“I’d love a scotch, but I’m guessing you don’t have the bottle you used to keep for me anymore, so how about a glass of wine?” He put the pizza down on the wicker table.
She nodded, closed the door, and after a second’s thought locked it. Hurrying to the kitchen, she worried about what her ex wanted to discuss. None of the subjects that came to mind was encouraging.
Simon had made himself comfortable while she’d been gone. The citronella candle Skye kept on the table was lit, and he had taken off his suit jacket and tie and was settled in one of the pair of matching wicker armchairs with his feet up on the ottoman.
Skye put down two glasses of Zinfandel, plates, and a stack of paper napkins, then took a seat. “Go ahead. Eat while it’s still hot.”
“Thanks.” He flipped open the box. “I haven’t had anything since coffee with you. I was on my way to brunch when I got the call from Boyd.”
While Simon devoured three slices of pizza, she nibbled on one. She may have eaten a huge dinner a couple of hours ago, but who could resist Aurelio’s pepperoni and mushrooms on a crispy thin crust?
Finally, Simon wiped his mouth with his napkin. “You sure aren’t eating much.” He sneered. “Has Boyd got you on a diet for the big wedding?”
“Of course not. He likes me the way I am,” Skye snapped. “Do you really think I’d lose weight because some man told me to?” She was tired of hearing about weddings, and she was especially tired of discussing what she should look like by the time hers rolled around.
“Oops! Sorry. That was just my jealousy getting out of hand.” Simon’s expression was contrite. “Let me rephrase that. Don’t you like the pizza?”
“If you must know, Mom and the gang were waiting for me with a complete Sunday dinner ready to be served when I got home.” She made a wry face. “I wonder how many other thirty-five-year-old women have mothers who break into their houses to cook for them.”
“May is one of a kind.” Simon’s tone was fond. “If my mother broke into my house, it would be to steal the silver in order to finance some get-rich-quick scheme.”
“Bunny’s not that bad.” Skye took a sip of her wine. “She would never steal from you.”
“You’re right.” Simon picked up another piece of pizza. “She’d just try to con me out of the money.”
They both laughed; then Skye sighed and said, “I’m not going to like why you’re here, am I?”
“Probably not.”
“Shoot!” She took a deep breath. “I’m ready. Tell me your news.”
“The medical examiner’s preliminary findings are that Kayla’s death was not an accident.”
“Because the rare-book cabinet was deliberately pushed over?”
“Not only that.” Simon finished chewing and swallowed. “Because it appears she was hit over the head before the cabinet was yanked on top of her.”
“How can he know that so soon?”
“Her skull was smashed in, but the bookcase only hit her from below the shoulder blades.”
“Still.” Skye’s chair squeaked as she leaned forward. “It was most likely a crime of circumstances. The thief didn’t realize Kayla was there, and when she caught him, he hit her, shoved the cabinet over, and ran.”
“Maybe.” Simon twisted a gold signet ring on his right hand. “But I’m concerned about Xavier.”
“His investment?”
“That, although I don’t think that poor girl’s death will keep business away for long—people have short memories.” Simon struggled to explain his reasoning. “More, I have a bad feeling that this wasn’t—how did you put it?—a crime of circumstances.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Something isn’t adding up.” Simon adjusted the crease on his trousers, then picked up his glass. “Xavier was really upset when he first came into the store and he thought Risé was the woman under the bookshelf, and he rarely expresses any emotion.”
“I can see why he’d be distressed. After all, he, Orlando, and Risé have been friends for years.” Skye wasn’t sure what Simon was trying to say. “Not to mention that Xavier doesn’t have many people he’s close to. He’s always struck me as an extremely lonely man.”
“That’s true.” Simon stared at his black wingtips, wiping a smudge from the toe with his napkin before continuing. “But I think it has something to do with what he’s hiding.”
“Then you’d better find out what his secret is.” Skye sipped her wine. “Not to be mean, but what does any of this have to do with me? If Xavier’s going to open up to anyone, it would be you.”
“True.” Simon tented his fingers under his chin and spoke over the tips. “But if Boyd is going to confide in anyone, it’s you.”
“Are you afraid that Xavier is somehow involved in that girl’s death?” Skye’s tone was incredulous. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I don’t think he killed her.” Simon leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers over his flat abdomen. “But he might know who did.”
Standing on the sidewalk watching Simon get into his car, Skye blew out an exasperated breath. What a day. She’d stumbled across a dead body, muddled the victim’s identity, handled Chase’s meltdown, learned the missing Orlando was actually in the drunk tank, and helped Wally notify Kayla’s parents of her death. Then she’d faced her family’s interrogation, Vince and Loretta’s demands, and finally Simon’s request.
Skye had agreed not to inform the police about Xavier’s investment in the bookstore, but she’d cautioned Simon that if Kayla’s death was anything other than the result of a burglary gone wrong, she would tell Wally. Skye also had assured Simon that she would keep her ears open for anything that might reveal what Xavier was hiding. Before he left, she’d made him promise not to show up at her house uninvited again—no matter what wonderful food he brought.
She climbed the steps to her porch, stopping midway to stare at Simon’s Lexus disappearing down her driveway. She was relieved to see him go. She really needed some time alone to process the events of the day and get ready for work tomorrow. A distracted school psychologist was a careless school psychologist, and that never ended well.
Before claiming her well-earned solitude, Skye reached a hand inside the front door and flicked on the halogen light that was mounted on a pole in her yard. It took her only a moment to clear up the debris of the impromptu pizza party, and as she balanced the box stacked with plates, wineglasses, and used napkins, she glimpsed a flash of yellow behind her garage. What in the world was back there? The only thing she could think of that might be that particular shade was a piece of Caterpillar equipment. But what would an earthmover be doing on her property? Surely, her father hadn’t bought her a backhoe.
Skye was stumped for a second until she remembered the VW she’d helped Xenia Craughwell purchase. But why would the girl be hiding on Skye’s land? Had she heard about Kayla’s death? And if so, how would she react to the news? Xenia’s response to any given situation was a crapshoot, and Skye had long ago given up betting on it.
Before Skye could stash her armload of trash and go investigate, the VW zoomed out from in back of the garage and screeched to a stop at the foot of Skye’s steps. Xenia jumped out and ran up to the porch.
“Seriously. You have more people in and out of here than a crack house.”
“And how would you know that?” Skye arched an eyebrow. “It had better be from TV.”
“Don’t freak.” Xenia opened the front door and gestured for Skye to go inside. “It’s just an expression.”
“Good.” Skye led Xenia down the hall toward the kitchen. “How long have you been spying on me?”