“That’s not Skye,” Ange whispered.
My fingers itched to open Candice’s letter while we waited for what seemed an interminable length of time but could only have been five minutes, until a teenager with punk hair and goth make-up came out from behind one curtain, followed by Skye.
The henna artist stamped a loyalty card and waved the teenager goodbye before she addressed us. “Hiya, ladies. What can I do for you?” She opened a drawer. “If it’s oils or lotion you’re after –"
“Not today.” Ange gave her a sweet smile. I focused on my witchy senses. Hopefully they’d register a change if we managed to throw Skye off her guard.
“Then what is it? Another mehndi?”
Ange shook her head. She spoke softly. “Actually, we’re interested in the truth. For example, why you denied that you were in Cannon Hill last –“
She had to leave the sentence unfinished because Skye clamped her hand over Ange’s mouth.
Panic radiated from the young woman. Out loud, Skye called, “I’m taking five.”
She grabbed her coat and scarf and motioned us to follow her out the back, onto a wooden deck with a bench, a table, and an ivy-covered open shed, sheltering trash cans. The overhanging roof gave us cover too as we stood there huddling with Skye.
“Nobody can hear us,” Ange said, after a brief nod from me. “Why did you lie?”
Skye pushed out her bottom lip, like a truculent teen.
“It’s useless,” Ange said to me. “Maybe the detective will fare better.”
“No!” Skye grasped Ange’s sleeve. “He can’t know.”
“Why not? Unless you’re guilty.”
She shrank back, letting go of Ange. I sensed fear, mingled with – annoyance? Was Skye peeved that we’d rumbled her?
“It’s not what you think.”
“Then tell us what it is. The clock’s ticking.”
“I, like, work in Cannon Hill.”
“And?”
“It’s only two days a week but she –“ Skye jerked her head to indicate the woman inside the tattoo parlor. “They have some old beef. She’d kick me out if she knew I’m also doing mehndi for her nemesis. As if anyone could live on what she pays me for three days a week.”
“That’s why you kept it a secret?” Ange asked.
“Yeah. It’s not like it hurt anyone, right?”
Now, I sensed her fear melting away. Only the annoyance remained. I couldn’t tell who it was directed at, only that it confirmed my conviction that Skye wasn’t our killer. Yet we still had a few points to clear up with her.
“The house,” I muttered to Ange.
“You said you thought Tim and you were soulmates, with you both being into the environment and all.”
“And?”
“We’ve seen his place. It’s giving as much eco vibe as a prison,” Ange said.
Skye grimaced. “He said he’d only just bought it and that he had all these amazing plans to make it super green. As if!”
That sounded convincing.
I flashed the motel business card at Ange.
