Murder of a Pink Elephant (19 page)

“How do you know it works so good on blood?”

Skye opened her mouth to remind her mother that she had a chance every month to test it out but decided she didn’t want to go down that road. Knowing May, they’d somehow end up talking about when Skye would get married and start having children. Instead, she said, “I saw it on TV. Want me to drop some off at your house when I run my errands this afternoon?”

“Don’t bother. I’ll use good old Clorox. I don’t need any of that fancy stuff. What else are you doing today?” May liked to know where her baby chicks were at all times.

“Laundry and housecleaning this morning, then the bank, and groceries after that.”

“Are you seeing Simon tonight?”

“He’s helping Bunny at the bowling alley this weekend. I might stop by and say hi if I get bored.” Skye added a pair of gray slacks to the dark pile.

“You know there’ll be a lot of women hanging around that bowling alley. You’d better be there, too. You’ve got to protect your property.”

“Sure, Mom. Good idea.” May’s 1950s way of looking at male-female relationships continued to amaze Skye, but she had figured out it was best to agree with her mother and then quietly do what she wanted. “Hey, the dryer just stopped. I’ve got to go before those clothes get wrinkled.” Another lesson Skye had learned was that a foolproof way to get off the phone with her mother was to have a domestic emergency. May would never stand in the way of good housekeeping.

It was past one-forty-five by the time Skye finished cleaning and looked at the clock. Shoot! She was down to her last couple of dollars and needed to get some cash. Thank goodness the bank had extended their Saturday hours and was open until two, but she’d have to hurry. Too bad the only ATM machine in town was still out of order.

She washed her face and brushed her hair back into a ponytail but didn’t have time to shower or change from her jeans and orange University of Illinois sweatshirt. Maybe she’d get lucky and be able to run in and out without seeing anyone she knew—except, of course, there was no avoiding her cousins, who worked as tellers.

Fifteen minutes later, Skye walked out of the bank tucking her wallet back into her purse. Her plan was to go home, clean up, and then come back uptown to do the grocery shopping. But as she opened her car door, she realized that she still hadn’t talked to Wally about the possible drug problem in Scumble River.

How could she have forgotten, especially after the altercation with those kids last night? And then there was Ivy Wolfe’s declaration that Heather had killed Logan. Wally needed to know about that, too. She had called him first thing that morning and left another message, but after that May had distracted her, and he had never called back.

Skye told herself another hour wouldn’t make any difference, and she really needed a shower before she was fit for polite company, but as she turned the key in the Bel Air she caught sight of the time—two-fifteen. Wally only worked until three, and lately he wasn’t hanging around even a minute after his shift ended. She would miss him again if she didn’t go over there right now. She really hated appearing in public like a slob, but there seemed to be no choice.

The police station parking lot held three cars—the dispatcher’s dented Chevy Cavalier, the librarian’s Gremlin, and a brand-new, shiny red, two-seater BMW. Skye parked
her Bel Air as far from the expensive car as possible. The last thing she wanted was to accidentally ding it with her door or scrape it when she backed up. Her insurance was high enough already. As she walked into the building, she wondered who owned the forty-thousand-dollar vehicle.

After being buzzed in and exchanging greetings with the dispatcher, Skye asked, “Is Wally here? I’ve been trying to get a hold of him since Thursday night, and I really need to talk to him.”

Before the woman could answer, the inner door banged open and Darleen burst through, yelling, “Why did you let her in? I told you she was not to be allowed back here anymore.”

Skye gaped at her, speechless.

“Get out,” Darleen sputtered. “Haven’t you done enough harm? Get out and don’t come back.”

The dispatcher scuttled from the room, throwing an apologetic look at Skye before slipping out the door.

“What are you talking about? Have you gone crazy?” Skye had finally recovered from her shock. “I have official business to discuss with Chief Boyd.”

“I don’t know what he sees in you.” Darleen scanned Skye up and down, then rejected her with the flick of an artificial eyelash. “You’re a fat slob and you don’t even bother to fix yourself up and try to look attractive.”

“My appearance isn’t any of your business,” Skye snapped. “In fact, my presence here is none of your business either,” She tried to push past Darleen, but the other woman planted herself squarely in the doorway.

“I told Walter when he decided to run for mayor that you were a liability he couldn’t afford, and I’ve tried to protect him from your interference with his cases, but this is the last straw.” Without taking her eyes from Skye, she fumbled in the pocket of her dress, pulled out a crumpled newspaper page, and thrust it into Skye’s hand. “Read it.”

Skye scanned the sheet as quickly as she could. It was a page from the
Star
, Scumble River’s weekly newspaper, which came out on Saturday. It had a story hyping Skye’s involvement in solving local murders the last few years and recapping the article it had run when she solved the Addison case last fall.

For a minute, Skye wondered why she hadn’t received any calls about the article, but then realized most Scumble Riverites bought the paper when they did their Saturday grocery shopping and didn’t read it until they sat down to relax after supper.

One mystery solved, Skye asked about the other. “Why is this so awful? I would rather have kept out of the spotlight, but it’s not as if everyone in town didn’t already know.”

“Are you dense?” Darleen’s bulging eyes nearly popped from their sockets. “Ace Cramer is going to use this to smear Wally and ruin his chance of being elected mayor.”

Skye felt a twinge of guilt but wasn’t going to let Darleen see it. “Then why didn’t Wally call me and talk to me about it?”

Clearly, Darleen didn’t have a ready answer for that question, but with a quick, dismissive emphasis she finally said, “He’s having a
tiny
crisis of faith—doesn’t know if he really wants to be the mayor or not, but he’ll come around. I’ll see to it that he does.”

“Maybe you will, or maybe he’s figured out that the trouble with being in the rat race is that even if you win, you’re still a rat.” Skye narrowed her eyes. “Anyway, why do you care so much whether Wally is elected mayor or not?”

“Because I was born to be Mrs. Mayor. The power behind the throne.” Darleen’s smile was like a straight razor. “I have plans for this town. Did you see my new car? That’s the life I deserve.”

So that’s who the Beamer belonged to. “But you divorced him,” Skye reminded her. “You won’t be Mrs. Mayor.”

“You interfering, home-wrecking, arrogant bitch!” Darleen exploded. “Don’t think for a minute that you’re going to stand in the way of anything that’s mine.”

Skye was shocked by Darleen’s venom. The woman had left Wally to search for motherhood and greener pastures. Darleen had no right to be bitter about the divorce.

The next thing that popped out of Skye’s mouth was beyond her control or common sense, maybe both. “But that’s the point. He isn’t yours, and even if he is elected mayor, the power of that position wouldn’t be yours either.”

Darleen leaned close to Skye, spittle flying, and let loose with a string of curses that would make a rap singer blush. Abruptly the older woman sputtered to a stop.

Skye had immediately jumped backward when the saliva had started to spray; now she grabbed a tissue from the desk and wiped her face. She’d had enough. Time to stop being Miss Nice Guy. “Anything else you want to get off your little itty bitty chest, Darleen?”

The other woman’s mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out.

“Darleen.” Skye patted her on the arm. “Try not to let your mind wander. It’s too small and fragile to be out by itself.”

Darleen’s mouth snapped shut so fast Skye was sure she heard a filling crack. The other woman’s face was an unhealthy scarlet and her hands were curled into claws.

Skye knew when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em, and this was the latter. She looked at her watch and said, “Oops. Got to run. Time flies when you’re driving someone crazy. See you at school Monday.”

Darleen must have finally regained the power of speech because her voice floated after Skye as she hurried out of the station. “Maybe Wally hasn’t been returning your phone calls because your brother is one of his main suspects in Logan Wolfe’s murder, and it’s a conflict of interest.”

It wasn’t until Skye tried to put the key into the Bel Air’s ignition that she noticed how badly her hands were shaking and that her breathing was out of control. So it was true; Wally did suspect Vince. May was right. Which meant Skye had better get busy and find out who had really killed Logan Wolfe.

She was nearly home when she realized that once again, she had not talked to Wally. This was getting ridiculous. Should she go back to the P.D. and try again? No, with Darleen skulking around, that probably wasn’t a good idea. Well, she couldn’t let a jealous, power-hungry, ex-wife get in her way. There was too much at stake between the alleged drugs floating around Scumble River and Vince’s neck on the line for Logan’s murder.

She’d keep trying to get through to Wally by phone and maybe her mother could slip him a message, although May rarely saw him as he worked days and she usually worked afternoons. In the meantime, Skye knew just what she had to do.

Ivy had accused Headier of killing Logan. If she had any proof to back up her allegation, Skye wanted to know what it was.

On the one hand, Skye knew she should tell Wally about Ivy’s accusation and let him question her first. On the other hand, she had left him a phone message and tried to report to him in person; there wasn’t much else she could do. Besides, she had to act in Vince’s best interest, not Wally’s.

Bunny had mentioned that Ivy would be working the evening shift at the bowling alley—six-thirty to two-thirty—which meant she would probably be home and getting ready for work about an hour or so before then.

With that in mind, Skye took the time to return to her cottage, shower, and change her clothes before setting out to
talk to the widow. At four-thirty she pulled out of her driveway and headed toward her parents’ road.

According to Charlie, Logan lived on forty acres located between her family’s property and Trixie’s. If the Wolfes had their name on their mailbox, their house should be relatively easy to find—and if worst came to worst, she could stop and ask Trixie for directions or call her mother at the P.D.

Skye passed her folks’ house, then her Uncle Dante’s on the right. A quarter mile farther on stood a dark, deserted farmhouse. Skye felt the same catch in her throat she experienced every time she saw it. It had belonged to her Aunt Mona and Uncle Neal, but after her aunt’s death, her uncle had shut down the house, moved out of state, and sold the land back to the family trust.

A lot had changed the past few years. Her grandmother’s old house, which should be next on the road, had been torn down after her death. The land was worth more than the building, and there was no trace of the farmhouse now. All that was left was a field covered in snow, with an occasional cornstalk sticking up like a headstone in a graveyard.

Skye took a deep breath and concentrated on the present. She had come up on Hines Road, and if Charlie was correct, she needed to go north. The Wolfes’ driveway should be on her left as soon as she passed the turn for Scumble River Road, and there it was, a dented mailbox with WOLFE painted in white. The house itself was invisible from the road, but a rutted lane disappeared into the trees.

Skye maneuvered the Bel Air down the long driveway. Her headlights were the only illumination in the darkness created by the canopy of evergreen trees that lined the path. Suddenly the road ended and a house appeared out of nowhere, almost as if she had opened a children’s pop-up book.

Tarpaper patches punctuated the brown asphalt siding,
and the porch was propped up by two-by-fours cemented into rusty coffee cans. An equally decrepit garage stood off to the side. In contrast, a brand-new machine shed sat slightly behind the house, its bright silver paint shiny and unblemished.

Skye parked to the side and got out. At the sound of the car door, a large gray dog raced around the side of the house, baring its teeth and growling.

She froze. It was too late to attempt to get back into the Bel Air, and the dog stood between her and the house. The animal stopped a few feet from Skye but kept barking and growling.

Skye tried frantically to come up with a plan, but her brain seemed to have turned off. The dog edged closer. A scream halted in her throat when she heard the squeak of hinges and the house’s front door swung open. Thank God, someone had come to help her.

She turned her head slightly and opened her mouth to thank her rescuer, but the words froze in her throat when she saw that the figure on the porch was holding a shotgun, and it wasn’t pointed at the dog.

  
CHAPTER 18
  

T
he person on the porch moved out of the shadows and Skye recognized Rod Yager. So this was where he had been hiding out. What was he doing at Ivy’s, and more importantly, why was he pointing a gun at Skye?

Skye ran her tongue over her lips, already chapping from the cold and the wind. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. Her voice cracked like a dead tree branch, and her words came out all in a rush. “Rod. It’s me. Skye Denison. Vince’s sister.”

He eyed the length of the lane behind her. “What do you want?”

The dog had continued to creep closer and now was within a few inches of her. She was aware of its hot breath on her ankles through her socks. Skye sidled back until she could feel the car’s door handle pressed into her hip. “The dog, could you please call him off?”