Free Murder of a Stacked Librarian by Denise Swanson Page A

going to the studio, but will Phoebe be at work today? After all, it’s the day after Christmas and her mom died less than thirty-six hours ago. Surely, Aunt Olive wouldn’t expect her to show up.”
    “According to Mr. Osborn, Turning Pointe is having a recital tomorrow, and Phoebe insisted she couldn’t let down her bosses and had to be there for the students.”
    “She sounds like a conscientious young woman.” Skye rummaged in her purse, drew out a tube of lip gloss, and applied it.
    “Yeah.” Wally pulled into a parking spot in front of the school. “Except for the part about her disappearing the night her mom was killed.”
    “That is suspicious,” Skye agreed.
    As they walked through the double glass doors and into the lobby of the studio, Skye heard a cacophony of high-pitched, excited voices. She and Wally followed the sound to a large area that boasted polished wood floors and mirrored walls. Groups of females ranging in age from prepubescent to elderly were practicing everything from arabesques to hip-hop moves.
    A beautiful woman in her late twenties or early thirties stood nearest the entrance. She was busy teaching a half dozen golden agers the steps to a jazz routine. When she noticed Wally, she told her group to take a break and approached him.
    “Well, if it isn’t Chief Boyd.” The shapely blonde dressed in a skintight zebra-print leotard playfully tapped Wally’s arm. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”
    “Hi, Emmy.” Wally smiled warmly at the stunning woman. “I’ve been too busy to get out to the club.”
    “That’s a shame,” Emmy purred. “We all missed you at the holiday shindig.”
    Skye had been standing a little behind Wally, taking in the exchange with growing unease. At the mention of a party, she decided it was time to interrupt. She cleared her throat and moved closer to Wally.
    He glanced at her with a sheepish expression, then said to the lovely dancer, “I don’t think you’ve met my fiancée, Skye Denison. Skye, this is Emerald Jones.” As the two women shook hands, he explained, “Emmy and I are members of the Laurel Gun Club. We shoot together every Wednesday night. She’s got the sweetest little Smith & Wesson Centennial 642CT and a Marlin 336XLR rifle.”
    “Really.” Skye examined the tall, lithe woman who was beaming at Wally. “I’ve been thinking about learning to shoot. Wally’s taught me a little, but I’d like to get more comfortable with guns. There’s only so much protection pepper spray and a Taser can provide.”
    “True.” Emmy tossed her ponytail. “And they aren’t half as much fun.”
    “After the wedding, I’ll have to come out to the club with Wally.” Skye wasn’t sure if she was making casual conversation or warning the gorgeous woman away from her man. “Maybe I’ll see you there.”
    “As Wally said, I’m at the club every Wednesday night, and I also go most Sunday afternoons.” Emmy arched a feathery brow and her sapphire blue eyes twinkled. “It would be nice to get to know you since I’ve heard so much about you.”
    “From Wally?” Skye asked, trying to figure out why it seemed as if she’d met Emmy before. There was something oddly familiar about the woman.
    “Well, he does talk about you all the time.” Emmy poked Wally’s arm again. “But then, so does your aunt Olive and my mom’s friend’s son.”
    “Who’s that?” Skye thought she remembered that Emmy’s mother was from out of state. What was her connection with Scumble River?
    “Simon Reid.” Emmy wrinkled her cute little turned-up nose. “According to him, you’re a paragon of virtue who can do no wrong and I’m as irresponsible as his mother.” She widened her eyes. “Seriously, I only got into a tiny bit of trouble in Lost Wages. I didn’t really have to leave town.”
    Uh-huh! Skye mentally slapped her forehead. That’s who Emmy reminded her of—Simon’s mother’s friend Ruby. The statuesque blonde had hid out with Bunny