Simon stared out the windshield.
“What aren’t you telling me?” Skye demanded.
“That’s the problem.” Simon groaned. “I don’t know. But Xavier’s been acting strange ever since Orlando and Risé moved to town.”
“I know there are some other issues with people like my cousin Hugo, but . . .”
“I don’t think it’s that.” Simon tapped his chin. “Look, I’ll try and find out more from Xavier, but if you could help make sure the Scumble River rabble-rousers don’t shut down Tales and Treats, and keep your ears open for anything else, I’d appreciate it.”
“I’ll do what I can. Trixie is bound and determined to keep the bookstore open, too, so she’ll help.” Skye glanced at her Timex and grimaced. “Sorry, but I’ve got to run.”
“What’s your hurry?”
“Do you remember me mentioning the boxes of books I found when I moved into my house?”
When Simon nodded, Skye continued, “As it happens, I’ve got an appointment with Orlando at nine forty-five. He’ll take a look at some of the books to see if they’re valuable, and if they are, he’ll sell them for me.”
“I thought I read that the store doesn’t open until one on Sundays.” Simon took Skye’s empty cup and stacked it inside his own, along with her crumpled napkin.
“That’s right. He’s meeting me beforehand so we won’t be interrupted.” Skye fumbled for the door handle.
“Thank you for listening to me.” Simon got out of the Lexus and hurried around the hood. He helped her out, then kissed her cheek. “I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.” Skye waved as she walked toward her car. “Call me if you find out what Xavier is hiding.”
She watched Simon turn out of the gas station, then got into her Bel Air and started back to town. The road into Scumble River had once been lined with acres of corn and soybeans, but several housing developments had sprung up in the last few years. The occasional old farmhouse looked oddly forlorn sprinkled among the cookie-cutter homes huddled on handkerchief-size lawns. Skye felt sorry for the farmhouse owners, who were often harassed by the newcomers to either sell or make improvements they couldn’t afford.
Heading east, she spotted the remains of an old barn that had been allowed to disintegrate until its roof now sat on its foundation. The only thing left standing was the silver silo, which rose out of the ground like a missile ready to launch. A deer munched on a row of stray cornstalks.
It was a beautiful fall day, but during her drive Skye saw no one in the front yards, and all the garage doors were closed. How many children were glued to their video games inside? It seemed that often people moved to the country for the fresh air and open spaces but then never took advantage of either one.
As she approached Tales and Treats, she saw that Hugo’s used cars were still parked out front. She was surprised that Risé hadn’t taken further steps to get rid of the vehicles. The store owner hadn’t struck Skye as someone who gave up easily. There must be something she was missing.
Skye braked and scanned the area. After a couple of minutes, she spotted two tiny security cameras aimed at the parking spots directly facing the shop. Aha. It looked as if Risé was following through after all on her vow to prove that Hugo’s inventory was there for an illegal length of time.
Giving up on finding a close space for the Bel Air, Skye double-parked, blocking in a green Chrysler selling for only two thousand dollars and a blue Hyundai that was a steal at nine hundred and ninety-nine dollars. Since the used-car lot was closed on Sundays, she figured her Chevy would be okay while she unloaded her cargo.
As Skye got out of her car, she noticed that a shade was pulled down over the bookstore’s front window and no sign of lights peeked around its edge. Had Orlando forgotten their appointment? She checked her watch, then shook her head. It was only nine thirty, on time for Scumble Riverites but early for everyone else.
Hmm. Should she move her car while she waited? No. First she’d drop off the books near the building; afterward she’d find another spot for the Chevy. Skye unlocked the trunk and reached for the first two cartons. She heaved them into her arms and struggled to the sidewalk, her purse banging heavily against her thigh.
Skye rested for a second, then made her way to the entrance. As she lowered the boxes to the concrete, she noticed that the door was slightly ajar. It took her a second to come to the conclusion that Orlando had probably left it like that so she’d know it was open and would come inside. If he was working in the café, he’d never hear her knock.
Boosting the cartons back up to chest level, Skye used her toe to nudge the door open a little more, then hip-checked it, widening the gap so she had room to enter. As she stepped into the unlit shop, she called out, “Yoo-hoo, Orlando. It’s Skye Denison.”
Between the boxes she could barely see over, and the lack of illumination, Skye felt like she was in a cave. She paused just over the threshold and tried to get her bearings.
Intent on recalling whether there was anything between her and the counter, Skye took one tiny step, shouting, “Mr. Erwin? Orlando? Are you here?”
There was no answer. As far as Skye could tell, there were no lights on in any of the store’s rooms. What in the heck was going on? Why would the door be open if no one was around? Where was Orlando?
Getting no response to her third yoo-hoo, Skye inched ahead. She stopped to listen, but all was as silent as outer space. Yikes! This was starting to remind her of a haunted house, and she hated haunted houses.
“Anyone here?” Skye’s voice quavered. She’d never realized how spooky a dark, empty bookstore could be.
No answer. Taking a deep breath, Skye forced herself to shuffle forward. If she could just get to the front and put these boxes down on the counter, she could go wait in her car until Orlando showed up.
By her estimation, she was only about three feet from the register. As she took another step, her foot slid into what felt like a melon. What was a piece of fruit doing in the middle of the floor? Moving to the right, she encountered a wooden barrier. There had definitely not been anything like that in the shop yesterday.
Sighing, she finally gave up and eased the boxes to the floor. Still unable to see in the darkness, Skye crouched. Tentatively, she reached out and touched the obstruction, then ran her hand down its length. It felt like a cabinet. Had it fallen over during the night?
Making her way back toward the entrance, she trailed her fingers along the adjacent wall until she found a light switch and flipped it on. Brightness flooded the store. Skye blinked rapidly, blinded by the sudden glare.
When her eyes finally adjusted, she gasped, “Risé!” and rushed forward.
The huge, heavy rare-book cabinet that had been set against the wall was now lying across the floor. Sticking out from under it, facedown, were a head and shoulders. The shiny brown ponytail splayed against the yellow polo shirt looked vibrant and alive, but the instant Skye touched the store owner’s neck, she knew the woman had been dead for quite some time.
CHAPTER 7
The Picture of Dorian Gray
Asquad car squealed to a stop in front of Tales and Treats, but its lights weren’t flashing and its siren was silent. Wally Boyd jumped out and sprinted toward Skye, who was slumped in one of the shop’s outdoor wrought-iron chairs. As the chief of the Scumble River Police Department, Wally worked days Monday through Friday, but knowing he’d want to be first on the scene involving a death, Skye had called him directly rather than dialing 911. Evidently, he’d stopped at the police station to pick up a cruiser before coming to the store.