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.

“Thanks. I’m a wreck. I keep thinking about the stu pidest things.”

Before Skye could elaborate, one of the paramedics poked his head out the door and called for Simon. He kissed her cheek and hurried inside.

Well, that settles it. Grandma is really dead. They don’t call for the coroner otherwise. This thought brought a fresh bout of tears.

Wally held her while she cried on his shoulder. When Skye felt herself melting in his embrace, she made herself stop sobbing and pulled away, reminding herself for perhaps the hundredth time that he was a married man and she was dating Simon.

Using the handkerchief Wally provided, she wiped her face and blew her nose.

“So what ‘stupid things’ are you thinking about?” Wally asked after she had collected herself.

“Where’s the housekeeper?” Skye blurted. “Why were the covers pulled up over Grandma’s face? What was Bingo doing outside? The doctor just said she was fine. Why is she dead?”

Wally patted her shoulder. “Now, Skye honey, there could be lots of reasons for those things. The housekeeper’s a foreigner, right?” Skye nodded. “Well, she could’ve gotten scared when your grandmother died and called for someone to pick her up. The cat probably got out when she left. And she, no doubt out of respect, covered your grandma’s face.”

Wally’s answers made sense, but Skye still felt troubled. Something just didn’t add up.

After a few minutes, Skye sighed and made a move to stand up. “I’ve got to call my aunts and uncle. She’s their mother too.”

“Sure, but why don’t you give Quirk a little while longer to find May so you can tell her first? Isn’t she the oldest?” Wally kept hold of her hand.

“The oldest of the three girls, but my Uncle Dante is the oldest. He’s sixty.”

Before she could break away from Wally, the paramedics poured from the house, yelling, “Gotta go. Another call,” as they rushed by. They piled into the ambulance and squealed out of the driveway, sounding the siren.

They almost crashed into an old Cadillac that came barreling into the drive, throwing up gravel and blowing its horn. It shuddered to a stop and the door was flung open. The six-foot-tall, three-hundred-pound man who emerged from the front seat charged over to Skye.

He grabbed her in a bear hug, lifting her off the ground. “Baby, are you okay? I heard the call about your grandma on my scanner. Sorry it took me so long. I had someone checking in at the motel and I had to get them settled.”