not easy to achieve.”
“Exactly.” His eyes shifted away from Skye for a moment, but when he looked back, he said, “Some of the parents couldn’t accept the time and commitment that accomplishing that goal took.”
“Interesting,” Skye said, starting to get a glimmer of an idea.
“Looks like it’s my turn.” He stepped up to the counter and said, “Nice talking to you. You should come to a game next year.”
“I’ll sure try to.” Skye smiled. “Lovely chatting with you, too.”
After Roxy’s father completed his transaction, took his plastic-wrapped clothes, and left, Skye stepped up and handed the clerk her receipt. While she waited for the woman to locate Wally’s uniforms on the revolving rack, Skye thought about how nice it was to hear something positive about Blair. Maybe the other teachers hadn’t liked her, but at least one volleyball parent had been a big fan of the dead woman. Someone in Scumble River would mourn her.
* * *
Skye stood in the master bathroom, luxuriating under the soothing spray of the newly installed eight-inch rainfall showerhead. It was her second shower today, but the first one had been more of a hurried rinse so she could get back to school than a true scrub. She had plenty of time. Wally had phoned to tell her he wouldn’t be home until six thirty.
When her fingers started to prune, she stepped out of the stall, toweled off, and reached for the moisturizer.Still feeling itchy from her recent coatings of caked-on chlorine, she applied and reapplied the lotion until her skin was shiny and slick.
As Skye dried her curls, a little voice carped at her. Should she bow out of this investigation? Although her doctor had assured her that going back into the pool to bring Blair to the surface hadn’t put the baby at any risk, Skye still felt guilty. The nagging voice in her head sounded a lot like her mother’s, but maybe she should listen anyway.
While mentally debating her participation in the case, she finished styling her hair, then applied bronzer and mascara. Wally would understand if she chose not to work this case. Heck, he might even encourage her to sit out this one. But did she really want to turn into that kind of woman?
She wiggled into a pair of black jeans—thankful for the touch of spandex when she could barely zip them. Flipping through the hangers in her closet, she chose a ballet pink knit top that displayed her amplified cleavage to its full advantage. She usually greeted Wally wearing sweats and sporting a ponytail, but he’d had a rough day and deserved a little treat.
Hearing the sound of the front door closing, she hurriedly slipped on her pink Coach flats. Then she stole an additional second to put on lipstick and take one last glance in the mirror before going to greet her new husband. After passing her own inspection, she flew down the steps, into the foyer, and rushed up to Wally.
Her welcoming smile faded a little as she noted his exhaustion. Although he was only an hour later than usual, the poor guy was obviously dog-tired. She reined in her out-of-control hormones. Heck! Wally was forty-four. She didn’t want her pregnancy lust to kill him. Clearly this wasn’t the best time to seduce him or, for that matter, to discuss her reservations about continuing her role as the PD’s psych consultant.
Wally silently shed his jacket, hung it and his gun belton the foyer’s coatrack, then said, “It seems like years since I kissed you good-bye this morning at the pool.” Without waiting for her response, he swept her into his arms and added in a lower, huskier tone, “Dang it. I miss you so much when we’re apart.”
As his mouth claimed hers, Skye caught a glimpse of his expression. Passion and something she couldn’t quite read swirled together in his deep brown eyes. Was it apprehension? But why would he be uneasy? Unless, of course, his concern was about the case.
Mentally shrugging—she’d figure it out later—Skye
“Exactly.” His eyes shifted away from Skye for a moment, but when he looked back, he said, “Some of the parents couldn’t accept the time and commitment that accomplishing that goal took.”
“Interesting,” Skye said, starting to get a glimmer of an idea.
“Looks like it’s my turn.” He stepped up to the counter and said, “Nice talking to you. You should come to a game next year.”
“I’ll sure try to.” Skye smiled. “Lovely chatting with you, too.”
After Roxy’s father completed his transaction, took his plastic-wrapped clothes, and left, Skye stepped up and handed the clerk her receipt. While she waited for the woman to locate Wally’s uniforms on the revolving rack, Skye thought about how nice it was to hear something positive about Blair. Maybe the other teachers hadn’t liked her, but at least one volleyball parent had been a big fan of the dead woman. Someone in Scumble River would mourn her.
* * *
Skye stood in the master bathroom, luxuriating under the soothing spray of the newly installed eight-inch rainfall showerhead. It was her second shower today, but the first one had been more of a hurried rinse so she could get back to school than a true scrub. She had plenty of time. Wally had phoned to tell her he wouldn’t be home until six thirty.
When her fingers started to prune, she stepped out of the stall, toweled off, and reached for the moisturizer.Still feeling itchy from her recent coatings of caked-on chlorine, she applied and reapplied the lotion until her skin was shiny and slick.
As Skye dried her curls, a little voice carped at her. Should she bow out of this investigation? Although her doctor had assured her that going back into the pool to bring Blair to the surface hadn’t put the baby at any risk, Skye still felt guilty. The nagging voice in her head sounded a lot like her mother’s, but maybe she should listen anyway.
While mentally debating her participation in the case, she finished styling her hair, then applied bronzer and mascara. Wally would understand if she chose not to work this case. Heck, he might even encourage her to sit out this one. But did she really want to turn into that kind of woman?
She wiggled into a pair of black jeans—thankful for the touch of spandex when she could barely zip them. Flipping through the hangers in her closet, she chose a ballet pink knit top that displayed her amplified cleavage to its full advantage. She usually greeted Wally wearing sweats and sporting a ponytail, but he’d had a rough day and deserved a little treat.
Hearing the sound of the front door closing, she hurriedly slipped on her pink Coach flats. Then she stole an additional second to put on lipstick and take one last glance in the mirror before going to greet her new husband. After passing her own inspection, she flew down the steps, into the foyer, and rushed up to Wally.
Her welcoming smile faded a little as she noted his exhaustion. Although he was only an hour later than usual, the poor guy was obviously dog-tired. She reined in her out-of-control hormones. Heck! Wally was forty-four. She didn’t want her pregnancy lust to kill him. Clearly this wasn’t the best time to seduce him or, for that matter, to discuss her reservations about continuing her role as the PD’s psych consultant.
Wally silently shed his jacket, hung it and his gun belton the foyer’s coatrack, then said, “It seems like years since I kissed you good-bye this morning at the pool.” Without waiting for her response, he swept her into his arms and added in a lower, huskier tone, “Dang it. I miss you so much when we’re apart.”
As his mouth claimed hers, Skye caught a glimpse of his expression. Passion and something she couldn’t quite read swirled together in his deep brown eyes. Was it apprehension? But why would he be uneasy? Unless, of course, his concern was about the case.
Mentally shrugging—she’d figure it out later—Skye
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