Murder of a Barbie and Ken

by Denise Swanson

Skye made her way to the gilt and brocade dressing table on the far side of the enormous bedroom. As her reflection came into view she gasped.

  Sheets of wallpaper had been secured from her waist to her ankles. Additional pieces were wrapped mummylike around her torso. And the whole thing was topped off with a flowing veil that hung from the crown of her head to her derrière. She looked as if I Dream of Jeannie and The Flying Nun had been mutated into one TV show, and directed by someone on LSD. Ridiculous was too kind a description.

  Once again, Skye contemplated fleeing. She could probably make it out of the house without being caught, but her car keys were in her purse, which she had foolishly left in the living room.

  Before she could formulate an alternate plan, her team led her out into the living room where she was lined up with the other “models.” One wore a paper evening gown, another a maid’s uniform, and the third a peignoir set.

  Skye cringed. No way could this evening get any worse. The flash of a camera proved her wrong. Whoever had just taken her picture would have to either hand over the film or die.

  Back in the bedroom, after the judging was completed, Skye tore off the wallpaper. She had tried to be a good sport. The other women seemed to be enjoying themselves. Even the ones who had been dressed up like Skye had laughed and pranced around as if they were having a great time. What was wrong with her?

  She shrugged. This wasn’t the time for self-analysis. Right now she had to get dressed, paste a smile on her face, and return to the party.

  After putting on her black pants and red twin set, she scanned the area for her shoes. One lay near the side of the bed, but its partner was missing. Skye got on her hands and knees and lifted the dust ruffle.

  At first she didn’t see anything in the darkness. Finally a glint from the decorative buckle on her loafer caught her eye. It had somehow gotten shoved to the very center underneath the king-size bed. She couldn’t reach her shoe from where she was, and she certainly couldn’t fit under the bed. There had to be another solution.

  Skye thought a minute, then went to the walk-in closet. Wow! Barbie had enough clothes to outfit all of Scumble River and most of the next town over. Unfortunately, they were all on padded satin hangers. Shoot! Now what?

  Just as she was about to turn away, she spotted a sheaf of dresses in dry-cleaning bags. She grabbed a wire hanger from one of them and straightened it out.

  Back on her knees, Skye shoved the curved end as far as she could, and felt it thud against something solid. She put her head horizontal to the floor and peered into the murky depths. What had she hit?

  After several seconds, her eyes focused and she noticed a dark opaque plastic box. The shadows made it nearly invisible. Skye briefly wondered what it contained, but quickly returned to the matter at hand, retrieving her shoe.

  Skye thrust the hook toward the errant loafer. Within seconds, she pulled it out. She wrinkled her nose. Phew! Barbie’s perfect world obviously did not extend to places guests weren’t expected to see. A dust bunny the size of Harvey the rabbit clung to the toe of her shoe. Skye frowned. Since when did she care about how clean others kept their houses? Great, she was starting to think like her mother.

  What next? Would she get a sudden urge to wash windows, scrub toilets, and iron clothes? Skye shuddered, pushed that thought away, and continued dressing.

  She was dragging a comb through her hair when Hilary burst through the bedroom door. “Hurry. Barbie’s about to give out the grand prize.”

  “Great.” Skye forced a false perkiness into her voice. “I’m right behind you.” She followed the excited woman into the living room, and joined her on the sofa.

  Something smelled delicious. Skye’s mouth watered. The odor of onion, cheese, and dill drifted from the front of the room. Barbie stood by a long table covered by a crisp white linen cloth, with platters of food exquisitely arranged across its surface. Silver candelabra and crystal vases of roses completed the picture-perfect display.

  “Before I award the grand prize, I’d like you to taste the superb fare you could have each and every day if you sign up for the Instant Gourmet program.”

  Skye licked her lips, then blinked. Once again, appearance seemed to be more important than substance. The portions were all small enough to have been cooked in an Easy Bake oven. Maybe that was how all these women stayed so thin: they thought two bites constituted dinner.

  Barbie’s smile was predatory as she continued. “Each dish comes fully prepared. All you need to do is pop it into the microwave for a few minutes. If you buy the entire system, you will not have to grocery shop or plan a menu again. You pick up your week’s worth of meals on Wednesday afternoon, and are set for the next seven days.”

  Oohs and aahs came from all sides of the room. The guests descended on the food, and there was silence as everyone dug in.

  After a few minutes, Barbie announced, “The first three people to sign up for the deluxe package get one week free.”

  Several women rushed toward her.

  Barbie turned to the rest of the crowd. “If you sign up tonight for any program, I will personally give you a ten-percent discount.” She paused. “Of course, the best deal is to become a distributor like me. Then you get your own meals at cost.”

  Skye looked around. Most of the guests were now clutching pens and balancing clipboards on their knees. She noticed that Joy, Lu, and Hilary were helping the others fill out their order forms. They were already part of Barbie’s Instant Gourmet army.

  Barbie’s gaze swept the room and a smug smile lifted a corner of her mouth. “Now for the grand prize.” She reached into a basket and pulled out a ticket. She quickly scanned it and announced, “Our winner is … Skye Denison. Congratulations! You’ve won a month’s worth of Instant Gourmet food.”

  As the applause wore down, Barbie said, “Just complete this paperwork.”

  While Skye filled in the required information, Barbie and the rest of the guests started to drift into the foyer. Goodbyes wafted into the living room as Skye reached the last page of the contract.

  Why did they want her credit card number? Wasn’t this supposed to be free? She paused and read the small print. Ah, she had to agree to buy a month’s worth of food in order to get the free month. Skye chewed the end of the pen. She knew from other parties of this sort that she was expected to make a purchase. But a whole month was too much.

  She crossed out the original amount and substituted an order for the trial package—a week of food for one person. Skye winced as she wrote a check for fifty-seven dollars and forty-three cents. This stuff had better be good—at that price she certainly couldn’t afford to buy any other groceries.

  Okay, she had fulfilled her duties as a guest and bought something, so where was Barbie? Skye listened. It sounded as if her hostess was still in the foyer talking to someone.

  Skye put her clipboard with the others, grabbed her purse, and made her way out into the hall. She could hear raised voices, then the sound of a hand striking flesh, and finally a door slamming.

  Rounding the corner, Skye saw Barbie holding her cheek and asked, “Are you okay?”

  The blonde’s hand flew from her face and she forced a short laugh. “Fine. I just bumped into the closet door. I’m such a klutz.”

  “As long as you’re not hurt.” Skye knew Barbie was lying, but wasn’t sure if she should force the issue. “I guess I’ll get going, then. Unless you want to talk.” They weren’t that kind of friends, and it really wasn’t any of Skye’s business, but she felt she had to offer Barbie the chance to open up.

  Barbie ignored Skye’s words. Instead she handed Skye her coat, turned the key in the deadbolt, and opened the front door. Snow gusted against the glass storm door and the wind rattled its hinges.

  Skye shot a puzzled glance at the elaborate lock. This was Scumble River, Illinois, not New York City. Why did the Addisons have such a substantial piece of hardware guarding their door?

  Catching Skye’s look, Barbie e
xplained, “Our insurance company insists we have extra security because of my extensive jewelry collection and the pharmaceuticals that Ken keeps on hand.” She pointed to an alarm box. “So we had everything they wanted installed. We just don’t turn it on, and we leave the inside key in the deadbolt.” She laughed, and echoed Skye’s earlier thought. “After all, this is Scumble River.”

  “Right. Nothing exciting happening here.” Skye moved toward the door. “I had a nice time,” she lied. “Thanks for inviting me.”

  Barbie stepped closer, and at first Skye thought she was about to tell her the truth about the slap, but Barbie only said, “If you’d like to make some extra money in your free time, you ought to consider selling Instant Gourmet. As a distributor you can really make a killing.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Look homeward, Angel …

  —Milton

  What was a hooker doing on her front step? As a school psychologist whose first job had been in New Orleans, Skye thought she had seen it all. But a woman who looked like this one, showing up at her isolated Illinois river cottage on a snowy Tuesday evening the week before Thanksgiving, definitely made her revise her opinion.

  When Skye had moved back to her hometown, she had fully expected to live a very quiet life—after all, Scumble River was barely a dot on the map. And although several past events had already proved her wrong, a trollop on her porch was a spectacle she hadn’t anticipated.

  Bingo, Skye’s black cat, rubbed against her ankles as she took another look out the window. The woman’s obviously dyed hair tumbled in scarlet ringlets from beneath a white Stetson. A fringed miniskirt barely covered her essentials, and there was a vast expanse between its hem and the red vinyl, high-heeled cowboy boots that had not been designed to wear in a Midwestern blizzard.

  Skye spoke to the feline. “I should pretend not to be home.”

  The cat regarded her with bright golden eyes, but offered no opinion.

  Another round of pounding pushed Skye’s curiosity quotient over the top, and she impulsively flipped on the outside light while opening her front door a few inches. Being nosy but not stupid, she kept the safety chain firmly in place. “Yes?”

  The woman blinked a couple of times, probably surprised by the sudden brightness, then smiled widely. “You Skye Denison?”

  Skye nodded, wondering if she should have denied the identification.

  “Hi there, honey. My name’s Bunny. I’m your Simon’s mother.”

  Skye was sure there was some mistake. “Simon Reid, who owns the funeral home and is the coroner?” This trashy-looking woman couldn’t be Simon’s mother. He was one of the classiest men she had ever met, while this female was decidedly at the other end of the well-bred scale. Besides, she was sure Simon had said that his mother had died when he was fourteen. This woman didn’t look dead—rode hard and put away wet, yes, but not dead.

  “Yep, that’s Sonny Boy.”

  Skye stood in silent disbelief until a sharp wind blew a plume of snowflakes into her face. Bingo’s sharp yowl, the needles of ice, and the redhead’s shivers all worked to snap her into focus. She unchained the door and swung it open.

  Bunny adjusted the tote bag on her shoulder, then twisted and bent over, hoisting a large worn suitcase off the side-walk behind her. Skye narrowed her eyes, but the older woman seemed not to notice as she maneuvered her luggage into the cottage and dropped it on the foyer’s hardwood floor. Melting snow immediately formed a puddle.

  Without stopping, Bunny strolled into the living room, a wave of stale cigarette smoke and alcohol fumes drifting after her. She shed her fuchsia fake fur jacket and dropped it on the floor before settling on the sofa. Skye followed her and perched on one of the two director’s chairs that faced the couch.

  Bingo padded in after them and began sniffing the older woman’s ankles. She reached down to pet him, but he moved a few inches out of her reach, his expression none too happy—he didn’t like anything, or anyone, new coming into the house. Bunny sighed and sat back, saying, “I love kitties. Mine passed away a few months ago, and I miss her so much.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. It’s really hard to lose a pet.” Skye commiserated, then paused, not exactly sure where to go from there. Finally, she said, trying to regain control of the situation, “So, Mrs. Reid, is Simon expecting you?”

  “Call me Bunny.” The redhead’s attention was focused on a small hand mirror she had dug out of her purse as soon as she sat down. “What? No.”

  “Wasn’t he home when you called him? Did you leave a message saying you were coming here?”

  “No. Not exactly.”

  “So, we should call him, then.” Skye felt as if she were talking to someone who hadn’t quite mastered the English language. “Let him know you’re here.”

  “No. Later.” Bunny finished fixing her hair, and moved on to applying lipstick.

  Skye waited for Bunny to explain. When she remained silent, Skye said, “Mrs. Reid, I’m afraid I don’t understand. It almost seems like you don’t want me to call your son.”

  “Bunny, my name’s Bunny. You’re making me feel old with that Mrs. Reid stuff.”

  “Bunny, why don’t you want me to call Simon?”

  “It’s sort of a long story.”

  “I have a feeling you’d better take the time to tell it.”

  “Well, I tried to check into the local motel.” Bunny briefly looked away from her image. “Charlie, the nice man at the Up A Lazy River Motor Court, was so upset he didn’t have a cabin for me. Said a lot of people had checked in at the last minute. Because of the weather being so bad and all, they were afraid to keep driving.”

  “I see.” Skye had no idea what this had to do with her or why she couldn’t call Simon.

  “So Charlie said you wouldn’t mind putting me up for a few nights—just until he gets an opening.”

  “My Uncle Charlie sent you?” Skye was getting more and more confused. Why had her godfather sent this strange woman to stay with her? And why wasn’t she staying with her own son?

  “Yes, he was ever so sweet.” Bunny rummaged around in her purse, then looked up. “Damn, my gold compact is missing. I wonder what happened to it?”

  Skye wouldn’t be distracted by lost makeup. “But I still don’t understand why we aren’t calling Simon.”

  “Hey, could I use your little girls’ room? I gotta tap a kidney pretty quick.”

  “Sure, it’s off the foyer.” Skye gestured the way they had come. Bingo, startled by her sudden movement, ran into the bedroom. He would probably spend the rest of the night hiding in his favorite spot under the bed. Too bad she couldn’t join him.

  Bunny jumped up, grabbed her purse, and scurried toward the foyer. She stopped before entering and said, “Boy, a cup of joe would sure hit the spot.”

  Skye sighed. It was hard for anyone raised in the rural Midwest to turn down a request for refreshments, even from an unwanted, uninvited visitor who was already making herself too much at home.

  By the time Bunny emerged from the bathroom, Skye was back in the living room. A tray with a thermos, cups, sugar and creamer, spoons, napkins, and cookies waited on the coffee table.

  After pouring for Bunny, Skye continued to lean forward. “So, how about we give Simon a call now?”

  “That’s not a good idea.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, he’s not really expecting me.” Bunny’s gaze was fastened to her cup, as if she could read the coffee grounds like tea leaves.

  “All the more reason to call before it gets too late. This way, he has time to get a room ready for you.” Skye hadn’t been a school psychologist for several years without learning how to keep reluctant teens going in her preferred direction. Somehow, despite her age, Bunny seemed to fit the adolescent category.

  “The truth is I need to sort of gradually let Sonny Boy know I’m in town.” Bunny fluttered her false eyelashes at Skye. “I’m sure you understand. Sometimes a woman has to help a man into right
thinking.”

  “Right thinking?” Skye did not like the way this was sounding. “What does Simon need to be helped into right thinking about? Is there a problem?”

  “Maybe a teeny little one.” Bunny selected a cookie and took a dainty nibble. “These are yummy. Homemade, right?”

  “My mother made them. They’re chocolate-topped short-bread.” Skye answered automatically. “What’s the teeny problem?”

  “Well, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen Sonny.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “And, to tell the truth, we didn’t part on the best of terms last time.”

  “Okay.”

  “So I sort of need to ease into seeing him. Maybe run into him somewhere.” Bunny’s pink tongue darted out and licked the icing from the cookie she was holding.

  “I see.” Skye didn’t see at all. “Are you from around here? I mean, would it be natural to just bump into him at a store or something?”

  “Yes … no … I was born in Laurel, but I blew that Popsicle stand the minute I turned eighteen,” Bunny said, a far-away look in her eyes. “I didn’t care where I ended up, as long as it was some place where a traffic jam wasn’t considered ten cars waiting to pass a tractor.”

  Laurel, the county capital, was the largest of Scumble River’s neighboring towns. “But Simon grew up in the city, didn’t he?” Skye felt as if she were trying to take a social history from an unwilling parent. “So you ended up in Chicago?”

  Bunny shrugged. “I lived there a while. I’ve lived lots of places.”

  That explained the way she mixed idioms in her speech. “Most recently, where?”

  “Las Vegas.” Bunny looked relieved. “I lived there for the past twenty years.”

  “Let’s see if I have this straight. You’re Simon’s mother, but you haven’t seen him in a while. You grew up around here, but haven’t lived here in years.” Skye waited for Bunny’s nod. “Okay, then, what brings you here now?”

  “Thanksgiving, of course. I always told him I’d be home for the holidays.”

  “You just didn’t say which ones, right?” Skye muttered under her breath. No way was this woman telling the whole truth. Should she pursue that avenue, or move on to why Bunny was at her house? Self-defense won. “There’s still something I don’t understand.” Bunny stiffened, but relaxed as Skye continued, “Why did Uncle Charlie send you here?”