Murder Of A Snake In The Grass by Denise Swanson Page A

don’t have a fiancé.”
    With that, Luc, Simon, and Wally surrounded Skye and started to shout at each other. Since all of the men topped the six-foot mark on the tape measure, Skye at five-foot-seven felt like a bonsai shrub among the redwoods. She gazed from Simon’s hazel eyes to Wally’s brown ones. Both looked hurt and angry.
    “Guys.” She tried to get their attention, but they ignored her. “Fellows,” she said more loudly. Again nothing. “Listen up!” she shouted at the top of her lungs. Finally, silence. “I do not appreciate you all discussing me like I’m not even here. None of you has any right to judge me. Is that clear?”
    Three heads nodded reluctantly.
    “Good. Wally, is there anything you need from me before I leave?”
    Wally nodded but turned to Luc. “Mr. Amant, when did you get into town?”
    “It’s St. Amant.” Luc shrugged. “I’m not sure, perhaps seven-thirty.”
    “What time did he show up your house?” Wally asked Skye.
    “He was due at eight, and it was a couple of minutes past when he got there. I looked at my watch when he started knocking.”
    “That’s right. I checked the time, too,” Simon said.
    “Why are you asking about my arrival time?” Luc asked.
    “Just trying to get an idea of where everyone was, and at what time.” Wally glanced at his notes. “So if you got to town at seven-thirty, where were you until eight o’clock when you arrived at Skye’s?”
    “Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps it was nearer to eight when I arrived. I did not look at my watch, so I am not sure.”
    “Okay, then, when did Frannie and Justin get there?” The chief scribbled in his notebook.
    “I’d say fifteen to twenty minutes before I called andtalked to Thea, so a little after ten.” Skye yawned. “Anything else? I’m beat.”
    “One more question.” Wally ran his fingers through the strands of gray and black at his temples. “Are you really engaged to this clown?”
    “I already told you, no.” Skye shook her head for emphasis. “Luc and I were engaged when I lived in New Orleans, but that was over two years ago.” She headed to the door. “It’s nearly two in the morning. I’m going home.”
    Luc took Skye’s arm. “Yes, darlin’, let’s go home. I’m exhausted.”
    Shoot. She’d forgotten about the accommodation problem. Wally and Simon were staring at her as if she’d gone crazy. Reclaiming her arm, Skye said, “Did I mention that Charlie’s cabins are full, as are all the motels in the general area, and Luc hasn’t anywhere to spend the night?”
    “Wasn’t he supposed to be finding a hotel in Joliet or Kankakee while we were gone?” Simon reminded Skye.
    “That’s right. Did you call around?”
    “Sorry, there is no hotel room within forty miles of Scumble River. Joliet is having some kind of car racing event and Kankakee is having some festival or such. It’s really no problem.” Luc moved closer to Skye. “I’ll just stay with you.”
    “You are not spending the night with me.”
    Luc hung his head, the picture of dejection. “But, darlin’, surely you wouldn’t abandon me?”
    Wally stepped into the fray. “Normally, I’d tell you to go to Chicago for a room, but since it’s better for you to stick around, we do have a holding cell in the basement of the PD you could sleep in.”
    Luc narrowed his eyes. “You suspect me of murder?”
    “As Skye will tell you, I suspect everyone, but what I meant was the fog is too bad to be driving in.”
    Skye shot him a glance. Was he telling the truth? His smile was all innocence.
    “No St. Amant has ever spent a night behind bars, and I am not about to become the first. Don’t be foolish, Skye. It’s not as if we’ve never slept under the same roof before.”
    Skye and Simon looked at each other. He raised an eyebrow; she shrugged.
    Simon crossed his arms. “Here’s the deal. And it’s for one night, and one night only. Luc can stay with me.”
    Skye turned to Luc. “I’ll talk