Dead Blondes Tell No Tales

by Denise Swanson

  Skye stepped around the archway that separated the dinette from the living room and said, “Come and get it.”

  Charlie Patukas, six feet tall and easily three hundred pounds, was first into the room. In his mid-seventies, he was still mostly muscle, but a small bulge was starting to overhang his belt.

  Although Skye and her brother, Vince, called him “uncle,” he was really their godfather and a special friend of the family. He sat at the head of the table, the sturdy oak chair groaning under his bulk.

  Next was Skye’s father, Jed, several inches shorter than Charlie and about half his weight. He had a farmer’s tan with a white band across his forehead where his John Deere cap had protected it from the sun. The rest of his face was leathery from years of working outdoors. He sat at the other end of the table in the chair with a view out the picture window, so he could keep an eye on the crops.

  Finally, Skye’s brother, Vince, ambled into the dinette and kissed his mother on the cheek before sitting next to Skye. He was far too handsome for his own good. His attractiveness to the opposite sex had already gotten him into serious trouble twice; it had gotten him into minor difficulties too many times to count. Tall, with emerald-green eyes and long butterscotch hair worn in a ponytail, Vince got his tan from the machine at the hair salon he owned rather than from the great outdoors.

  May said the blessing, and then started the platter of roast around the table by handing it to Jed. As the man of the house, he got first pick. There was silence as they all filled their plates and started to eat.

  After his initial helping had been devoured, Charlie leaned back, took a long swig of beer, and belched. He patted his belly as if it were a pet he was fond of, then said, “I had a really striking-looking lady in one of the cabins last night.” He owned the Up A Lazy River Motor Court—the only place to stay in town.

  Skye’s investigative radar engaged. “Really? Did she have blond hair and drive a pink car?”

  “Yeah.” Charlie’s thick white eyebrows flew up until they nearly met the matching hair on his head. “How did you know?”

  “Sounds like Bunny’s friend Ruby.”

  “Ruby? I don’t think that’s the name she registered under.” Charlie frowned. “She paid in cash, so I didn’t ask to see any ID.”

  Skye buttered a roll. Could there be two blondes in town driving pink vehicles? “She was tall and statuesque, right?”

  “Yep. That’s her.” Charlie took the bowl May had handed him, and spooned another pile of mashed potatoes on his plate. “Fine figure of a woman.”

  “Wally arrested her this afternoon,” May announced, a line forming between her eyebrows.

  “For what?” Charlie stopped, fork poised midway to his mouth.

  Skye took a drink of her Diet Coke and listened to her mother’s version of what had happened.

  May finished with, “Then she came strutting into the police station, as if she wasn’t a wanted fugitive, and demanded that she see the chief and no one else.”

  “Did you hear what she had to say to Wally?” Skye had been waiting to ask this question since she heard that her mother had been dispatching that day.

  “No.” May took a sip of wine. “Wally took her into the interrogation room. He usually keeps the door open if he has a female prisoner so I can testify that no hanky-panky took place, but that woman insisted on closing the door and turning on the radio.” May stood and started clearing the table. “I couldn’t hear a thing, even with my ear pressed against the door.”

  Skye got up to help. The men stayed seated and waited for dessert to be served. Skye had long ago given up trying to explain the women’s movement and equal rights to her family. It might be the twenty-first century in the rest of the country, but in Scumble River, they had barely left the nineteenth.

  While May cut apple pie and Skye scooped vanilla ice cream, Vince said, “You know, a woman like you described stopped at the salon yesterday afternoon. She wanted me to dye her hair brown, but I didn’t have time.” He took the plate Skye handed him and dug into the pie. Around a mouthful he said, “I told her I didn’t think she would look good as a brunette, but she wanted me to color it anyway.”

  Skye filed away that piece of info with the fact that Ruby seemed to have arrived a day earlier than she had thought, and used a false name to check into the motor court. Evidence was adding up against Miss Ruby.

  As Skye set her dad’s dessert in front of him, Jed spoke for the first time. “Caboose seems to be pulling the engine with that lady.”

  Skye considered her father’s statement. Ruby did seem to be letting events control her life, rather than being in control of her own actions. Jed didn’t talk a lot, but when he said something, it was usually worth thinking about. Maybe what he meant was that Ruby was a train wreck waiting to happen.

  Chapter 5

  Monday Morning Blonde

  When Skye arrived at the bowling alley Monday around eleven-thirty, she kept an eye out for Ruby, but it wasn’t until midafternoon that she spotted the blonde descending the steps from Bunny’s apartment.

  Obviously, Ruby was not a morning person; her first words were croaked out in a desperate tone: “Coffee, black.” As soon as Skye handed her a cup she took a gulp of the hot liquid, swore when she burned her tongue, than took another sip. Finally, she sat down.

  Skye joined her. “Did you and Bunny have a good time catching up last night?” she asked.

  Ruby nodded, eyes still half-closed.

  “How far back do you two go?”

  “We met twenty years ago, when Bunny first came to Las Vegas to be a dancer. I was a magician’s assistant at the time. Then it just seemed that we always ended up in the same shows and we became best friends.” Ruby sipped her coffee. “Bunny had a lot of talent but could never make it to a headliner spot.”

  “Why?”

  “Mostly bad luck.” Ruby’s gaze became unfocused and she didn’t answer right away. “It seemed like whenever she was about to get her big break, something would go wrong. She’d agree to go to Mexico with a boyfriend and their car would break down, so she’d end up missing a rehearsal. Or someone would talk her into going on a skiing trip, and she’d fall and sprain her ankle.”

  Skye nodded. Ruby’s description sounded like the Bunny she had come to know. Easily led, usually to her own detriment. “That’s a shame.”

  “Yeah, it is. Bunny is a good egg and deserves better from life.”

  Skye allowed a moment of silence, then, edging closer to what she really wanted to know, said, “Was she upset about Benny being arrested?”

  Ruby shrugged. “It’s not his first dance with the jailhouse band.”

  “So did they catch him doing the usual?” Skye tried to be casual.

  “No. He . . .” Suddenly Ruby stopped. “Never mind. It’s not important.” She took another sip of coffee and parried, “Are you and Simon engaged?”

  Skye shook her head. “No. We’re not ready to settle down yet.” Refusing to be distracted, she probed, “You know, I’m still not clear as to why you ran away when Wally stopped you.”

  “Like I said, I panicked, silly me.” Ruby fluffed her hair and tried again to sidetrack Skye. “Speaking of the police chief, do you and he have something going on the side? He’s really hot.”

  “No, of course not.” Skye felt her cheeks flush. “Why would you ask that?”

  Ruby drained her cup. “The vibes, honey, the vibes. You just can’t fight the vibes.”

  Skye opened her mouth to rebut Ruby’s claim, but the blonde muttered something about running errands, and hurried away. Skye frowned. What kind of errands could someone new in town have to do?

  After a few minutes of unproductive speculation about the older woman’s intentions, Skye gave up. She had too much to do to waste any time trying to figure out Ruby.
>
  Skye spent the rest of the afternoon getting the alley’s restaurant ready for the night’s crowd, and when she finished up around five, Bunny drafted her to help with the talent show.

  Even though the program didn’t start until seven, the contestants were already crowding the stage. Evidently, word had gotten out that there was room for only twenty entertainers, and that it was first come, first perform.

  Skye sat at a table to Bunny’s left, giving out numbers and taking names. She wondered if the talent show was so popular because Scumble River was full of enough hams to supply Easter dinner for the entire state of Illinois, or due to the prize Bunny had wheedled out of Quentin Kessler, the owner of the dry goods store: a big-screen TV.

  So far, Skye had registered comedians, singers, dancers, an accordion player, and even a lady who had dyed her poodle pink and taught it to dance on its back legs. The animal’s owner had colored her own hair to match, curled it to look like the canine’s fur, and wore a rose net tutu similar to the one the dog sported around its hindquarters.

  Currently Skye’s attention was riveted on a girl standing center stage tossing two burning batons and reciting:

  The boy stood on the burning deck,

  Whence all but him had fled;

  The flame that lit the battle’s wreck

  Shone round him o’er the dead.

  Suddenly Ruby erupted through the doors leading into the bar. A hush fell over the crowd as Ruby shouted, “I’ve been vandalized!”

  Skye rushed off the stage. “What happened? Were you attacked? Where?” Ruby looked fine. Her leopard-print miniskirt and black silk blouse were undamaged. There wasn’t a hair out of place in her blond pageboy, and her makeup wasn’t smeared.

  “I’m fine, but when I get ahold of the prick who tore up my car, he won’t be.” Ruby whirled on her stiletto heels and marched away. “Come look.”

  Skye, followed closely by Bunny, the talent show contestants trailing them like baby ducks, trooped outside. As they neared the bowling alley parking lot, the blare of an alarm assaulted Skye’s ears.

  She hadn’t seen Ruby’s car before, but when Wally had told her that Ruby drove a pink Cadillac, she had felt a certain sense of solidarity with the blonde. Skye herself drove a 1957 aqua Bel Air, a big car in an unusual color. She had pictured Ruby’s car as a pretty pastel, like the ones the cosmetic ladies drove. She had been wrong—very, very wrong.

  The pink of Ruby’s car was closer to neon, and the Eldorado had been fitted with a miniature statue of David for a hood ornament. It was anatomically correct—and he wasn’t wearing a fig leaf. There were several snickers and pointing fingers in the crowd as people realized what they were seeing.

  Ruby, ignoring the group’s reaction to her choice of art, threw out her arms in the direction of the decimated vehicle and ordered, “Look what someone’s done to my baby.”

  The doors hung open at odd angles, and objects that had been inside the car now littered the asphalt. The upholstery had been skinned from the seats, chunks of foam had been dug out and dotted the area around the car, the dashboard had been ripped off, and the carpet peeled back from the floor. Even the ceiling fabric hung in shreds like the tassels on a stripper’s costume. It was evident the Cadillac had been searched, and the searcher didn’t care about the damage inflicted.

  Skye examined the destruction. “I’ll call the police.”

  “No!” Ruby grabbed her arm. “I mean, let’s not get carried away. Sorry to rile everyone up. I’m sure it was just kids having some fun.”

  Skye raised an eyebrow. “Kids in Scumble River do not have this kind of fun.”

  Bunny stepped between the two women, and although she gave her friend a puzzled glance, she said to Skye, “Ruby meant that she didn’t want to ruin some kid’s life for one mistake, not that the kids in Scumble River are bad.”

  “We have to call the police.” Skye crossed her arms. She knew something was going on, and she wasn’t letting Ruby and Bunny float down the river of denial. Wally needed to get to the bottom of it.

  “Suit yourself, but I’m not pressing charges,” Ruby said. “In fact, I’ll tell them I did it all myself.” She looked down at Skye, which was easy to do, since she had five inches on her even without the high-heeled shoes. “As long as I don’t file an insurance claim, no crime has been committed. There’s not a thing the cops can do.” Ruby turned her back on Skye and said to the people standing around them, “Anyone know a good garage that can repair this damage?”

  Skye ground her teeth in frustration. What was this woman up to? Ignoring the crowd, which was now shouting out places where Ruby could take her car to be fixed, Skye crossed the parking lot, marched into the bowling alley, around the bar, and didn’t stop until she was sitting behind the desk in the office. She was going to call Simon. Maybe he’d have an idea.

  “What? You’re kidding.” Simon had picked up on the first ring, and Skye had immediately launched into an account of Ruby’s latest escapade. “I’ll be right over.”

  “What’s the use? If Ruby doesn’t press charges or make an insurance claim, there’s nothing the police can do.” Skye twirled the phone cord around her finger. “The big question is why doesn’t she want to involve the police? Did Wally tell you anything when you talked to him yesterday afternoon?”

  “No. He avoided answering most of my questions. All he would say was that Ruby had explained her actions to his satisfaction, paid the tickets for reckless driving and obscene display, which is a misdemeanor, and allowed Wally to confiscate the items to be destroyed.”

  “Did he at least tell you her full real name?” Skye asked. Why was Wally protecting Ruby?

  “Jones. The name on her driver’s license is Ruby Jones.” Simon made a scornful noise.

  “I wonder which husband that name’s from.” Skye tapped her fingers on the desk. “Guess it’s time to call your friend in Vegas and see if he can tell you anything.”

  “I’ll do that. Even with a common name like Jones, there can’t be that many six-foot-tall, full-figured Rubys who owned sex stores.”

  “You wouldn’t think so, but I’ve heard some strange things about Las Vegas.”

  Chapter 6

  Out of the Mouths of Blondes

  Skye scanned the group of people that had assembled in the bowling alley bar for Team Trivia and wondered if the winner of last night’s talent contest had come back. Not that she would recognize him if he were there. The guy had worn a gorilla mask during his comedy routine and signed in as Lenny Bruce.

  Since Skye was pretty sure the famous comedian had not risen from his grave in order to perform in Scumble River, she thought it a safe bet that Mr. Anonymous had used a false name. But why?

  Before she could come up with a guess, her attention was diverted to a group of teens attempting to oust people from their seats by tipping their chairs forward. Once someone fell from the chair, the teens claimed the seat. Skye caught the ringleader’s eye and pointed to the entrance. The girl pasted an innocent expression on her face and shrugged helplessly. Skye pointed again. The sign hanging on the door was clear. It read STANDING ROOM ONLY! The teens scowled, relinquished the stolen seats, and marched out of the bar.

  Skye let out the breath she’d been holding. She hated to see the kids go—she knew there was little for them to do in town—but the place was too crowded to deal with any group that would cause problems.

  Bunny had brought in extra chairs, but still people stood, leaned, knelt, and sat on the floor. Skye was surprised that such a large crowd had turned out on a weeknight just for a game of trivia.

  So many wanted to play that Bunny had had to decree that they would use a lottery system to select the contestants. Skye had collected the strips of paper, and now held a recycled pickled-egg jar crammed full of the tickets.

  Bunny mounted the st
age, dragging a reluctant Ruby after her. She took the mike from Skye and announced, “Our special guest from Las Vegas, Nevada, Miss Ruby, will draw twenty names. There will be four teams of five. Team One will play Team Two, and Team Three will play Team Four; then the winners of the first two rounds will play the third round for the grand prizes.

  “Everyone ready?”

  The audience roared its approval, and Ruby started picking slips from the jar. Skye only half listened as the names were called out. She recognized most, although one or two weren’t familiar. Suddenly she froze as Ruby announced, “Earl Doozier is our lucky thirteenth contestant.”

  A man wearing sweatpants and a flannel shirt pushed his way through the crowd. He was skinny except for the bowling ball–sized potbelly that hung over the elastic waist of his pants. His mud-brown hair formed a horseshoe around the back of his head.

  Skye struggled to keep her expression neutral as he climbed the steps up to the stage, but she just couldn’t wrap her mind around the idea of Earl Doozier on a trivia team. She was afraid to imagine his answers.

  Earl was the patriarch of the Red Raggers, a clan who always seemed to turn up whenever there was trouble. They didn’t necessarily initiate the problem, but they also never missed an opportunity to contribute to the chaos.

  The Dooziers were tough to describe to anyone who hadn’t grown up with the legend of the Red Raggers. The best Skye could come up with was a tribe of outsiders who didn’t want to be insiders. She had established a good relationship with Earl through working with his many children, sisters, brothers, nieces, and nephews in her job as a school psychologist, but for the most part the Dooziers kept to themselves.

  So why on earth was Earl at the bowling alley signed up to play Team Trivia? The only reason she could think of was that he had once told her he’d learned everything he knew from the two wise men, Jack Daniel’s and Jose Cuervo; and for tonight’s game Bunny had persuaded the owner of the Brown Bag Liquor Store to donate five gift certificates. Maybe he wanted the prize to further his education.