Skye’s sense of fear grew. Putting her hand on the old woman’s shoulder, she gently shook her.
Antonia was unresponsive. Skye felt for a pulse, and when she couldn’t feel one, laid her head on her grandmother’s chest, searching for a heartbeat. Nothing. Throwing the bedclothes all the way back she started CPR, ignoring the fact that her grandmother’s body felt cold and stiff.
Oh, please, Grandma, it’s not your time. You haven’t told me the rest of your story yet.
She paused. The CPR wasn’t having any effect, but she bent to try again. The doctor just told us that there was nothing wrong with you physically, that you could live to a hundred. Come on, he gave you twenty more years.
There still was no response, and drawing a ragged breath, Skye conceded defeat. She sat on the floor, laid her head on the bed, and sobbed.
CHAPTER 2
Hub-a-Dub-Dub, Two Men, That’s the Rub
Bingo stood at the open bedroom door, tail and ears flattened, fur ruffled. The sound of his mournful yowls finally penetrated Skye’s prayers.
She rose unsteadily and picked up the cat. “What do I do now, Bingo? Everything feels like it’s out of control. I can’t think.”
The cat twitched his ears and nudged Skye’s chin with his head.
“I need to call someone. Who? The emergency squad? Father Burns?”
Wiggling out of her arms, Bingo landed on his feet and ran from the room.
Skye followed him into the kitchen. She couldn’t call for the police or the ambulance. Skye’s mother, May, worked for the Scumble River Police Department as a dispatcher. She also handled the phones for the fire and emergency departments. Her mom might be working. It wouldn’t be right to have her find out that way.
The cat jumped onto the counter and peered out the window over the sink.
“I should call Father Burns.”
Bingo put his paws on the sill and pressed his nose to the window.
“Maybe I could call Simon. He would know what to do. After all, what’s the use in dating a guy who’s the coroner and owns the funeral home if he can’t take over in a situation like this?”
But instead of picking up the receiver, Skye sat on one of the chairs drawn up to the table. She listened to the roar of the window air conditioner, studied the smell of long-ago cooked meals, and talked to God.
Skye looked at the phone. She hated to make the call, knowing that by doing so she was admitting her grandmother was dead. Sighing, she picked up the handset and punched in the number.
He answered on the first ring. “Reid’s Funeral Home. May I help you?”
“Simon? It’s Skye.”
“What a pleasant surprise. You don’t usually call me at work.” The warmth in his voice washed over her.
“I, ah, don’t like to bother you there, but I need your help.”
“Sure, what’s wrong?” His tone changed to one of concern.
“I’m at my Grandma Leofanti’s and . . .” Skye took a deep breath and forced back tears. “She’s dead.”
“I’m so sorry. Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Have you called anyone else?”
“No.” Skye swallowed. “The thing is I’m not sure, I mean it could be a natural death, but, ah, Mrs. J is missing.”
“Sit tight. I’ll be right there.”
The click of the phone being hung up made Skye feel cut off from the rest of the world. Her gaze wandered over the kitchen and she noticed Bingo’s dish was empty. She searched the cupboards, but couldn’t find the cat food. Then she remembered. Grandma believed freshly prepared chicken and fish were better for the feline’s health and kept only a few emergency cans of food in the pantry.
Finally she located the Friskies on a back shelf and emptied the contents of the can into Bingo’s bowl. Skye took the cat from the counter and set him in front of his dish. He sniffed suspiciously, but eventually gave the food a nibble.
Gnawing on her lip, she thought. I hope that wasn’t a “girl” thing to do, turning everything over to Simon to solve my problems.
The sound of tires crunching over gravel captured Skye’s attention, and her glance flew to the window Bingo had been guarding. The garage door was ajar. She was sure it had been closed when she pulled in. Why would anyone go in there? She was driving Grandma’s car and there wasn’t anything else in there but junk.
Maybe it was someone from that survivalist camp a couple of miles down the road. Their property shared a fence with the Leofanti’s back forty and all spring Antonia had complained about them trespassing and hunting on her land.
Skye grabbed a flashlight from a drawer on her way out. She crossed the grassy area between the house and garage at a good clip, but slowed as she neared the door. This was really idiotic. When she read about some heroine doing this in a book, she always called her stupid.
The door swung fully open at her touch. The overhead fixture didn’t come on when she flipped the switch so she thumbed on the flashlight. Staying on the threshold, Skye swept the small interior with the beam. Everything seemed to be the way she remembered it from last September when she’d backed out her Grandma’s old green Buick.
The garage was just big enough for one car, a few boxes, and a couple pieces of discarded furniture. There was no place for anyone to hide and nothing looked disturbed.
Shrugging, Skye backed away and closed the door, making sure it was firmly latched. She circled the house and sat on the front steps. Within seconds Bingo stood at the screen door and yowled until she let him join her.
Questions were starting to intrude upon her grief when she heard the first siren. She stood up for a better look, disturbing Bingo, who had been twining between her ankles. He meowed sharply and disappeared under the porch.
A procession of official vehicles led by a Scumble River police cruiser, followed by an ambulance, with the Reid Funeral Home hearse bringing up the rear, roared down the gravel road.
A man leapt out of the cruiser and another out of the hearse. Both raced toward Skye. Walter Boyd, the chief of police, got there first and put his arm around her shoulder. He was a handsome man in his late thirties whose warm brown eyes held a look of concern. Running his other hand through his thick black curls, he hugged her wordlessly. His hair was just beginning to show threads of gray, but both his tan and muscular build declared him to be a man of action.
While the two paramedics plunged indoors, Simon stopped at Skye’s other side and took her free hand, narrowing his eyes at the chief. In appearance, Simon was the antithesis of Chief Boyd, tall and lean, with elegant auburn hair and golden-hazel eyes.
The chief spoke first. “Your mom wasn’t on duty, so I sent Officer Quirk to find her.”
Skye nodded. “Thanks, Wally.”
It had taken her a year to feel comfortable calling him by his first name. When Wally had first come to Scumble River as a twenty-three-year-old patrolman, Skye, then a teen, had been convinced she was in love with him. She’d followed him around, turning up wherever he took a break or stopped for a meal. He was always a perfect gentleman, never mocking her or taking advantage of the situation. Nevertheless, when she first returned to town she was embarrassed to remember how lovesick she had acted, and she had found it difficult to look him in the eye, let alone call him anything but Chief Boyd.
“I called Vince when no one answered at your folks’,” Simon added, squeezing her hand.
Vince, her brother, owned and operated a hair styling salon called Great Expectations. He was usually the easiest one in the family to locate because he worked there fourteen hours a day.