Murder of the Cat's Meow: A Scumble River Mystery by Denise Swanson Page B

couldn’t find her.” Spike raised a feathery brow.
    “Oh?”
    “Bunny pulled into her garage just as I got out of my rental car this afternoon,” Spike explained. “Apparently, since the bowling alley was closed yesterday and she didn’t have to work, she didn’t spend the night at home. From what I overheard when the chief arrived a few minutes later, Bunny had her cell phone turned off as well.”
    “Ah.” Skye tilted her head, thinking. Was Bunny with the man Skye had seen her join after the speed-dating event? She had forgotten to mention him to Wally. “When did you and she get to the station?”
    “About forty-five minutes ago.” Spike crossed her legs, swinging her foot impatiently.
    Skye looked at her watch. It was three fifty-seven, and Wally was expecting her at four. She’d better let him know she had arrived.
    “Can you check on how much longer Bunny will be?” Spike asked.
    “Sure, I can do that.” Skye stood, patted Spike on the shoulder, then walked toward the inner door. “Let me go see what’s happening.”
    Using her key to enter the restricted area of the PD, Skye stepped into the narrow hallway. To her immediate right was the dispatcher’s office, and she stuck her head around the open doorway. She had thought it odd that her mother hadn’t greeted her at the counter when she walked into the lobby, but now she saw why. May held two phones to her ears, and she was talking on both.
    Skye waved to her mother, who raised her eyebrows questioningly and pointed to her daughter’s cheek.
    Mouthing the words “cleaning accident,” Skye crossed her fingers. Housework was the one activity her mother would think justified sustaining an injury.
    May raised her chin in acknowledgment, then refocused on her dual conversations. The scowl on her face made Skye wonder if May was dealing with the press. Skye didn’t think the murder of a cat show judge would bring out the media, but if it was a slow news day, anything was possible.
    When Skye reached the coffee/interrogation room, she knocked on the partially open door and Wally motioned her inside. Bunny, engaged in a battle to the death with the soda machine, ignored her.
    Silently, Skye took a seat next to Wally at the table, and they both stared wordlessly at the redhead, who was feverishly pushing buttons and cursing. Each time a can didn’t appear in the dispenser, Bunny stabbed the buttons harder and swore louder.
    Today she was wearing a black and gold satin halter dress with a smocked bodice and a mid-thigh-lengthhandkerchief hem. Suddenly Bunny stamped her gold four-inch-high stilettos, and Skye flinched as she heard something snap. She hoped it was the heel and not the redhead’s ankle.
    Finally, Bunny wrestled a can of Jolt from the recalcitrant machine and joined Skye and Wally. She slumped into a chair and immediately popped the top, breaking one of her fuchsia-tipped nails. She swore, bit off the remainder of the nail, then shrugged and took a long gulp of the highly caffeinated soda. After a couple more hits of caffeine, she leaned back and closed her eyes.
    Wally waited a beat, then said, “Are you ready to continue now?”
    “I’ve told you everything I know,” Bunny whined. “I have a splitting headache and I feel like barfing. Why won’t you leave me alone?”
    “Bunny, this attitude of yours is going to get you into trouble,” Wally warned.
    “I don’t have a bad attitude.” Bunny fluffed her hair. “I just have a personality you can’t handle.”
    “At your age you should know better than to talk back to the police.”
    “Hey, buddy! Watch it.” Bunny glared. “I’m not a day over fabulous.”
    “Right.” Wally gritted his teeth. “I have only a couple more questions. Concentrate,” he ordered. “Is there any way into the bowling alley besides the front doors?”
    “Let’s see.” Bunny rummaged through the contents of her purse until she found a nail file. “There’s the door in the back where the