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Authors: Denise Swanson
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enveloped Skye in a huge hug. “You’re the best.”
“Yes, I am.” Skye squeezed her cousin back, then extracted herself from Riley’s stranglehold. “Here’s the deal. Nick gives me whatever Belle was getting and covers the cost of two helpers.” The new no-kill animal shelter that had just opened up in Stanley County would be getting a nice donation out of this, Skye decided.
“We’ll give you twenty-five percent of Belle’s fees—it’s what we still owe her.” Riley had suddenly dropped the girlish persona. “And fifteen dollars an hour for each of the two assistants.”
“Fine.” Skye already knew who she wanted to hire, and both of them would be happy to get nearly twice Illinois’s minimum wage. “And if the wedding goes as planned, I want a bonus.”
“Name it.”
“Nick pays for any wedding dress I pick out, whenever I get married.” Skye figured that if she said yes to Wally, considering his family’s wealth, she would need a fancier dress than she could afford on her salary.
Skye and Wally were silent during the five-minute ride from the police station to his house. It had been a grueling twelve hours, and although her hangover was long gone, her head still throbbed—this time from too much caffeine and sugar. The only things edible at the PD came out of a vending machine, and Skye had overdosed on Diet Coke and Kit Kat bars.
They had reinterviewed everyone at the motor court, then moved on to the other members of the wedding party, but had run out of time before getting to the vendors. In her few spare minutes, Skye had called the caterer with the final guest count and studied Belle’s notebook.
As Wally turned the squad car into his driveway, she looked at the four-room bungalow. Although Wally was the son of a Texas oil tycoon, he lived modestly, and no one in Scumble River other than Skye knew about his affluent background.
Passing through the enclosed back porch, which contained a washer, a dryer, and an ironing board, they stepped into the homey kitchen, where the tangy smell of barbeque greeted them. When Wally flicked on the overhead light, Skye saw that the table was set with a red-and-white-checkered cloth and heavy white dishes.
She gestured around the room, then pointed to the plate of brownies on the counter and asked, “Dorothy?”
A few years ago, after his divorce, Wally had a hired a housekeeper who came in a couple of days a week to clean and do the shopping, laundry, and occasionally cook a meal. The tricky part was that Dorothy Snyder was one of Skye’s mother’s best friends, and Skye always wondered whether she reported their every move to May.
“Yes. I called her when I realized that it would be too late for us to eat at the Feed Bag.” Scumble River’s only restaurant stopped serving at six p.m. on Sunday. “I asked if she had time to fix us something.” He shrugged off his navy nylon Windbreaker embroidered with SCUMBLE RIVER POLICE.
“And I guess she said yes.”
“Yep.” Wally unbuckled his utility belt and draped it over the back of a kitchen chair. “She said she was bored and would be happy to help us out.”
“Let’s see what Dorothy’s whipped up for us.” Skye lifted the lid of the Crock-Pot. “Yum, beef barbeque.” Moving to the fridge, she opened the door. “Potato salad and baked beans.”
“Sounds good.” Wally yawned and rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s a great cook.”
Skye noticed the exhaustion in Wally’s eyes. “You’re tired.” He’d been up late last night because of her. “You should have let me go home so you could get some rest.” She knew he had the eight a.m. shift the next day.
“I’m fine.” Wally yawned again. “I just need a shower.”
“Why don’t you go ahead, then? By the time you’re finished, I’ll have everything on the table.”
“Or you could join me.” His voice was a seductive promise. “It’ll help you forget about today.”
As she considered the
“Yes, I am.” Skye squeezed her cousin back, then extracted herself from Riley’s stranglehold. “Here’s the deal. Nick gives me whatever Belle was getting and covers the cost of two helpers.” The new no-kill animal shelter that had just opened up in Stanley County would be getting a nice donation out of this, Skye decided.
“We’ll give you twenty-five percent of Belle’s fees—it’s what we still owe her.” Riley had suddenly dropped the girlish persona. “And fifteen dollars an hour for each of the two assistants.”
“Fine.” Skye already knew who she wanted to hire, and both of them would be happy to get nearly twice Illinois’s minimum wage. “And if the wedding goes as planned, I want a bonus.”
“Name it.”
“Nick pays for any wedding dress I pick out, whenever I get married.” Skye figured that if she said yes to Wally, considering his family’s wealth, she would need a fancier dress than she could afford on her salary.
Skye and Wally were silent during the five-minute ride from the police station to his house. It had been a grueling twelve hours, and although her hangover was long gone, her head still throbbed—this time from too much caffeine and sugar. The only things edible at the PD came out of a vending machine, and Skye had overdosed on Diet Coke and Kit Kat bars.
They had reinterviewed everyone at the motor court, then moved on to the other members of the wedding party, but had run out of time before getting to the vendors. In her few spare minutes, Skye had called the caterer with the final guest count and studied Belle’s notebook.
As Wally turned the squad car into his driveway, she looked at the four-room bungalow. Although Wally was the son of a Texas oil tycoon, he lived modestly, and no one in Scumble River other than Skye knew about his affluent background.
Passing through the enclosed back porch, which contained a washer, a dryer, and an ironing board, they stepped into the homey kitchen, where the tangy smell of barbeque greeted them. When Wally flicked on the overhead light, Skye saw that the table was set with a red-and-white-checkered cloth and heavy white dishes.
She gestured around the room, then pointed to the plate of brownies on the counter and asked, “Dorothy?”
A few years ago, after his divorce, Wally had a hired a housekeeper who came in a couple of days a week to clean and do the shopping, laundry, and occasionally cook a meal. The tricky part was that Dorothy Snyder was one of Skye’s mother’s best friends, and Skye always wondered whether she reported their every move to May.
“Yes. I called her when I realized that it would be too late for us to eat at the Feed Bag.” Scumble River’s only restaurant stopped serving at six p.m. on Sunday. “I asked if she had time to fix us something.” He shrugged off his navy nylon Windbreaker embroidered with SCUMBLE RIVER POLICE.
“And I guess she said yes.”
“Yep.” Wally unbuckled his utility belt and draped it over the back of a kitchen chair. “She said she was bored and would be happy to help us out.”
“Let’s see what Dorothy’s whipped up for us.” Skye lifted the lid of the Crock-Pot. “Yum, beef barbeque.” Moving to the fridge, she opened the door. “Potato salad and baked beans.”
“Sounds good.” Wally yawned and rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s a great cook.”
Skye noticed the exhaustion in Wally’s eyes. “You’re tired.” He’d been up late last night because of her. “You should have let me go home so you could get some rest.” She knew he had the eight a.m. shift the next day.
“I’m fine.” Wally yawned again. “I just need a shower.”
“Why don’t you go ahead, then? By the time you’re finished, I’ll have everything on the table.”
“Or you could join me.” His voice was a seductive promise. “It’ll help you forget about today.”
As she considered the
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