Murder of a Pink Elephant (22 page)

“
You
didn’t?”

“I didn’t want to confront him. I thought he’d straighten out. You know how I hate conflict.”

Vince had given Heather’s phone number to Skye but claimed not to know where she lived. Skye tried calling her from his apartment but got an answering machine. It featured Heather singing something about living forever and everyone remembering her name.

There was only one option left. If Skye really wanted to find Heather, she would need to ask May. Her mother either knew
where everyone lived in Scumble River or knew someone who did. Since Skye was already in the car, she headed to her parents’ house.

White pea gravel crunched under the Bel Air’s tires as Skye turned into their driveway. It had finally stopped snowing, but the temperature still hovered around the freezing mark.

Skye crossed the patio to the back door, glancing at the concrete goose at the foot of the steps. She had finally given up trying to stop her mother from dressing the lawn ornaments and now found it interesting to see what outfit May had chosen for it this week. A little like a Rorschach test for farmwives.

Today the statue wore a tiny white powdered wig and black suit. An ax was strapped to its wing. It took Skye a minute, but the set of false teeth positioned over its beak was the giveaway. Today was George Washington’s Birthday.

As she entered the utility room Skye called, “Mom, it’s me. Are you home?”

She had crossed through the kitchen and stepped into the living room before she heard a voice answer. “I’ll be out in a sec.”

Her father was asleep on the big leather recliner in the corner. A nature program was playing on the TV, its soundtrack of roaring animals punctuated by Jed’s snores. It was amazing; he was louder than the lions and more annoying than the hyenas.

Skye took a seat on the sofa and picked up the book section from the
Kankakee Journal
. She wanted to see what was being reviewed this week. Skye’s tastes and the columnist’s were usually similar.

Several minutes later. May emerged from the bathroom. Her hair was newly combed, and she had on fresh lipstick.
She asked, “Have you eaten? We had roast and mashed potatoes. I can fix you a plate.”

Skye debated with herself. She hadn’t eaten and in fact couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a real meal, as opposed to a sandwich or a salad from a plastic bag, but she had vowed to be more independent and not let her mother baby her so much. Her stomach won. “If it’s not too much trouble, that’d be wonderful.”

“Trouble? Don’t be silly. You know your father and I would like you to eat all your meals here.”

In the past, May had tried to get Skye to move back home, but when she got Bingo, her mother stopped issuing that invitation. May couldn’t abide animals in the house.

As May bustled around the kitchen heating leftovers, Skye sat at the counter and asked, “Do you know the new girl with Vince’s band?”

“I saw her at the bowling alley Friday. I don’t really know her, but I’ve heard about her.”

“I don’t recall the name Hunt. Is her family from around here?”

May slid a heaping plate in front of Skye and handed her a fork. “They’re part of the Doozier clan.”

Skye took a bite of mashed potatoes. These creamy spuds hadn’t come from any box. She savored the buttery taste before saying, “I thought I knew all the Dooziers. How are the Hunts connected?” In a funny way, Skye counted the Dooziers as friends. Maybe not pals you’d go to the movies with but allies she could count on.

May scrunched up her face in thought. “MeMa Doozier was a Hunt, so Heather would be some sort of cousin to the family.”

As close as anyone could judge, MeMa, the matriarch of the clan, was well over a hundred years old. The next oldest in the line was her great-grandson Earl, the current patriarch of the family. The middle generations had been
wiped out in an accident involving a rickety porch, an out-of-control pickup, and several kegs of beer.

“Then Heather isn’t a close relation?”

May shrugged. “You know the Dooziers. They’re a very tight-knit family.” She put a piece of chocolate cream pie in front of Skye and asked, “Why are you so interested in Heather?”

Skye paused, a bite of pie halfway to her mouth, trying to decide how much to tell her mother. May already knew that Vince was a suspect, but she didn’t know the whole sordid Heather story, and Skye saw no good reason to tell her. Still, she needed an explanation for her curiosity. She decided to try the casual approach. “Just wondering, since she’s joined Vince’s band and all.”

May shot Skye a sharp look and went right to the heart of the matter. “Is Vince involved with that girl?”

“I don’t think so,” Skye answered honestly. Thank goodness her mother hadn’t asked if he
had
been involved with her.

“We need to make sure he doesn’t start.” May wiped the counter in vicious circles. “From what I hear, she’s been hit on more than Vince’s drums.”

Skye choked. Her mother didn’t often talk about someone that way. After taking a sip of water, she said, “I think Vince is safe from her charms.”

“You need to warn him about her.”

“I’ll do that. And I’ll warn her to keep away from him.” Skye kept her face expressionless. “You wouldn’t happen to know where she lives, would you?”

“Sure. She shares an apartment with the girl who runs my exercise class. It’s in the building right behind the high school.”

Skye rang the bell next to the card marked Hunt/Price. It was a little after three on Sunday afternoon and should be a
good time to catch someone like Heather at home—late enough to be out of bed but too early to go out. A voice came from the intercom, “Yes?”

“I’m looking for Heather. Is she home?”

“Sure. When you hear the buzz, turn the knob right away, then go up the stairs and to the left.”

Skye smiled to herself, glad she didn’t have to explain who she was and what she wanted while standing in the lobby and shouting into a little metal box.

Heather was standing in an open doorway. She seemed confused to see Skye. “Do I know you?”

“I’m Vince’s sister. We met the other night. Could I talk to you for a minute?”

The singer shrugged and backed into the apartment. “I guess so. Do you want to sit down?”

Skye nodded and looked around. The room was filled with typical grandma’s attic castoffs. A hideous purple plaid couch upholstered in a material that no one had been able to wear out in the past forty years took up most of the space. A couple of easy chairs with chenille bedspreads thrown over them occupied the rest of the floor plan. Brightly colored plastic milk crates served as occasional tables and the walls were papered with posters of Britney Spears, J. Lo, and other female rock stars.

“Heather,” Skye said after they both were seated, “I was at the bowling alley Friday when Ivy Wolfe attacked you. Could I ask you a couple questions about that?”

A tiny line formed between Heather’s perfect eyebrows. “She was really, really mean to me.”

“Yes, accusing you of killing Logan was pretty nasty.” Skye sat on the edge of the couch, leaned forward, and assumed her best counselor position, hands lying palm up on her knees. “Do you know why she would say something like that?”

Heather’s lower lip thrust out. “She was jealous of me.”

“Because of Logan?”

A look of confusion settled on Heather’s face. “Maybe that too, but mostly ‘cause I have star quality and she doesn’t. She can sing okay, but she doesn’t have the looks or the stage presence you need to be a superstar.”

Skye was having trouble following the girl’s reasoning. “But why would Ivy’s lack of charisma cause her to accuse you of murdering Logan?”

“Silly! Logan and I were just about to get our big break.” Heather’s cornflower-blue eyes sparkled. “He and I had auditions set up to do a duet for a big record producer and for that TV show,
American Star
.”

“I’m still not following how that would give you a motive to kill Logan.”

Heather shook her head, clearly unable to believe Skye’s stupidity. “Just before the fire, Logan told me that Ivy wanted to sing the duet with him instead of me. And that meant he’d have to sing the song me and him had written together with Ivy instead.”

Because she was thinking what a rat Logan had been—stringing along this poor girl
and
the members of Pink Elephant to further his own ambitions—it took a moment for Skye to realize what Heather had said. Even then, she wasn’t sure she had interpreted it correctly. “Do you mean you talked to Logan at the high school the night of the dance, after he and Vince had their fight in the break room?”

“Yeah.”

“Right before the fire started?”

“Yes. I was standing in the wings and there’s a spot where there’s a long instrumental part, so Logan stepped off stage and that’s when he told me.” Heather’s little girl voice became even more breathless and high pitched. “We were arguing, but when the alarm went off I just ran out of the building and came home.”

“What about Logan? Did he run out too?”

Heather shrugged. “He probably went back for his guitar.”

Skye sucked in a breath. Heather clearly didn’t realize she had admitted to being the last person to see Logan alive. Except for his murderer. Unless they were one and the same.

  
CHAPTER 20
  

M
onday morning was never one of Skye’s favorite times of the week, and this one was turning out to be worse than most. After stopping and saying hi to Simon and Bunny at the bowling alley Sunday night, she’d spent the rest of the evening at home fretting about how to tell Wally about Heather’s presence in the gym at the time of the fire. She did not want to speak to him again after their nasty conversation that morning.

Finally she had compromised and written him a note detailing her chat with Heather. She disguised her handwriting on the front of the envelope, in case Darleen saw it before Wally did, and dropped it at the police station on her way into work.

Skye was scheduled to be at the elementary school that morning to teach social skills in the kindergarten classrooms. She had just finished explaining about listening and had started the kids role-playing what they had learned when the PA announced, “Miss Denison, please report to the office.”

As she hurried to the front of the building, she wondered what more could go wrong. She’d already had a student wet his pants during the session on sharing, and during the lesson
on taking turns another kid had tugged on the skirt of her dress so hard that it had ripped at the waist. Currently two safety pins were all that was holding Skye together.

She rounded the corner into the office and stopped dead in her tracks. The school nurse was standing in the doorway to the health room wearing rubber gloves and holding a comb. That could only mean one thing—and it wasn’t that Scumble River Elementary School was opening up a beauty salon. The school had an outbreak of lice!

Skye tried to back out of the office, but the principal had snuck up behind her and blocked her escape. “Oh, no, you don’t. We’re all in this together.”

Three hours later, the nurse, the principal, the school secretary, and Skye had examined over six hundred heads—including each other’s. Sixteen students had been sent home, three mothers were hysterical, and a first year teacher was threatening to quit.

At one o’clock, the principal finally agreed that Skye could leave, and she headed over to the junior high.

Neva Llewellyn, the principal there, was pacing in front of the door when Skye came up the sidewalk. “What took you so long? You left the elementary fifteen minutes ago.”

“I went through the McDonald’s drive-thru and picked up something to eat.” Skye held up the familiar brown bag.

“We don’t have time for that now.” Neva grabbed the sack and tossed it into a garbage can, then seized Skye’s arm and pulled her inside. “Cletus Doozier is on the roof claiming he can fly.”

“Yikes!” Skye trotted beside Neva, who had made a sharp left and then headed up the stairs. “Who’s with him?”

“Ursula, and counseling is not her strong suit, so hurry.” Ursula was the school secretary, and her idea of empathy was to tell a depressed child to snap out of it.

“Have you called 911?” Skye shook off Neva’s hand and
paused to catch her breath—she really had to get back to swimming soon.

“The fire department is on its way, but I doubt any of the volunteers are trained for this. The dispatcher is tracking down Chief Boyd.”

Skye caught up as the older woman pushed open the door to the boys’ room.

“Why are we going in here?” Skye asked, panting.

“There’s a ladder up to the roof out this window.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea, but I noticed it when I took over as principal.” Neva gestured to a milk crate pushed against the wall under the open window. “Never had to use it before though.”

Scumble River Junior High was the oldest of the three school buildings—it had originally been the high school—and the architecture was by far the oddest.

“Isn’t there another way up there?” Skye cringed as she pictured herself scaling the outside of the school in a dress.

“There are stairs, but he’s blocked the door somehow. I’ve got the custodian working on it.” Neva pointed. “Just swing your foot a little to the side when you climb out and the ladder is right there.”

Skye hesitated. “Is this how Ursula got up there?”

“Yes.” Neva pushed her forward. “Hurry, before he jumps.”

Skye kicked off her pumps and stepped up on the crate, then put a knee on the windowsill. “You’re positive this is the only way up there?”

“I’m sure,” Neva insisted.

Skye groaned and hoisted herself to a sitting position in the opening. The metal ladder attached to the side of the building was where Neva had promised it would be. Skye scooted as close to it as she could, grabbed it with her left hand, and swung out on to it.

For a long moment she swayed, not fully on the rung. Finally
she steadied herself and started to climb. As soon as she could see over the top she stopped. Cletus was facing the opposite side flapping his arms. Like his Uncle Elvis, he was small for his age and could easily pass for several years younger than his true thirteen. He’d had a rough life. His mother was dead and his father was in jail. He lived with his Uncle Earl.