DEAD BLONDES TELL NO TALES
A SCUMBLE RIVER MYSTERY
DENISE SWANSON
NEW AMERICAN LIBRARY
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Published by New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. Previously published in Drop-Dead Blonde.
Copyright © Denise Swanson Stybr, 2005
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
NEW AMERICAN LIBRARY and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
ISBN: 978-1-101-56216-1
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
In memory of Sara Ann Freed (1945–2003), who gave me my first big break.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Letter to the Readers
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Praise
Author's Note
Also By Denise Swanson
Excerpt
About The Author
Dear Readers,
I am thrilled that NAL/Obsidian is offering my novella Dead Blondes Tell No Tales as a single release in this e-book format. It was first published in the anthology Drop-Dead Blonde in 2005, which has not been available in a print edition for several years. Although the anthology is currently on sale as an e-book, I’m happy my novella is being made available here, all on its own. For readers who haven’t visited my Scumble River Mystery series, this novella offers an easy way to see if you enjoy hanging out with my sleuth, Skye Denison, and her quirky friends and family.
For my longtime readers, this is a chance to find out what Skye did during spring break of 2003. The events take place between Murder of a Pink Elephant and Murder of a Smart Cookie. In this story, Skye takes a part-time job working for ex–Las Vegas showgirl Bunny Reid at the bowling alley, and ends up knee-deep in a Marilyn Monroe look-alike contest and a mysterious disappearance.
I’m especially happy to see “Dead Blondes Tell No Tales,” get a second life since my fifteenth Scumble River book, Murder of the Cat’s Meow, debuts in September 2012. In Cat’s Meow, Skye is once again working for Bunny, who is on the hunt for a rich husband and decides to earn some extra money to restore her youthful beauty by putting on a cat show in the bowling alley. However, when one of the judges is found dead, Skye’s focus turns to solving the murder.
When I introduced the Devereaux’s Dime Store Mystery series with Little Shop of Homicide in March 2012, some of my readers had the mistaken impression that I was ending the Scumble River series. But as you can see, Skye and the gang continue to solve cases. And I sincerely hope to be writing a book a year in both series for a long, long time to come.
To all of you who have been with Skye and me since the beginning, thank you! To those of you reading your first Scumble River story, welcome to town.
Warmly,
Denise
Chapter 1
Blonde, but Not Forgotten
“Bunny!”
“Ruby!”
“Girlfriend, you’ll never believe . . .”
The Sunday-morning silence inside the bowling alley storeroom was shattered by the excited squeals coming from near the building’s entrance. Skye Denison paused in midreach to listen. She recognized the voice of Bunny Reid, the alley manager, but who was Ruby?
Scumble River, Illinois, was a small town of only three thousand people, most of whom Skye knew, and the name Ruby didn’t ring a bell. And what would Bunny never believe? Skye pursed her lips; she hadn’t been able to hear the end of that sentence.
Oh, well, it really was none of her business, and the shrieking had stopped, so Skye shoved a strand of chestnut hair behind her ear and went back to reshelving boxes of napkins and paper towels. Someone had gotten in overnight and thrown all the supplies into the middle of the floor, then tossed around the loose items in the rest of the bowling alley. Nothing was missing or broken, but there was quite a mess to clean up.
This was a far cry from Skye’s usual occupation. Forty-two weeks of the year, she was employed as a psychologist for the Scumble River school district, but as of last Friday afternoon, Skye was on spring break for nine days.
She had briefly considered going somewhere warm for the holiday—the end of March in central Illinois was generally cold and miserable—but the precarious state of her checkbook, along with her boyfriend Simon Reid’s plea for help, had convinced her that taking the job he offered was a better move.
Simon was both the county coroner and the owner of Reid’s Funeral Home. In addition, a few months ago he had bought the town bowling alley for his mother, Bunny, to manage. Bunny had reappeared in his life after a twenty-year absence, needing a job and a permanent address in order to avoid going to jail for misusing prescription drugs.
Against his better judgment, Simon had decided to help his mother. He didn’t quite trust her—all was a long way from being forgiven or forgotten—but in the end, he couldn’t let his mother be locked up.
So far, Bunny had proven to be good at running the alley, but her recent idea to increase business—the Spring Break Bash—had worried Simon, and he had installed Skye to both help his mother and keep an eye on her. Skye was thankful that Bunny had been amused rather than insulted by her son’s tactics.
As Skye put yet another box of paper goods back where it belonged, she was beginning to question her decision to help Simon rather than raid her savings account and fly to Florida for the week. And when she heard an angry male voice roar Bunny’s name, Skye was pretty sure she had made a bad choice in staying home. Then when that same voice boomed even lo
uder, followed by a woman’s scream, Skye knew she’d made a big mistake.
Figuring it was too late to leave for Fort Lauderdale and she’d better find out what was going on, Skye dropped the carton of straws she had been holding, and took off running.
As she flew out of the stockroom, the shouting became louder and more strident. When she rounded the corner, she gasped and ran faster. Near the front door, Scumble River’s police chief, Wally Boyd, stood with a tall, full-figured blonde in handcuffs. That was bad enough, but the real cause of Skye’s distress was the redhead beating the chief with a bowling pin.
Skye was used to Bunny’s impulsive behavior, but this time she’d gone too far. Assaulting a police officer was not in the same category as greeting your gentleman friend at the door wearing nothing but Saran Wrap, or unwittingly hiring a drug pusher to manage the alley’s grill. Had Simon’s mother completely lost her mind?
Once Skye got closer, she noted with relief that at least the pin was a Styrofoam decoration and not the real thing. Bits of white plastic were lodged in Wally’s black hair, and a snowdrift of pellets was forming at his feet. The expression in the chief’s usually warm brown eyes did not bode well for either the redhead’s or the blonde’s future.
Although he didn’t look it, Wally had turned forty a few weeks ago, and he hadn’t been in the best mood since then. Normally, Skye would have stepped in right away. She had found coping with Bunny wasn’t very different from dealing with the teenagers at school; it was a good idea to nip any misbehavior immediately in the bud. But Skye and Wally were not currently on the best of terms, so she hesitated trying to figure out the most advantageous way to approach him.
Skye’s pause was just long enough for Bunny to throw away the remains of the disintegrated Styrofoam bowling pin and pick up an umbrella hanging on a nearby coatrack. As Bunny drew back, looking like Babe Ruth about to make a game-winning home run, Skye flung herself forward.
Depending on one’s perspective, her timing was either perfect—she saved Bunny from being charged with assaulting a police officer—or it was a little off—the brunt of the swing caught Skye across the face, and she went down like a seven-ten split knocked over by the ball of a pro bowler.
For a moment, there was complete silence. Then Wally roared, “Son of a bitch!”
Bunny threw herself on Skye, wailing, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Are you all right? Say you’re all right.”
Wally wrenched the redhead away, ordering her, “Get a wet rag and a cold compress.” He knelt by Skye’s side and gently cupped her chin. “Do you need an ambulance?”
“No.” Skye struggled to sit up. She could taste blood in the back of her throat, and was afraid she would vomit if she didn’t lift her head.
“Lie still for a minute.” Wally put a hand on her shoulder and pressed her back. “Let me get a good look.”
Skye fought back tears of pain as he ran his fingers lightly over her cheeks and nose. He’d had EMT training, and she trusted him to make an accurate assessment of her injuries.
“I don’t think anything is broken. Your nose is bleeding, but it looks intact, and your cheekbones seem okay, too. How’s your vision?”
That was a good question. Skye squinted. How many Wallys were there? She could make out three—no, four. After she blinked a few times his multiple faces merged into one. “I can see fine.”
A subdued Bunny returned with the first-aid items. Wally took the wet cloth and ice-filled dishcloth without acknowledging her, all his attention on Skye. Bunny hovered near his shoulder, wringing her hands.
Wally murmured reassuringly to Skye as he cleaned away the blood from her face. At last he handed her the cold compress and instructed, “Hold this across your nose and cheeks.”
“Okay, but I need to sit up.” She felt too helpless lying on her back.
He put one arm under her shoulders and the other under her knees, then lifted her into a chair Bunny had brought over from the bar.
Skye was impressed with his strength. She was no lightweight, yet he had picked her up as if she were a size six.
Once Skye was settled, Wally turned on Bunny, his voice controlled and as chilly as his eyes. “Care to explain yourself?”
“You’re the one who barged in here, grabbed poor Ruby, and slapped her in handcuffs.” Bunny crossed her arms under her surgically enhanced breasts and scowled. “You explain.”
Skye moaned from beneath her ice pack. Bunny was taking the exact wrong approach with Wally.
The chief’s expression hardened, but he said in an even tone, “You go first.”
Bunny opened her mouth, a stubborn look on her face, but before she could speak Skye loudly cleared her throat and, despite the sharp pain it caused, wildly shook her head no.
Some sense of self-preservation must have finally kicked in, and Bunny’s expression changed from petulant to shrewd. She moved closer to Wally, running a long red nail studded with rhinestones down his chest. “I am so sorry, Chief. I don’t know what got into me.” She fluttered her fake eyelashes. “I guess it was seeing great big old you manhandling my best friend in the whole world.”
Wally’s response was an exasperated, animal-like grunt as he moved out of her reach.
“Now, don’t be like that,” Bunny cajoled, fluffing the pile of fire-engine-red curls artfully arranged on the top of her head. “You’re just so big and strong that I was scared you were going to hurt my friend.”
“Right.” He raised a dark eyebrow, his tone skeptical.
Bunny pouted, but wisely kept quiet.
Wally turned to Skye. “I’m guessing you won’t be pressing charges, considering she’s Reid’s mother?”
Skye nodded, then regretted it as new pain shot across her cheeks.
“Now that we’ve settled that . . .” Wally paused and looked around. “Shit! Where did she go?”
The blonde in handcuffs had disappeared.
Chapter 2
Never Judge a Blonde by Her Cover
Skye had abandoned both her chair and the cold compress, and was once again standing between Wally and Bunny. At least this time no one had weapons in their hands, although Wally’s fingers were caressing the grip of his gun.
They had searched the bowling alley and there was no sign of Bunny’s friend. Ruby’s car was still parked outside, but she had vanished.
Wally blew out a puff of exasperation. “You mean to tell me neither of you saw her leave? She’s got to be six feet tall and weigh over two hundred pounds; how could she vanish? She was handcuffed, for crying out loud.”
“I never saw a thing.” Bunny’s voice was admiring. “But Ruby was married to a magician for a couple of years, and that man taught her some neat stuff.”
Skye wondered just what tricks Ruby knew, but restrained herself from inquiring—Wally didn’t seem in the mood for long explanations. She would quiz Bunny later, after he left. Now, she asked, “Why were you arresting her, anyway?”
“It started out as a routine traffic stop.” Wally shoved a hand through his hair, visibly puzzled as to how things had gotten so out of control. “She was driving down Basin and kept weaving over the center line, so I pulled her over, thinking she was drunk.”
“And?” Skye prompted.
“She didn’t have any liquor on her breath, and she explained she had been putting her makeup on—something about a heated eyelash curler and her false eyelashes starting to smoke. Anyway, I was going to give her a warning ticket for reckless driving when I noticed the paraphernalia in her backseat.”
“What? Ruby doesn’t do drugs,” Bunny bristled. “Her son died of an overdose. She’d never—”
“I didn’t say it was drug related,” Wally interrupted. “These were . . . uh . . .” He trailed off, a flush creeping up from under the starched navy collar of his uniform shirt.
“They were what?” Skye’s curiosity was fully aroused. Wally wasn’t usually shy when it came to speaking the plain truth.
“Obscene materials and devices.” Wally’s tone became official.
“What?” Skye asked, confused.
Bunny snorted. “Sex toys.”
“You’re kidding.” Skye felt her cheeks redden to match Wally’s.
“Ruby owns a store in Las Vegas called Sexploration. She must have been bringing me some samples.”
“Why?” Skye asked without thinking, then could have bitten her tongue. This was not a subject she wanted to explore with Bunny.
“Why not?” Bunny smirked, smoothing tight brown velour leggings over her hips. “Or did you think you were the only one in town with a sex life?”
Skye’s faced burned with embarrassment, and she took a quick peek at Wally, who was frowning at her. Although they had never dated, Skye and Wally had an emotionally charged history.
There had been chemistry between them since she was a teenager and he was a rookie cop. Nothing had happened back then, since she was underage, nor when she returned to Scumble River as an adult, because by that time he was married. Since then, his wife had left him, and Skye had become involved with Simon. She and Wally had a sort of Scarlett-and-Ashley type of relationship—their timing stank. Lately they had taken to acting as if the attraction didn’t exist.
Wally continued to study Skye for a long moment before taking up where he had left off. “Upon seeing the obscene materials, and ascertaining that the suspect had a sufficient quantity to constitute wholesale promotion of the devices, I ordered her to exit the car.”
Bunny blurted out, “You mean dildos are against the law in Illinois?”
“Scumble River has a city ordinance stating that it’s illegal to ‘wholesale promote’ devices that simulate sexual organs or materials marketed as useful primarily for the stimulation of human genital organs.” Wally was expressionless as he recited the regulation.
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