I'm sure Mr. Reid could show you something a little simpler."

Before Simon could speak Charlie said, "I didn't like the cheap ones he showed me first. After all, she was a TV star. We don't want the Chicago people who come to her funeral to think we're hicks."

Skye noticed that Charlie's eyes were tearing up. "That one would be perfect."

Simon put the catalog he was holding on the coffee table and took another from the briefcase at his feet. Skye no­ticed that the attache was made of expensive Italian leather.

He opened the new volume. "Now for the headstone."

Skye and Charlie looked closely as he turned the pages. Coming to the last page, Simon gazed at them expectantly.

"Skye, which did you like?" Charlie asked.

"Well, Simon is right. It's a very personal decision," hedged Skye.

Charlie looked at her helplessly. "I've always thought of you like a daughter. Who else could I ask?"

"I thought the white granite one with the gold letters looked nice." Skye swallowed a lump in her throat. She sometimes forgot how alone Charlie really was.

He nodded. "Me too. We could put a gold star on it, and it would be like her dressing room door."

"What would you like on the stone besides the star?" Simon asked.

"Her name and the dates of her birth and death." Charlie turned to Skye. "It seems like there should be a saying or something."

Skye thought a moment and then smiled softly. "How about: And throughout all Eternity 1 forgive you, you for­give me."

Simon looked at her, a surprised expression on his face. "That's beautiful. I guess I need to hire you as my epitaph consultant."

"It's Blake. I have a minor in English," Skye answered, disconcerted by Simon's approval.

"That's perfect. Honey caused a lot of heartache while she was on this Earth, but that don't give anyone the right to kill her. Now they can all forgive each other." Charlie reached across Simon and patted Skye's hand.

Simon put his pile of books in his briefcase and pulled out an appointment book. "When would you like to sched­ule the service?"

"I'm not having any wake, and I want the funeral on this coming Monday. It's Labor Day, so most people won't have to take a day off work. Honey didn't have many friends here in Scumble River, so it'll mostly be people paying their respects to me. I don't want to inconvenience them any more than I have to. Her agent said he didn't think many people from Chicago would come."

"Will we be going to a church?" asked Simon.

"No." Charlie shook his head. "She never believed in any of that when she lived with me, and her agent said she hadn't changed. Could you say a few words?"

"Sure, and anyone else who might want to will be wel­come." Simon added, "You know it takes a while for the headstone. It won't be ready on Monday."

Charlie nodded and got up, sticking out his hand. "Thank you for your time. I appreciate your kindness."

Simon shook Charlie's hand and picked up his attach^. "Skye, would you walk out to the car with me?"

"What?" Skye looked at Charlie, puzzled. He nodded slightly. "Okay, just for a minute."

After holding the door open for Skye, Simon led the way toward the Lexus. He unlocked the doors and put his things in the backseat. For once he seemed at a loss for words. "Ah, Skye, I was wondering—ah, I mean, if you're not busy, would you like to go out tomorrow? We could go to brunch."

"You've got to be kidding." The words flew out of Skye's mouth before she could stop them.

He raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

"As well you should. What makes you think I would want to go out with you after the way you acted in the store Thursday night?"

"I really didn't do anything wrong at the supermarket." Before Skye could reply, he hurried on. "But I am sorry if my conduct caused you any distress. Truce?"

Skye was not by any means completely satisfied by this equivocation. She might forgive his caddish demeanor, but it wouldn't be forgotten.

She opened her mouth to dismiss him, but before she could speak his golden eyes bored into hers and she forgot what she was going to say.

Taking her hand, Simon held it between both of his. "I'd really like to get to know you better. I promise to be on my best behavior. Please come to brunch with me tomorrow."

"Yes, I'd like that." Skye was tempted to look around to see who had said that. She certainly had not intended to go out with him. She found him obnoxious, didn't she?

"You're probably wondering why Sunday brunch." Simon's thumb made lazy circles on her palm.

His touch made her feel light-headed, and she fought to keep her voice even. "A little."

"I generally have funerals Friday and Saturday, but since

no one gets buried on Sunday I can always count on that day off."

"That makes sense."

Simon let go of her hand. "Great. Is ten all right?"

"Fine. I'll see you then." She felt strangely bereft when he got into his car and drove off.

As Skye walked back into Charlie's, her mind cleared and she firmly pushed away the memory of Simon's touch. By the time she reached the door, she had almost convinced herself that what she had felt wasn't real.

She found Charlie standing by the bookshelves, holding a slim black volume in his hands. The cover was graced by a giant red scorpion.

"What do you have there, Uncle Charlie?" Skye looked over his shoulder.

"It's Honey's yearbook. I found it stuck inside another book when I was straightening out the mess from Wednes­day. Look at all the people who signed it."

Skye took the book from his hands and idly leafed through it. Suddenly she stopped. There, on the page show­ing the pictures of the faculty, right below Lloyd Stark's photograph, was an inscription. It said: I hate and I love. Perhaps you ask why I do so. I do not know, but I feel it, and I am in torment. There was no signature, but Skye in­tended to get a sample of Lloyd's handwriting first thing to­morrow morning.