CHAPTER 10
The boy stood on the burning deck …
—Felicia D. Hemans
Skye was surprised to see Frannie and Justin leaning against the Bel Air’s hood Saturday morning when she came out of the bank. After the Bitsy incident, Skye would have bet big money that Frannie wouldn’t be talking to Justin for a while. Clearly, the girl was more enlightened than Skye gave her credit for.
“Hi, Ms. D.” Frannie waved a red-mittened hand. “Got a sec?”
“Sure. But let’s sit in the car. My cold’s almost gone, and I don’t want to take any chance on bringing it back.”
As soon as they were settled and the car’s heater was blowing full blast, Justin said, “We’ve been thinking about a story for the first edition of our newspaper.”
“Good. Any ideas?” Skye could see they were itching to tell her what they had come up with.
“We’ve been hearing some interesting stuff about that murdered couple.” Frannie bounced up and down in her excitement.
“And?” Skye didn’t need to ask how the teens had heard about the Addisons’ private lives. If gossip were an Olympic event, Scumble River’s citizens would win the gold, silver, and bronze medals. Every man, woman, child, and pet had probably been fully informed regarding the Addisons’ history within hours of Skye and Jed finding the bodies.
“We want to cover that story for the paper,” Justin said, leaning forward and looking around Frannie to Skye.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Skye definitely didn’t want Frannie and Justin involved. Last time, they had been too close to the line of fire for her comfort level. “The school newspaper should cover stories that the town paper doesn’t, and believe me, the Star is covering the murder.”
“But we want to come at it from a different angle,” Frannie said. “We want to write about it from the kids’ point of view.”
“Let me think about it.” Skye did not like the sound of their proposal, but couldn’t immediately come up with any good reason to object. “I’ll get back to you guys in a few days.”
After a few token protests the teens left. As Skye put the car in gear and pulled into traffic, she wondered how she could stop the pair from sticking their noses into something that might be very ugly, not to mention extremely dangerous.
Skye made a face. Had Wally and Simon felt the same way about her in the past when she’d investigated? She shrugged. This time it was different. Both men had asked for her help.
Simon and Wally had opened the door, and today she was going to walk through it. Since both Belle and Joy thought Ken’s office manager, Yolanda Doozier, had important information about his medical malpractice, Skye wanted to talk to the woman ASAP.
A call early that morning to the medical clinic had informed her that Yolanda didn’t work Saturdays, which meant Skye would have to seek her out at home. One good thing about living in a small town: Skye knew exactly where that was. Yolanda, her great-grandmother, and younger brother, Elvis, all lived in an farmhouse east of town on State Road.
When Skye turned right on State Road, it was deserted. Neither cable TV nor gas lines ran this way, and electricity was often iffy in bad weather. Most of the families who had once lived in this area had long since moved to town. Skye passed fields wearing their winter coat of white and a couple of collapsed barns that looked like dinosaur skeletons.
The Doozier house was the only residence for miles. As she slowed to pull into their driveway, Skye felt a twinge of frustration. The lane hadn’t been plowed, and it was obvious from the pristine snow that no one had driven in or out of there since before Wednesday’s huge snowfall.
Where were Yolanda, Elvis, and their great-grandmother, MeMa, staying? Skye closed her eyes and concentrated. She should be able to figure this out. Where would they go? Skye hit her forehead with the palm of her hand. Earl’s, of course. Somehow all Dooziers eventually ended up at Earl’s.
The patriarch of the Doozier clan, Earl, lived with his wife, Glenda, and his son and daughter, Junior and Bambi, north of town near the river. His nephew, Cletus, and younger sister Elvira lived with them, too. Dollars to donuts, when the snow got bad, MeMa, Elvis, and Yolanda packed up and moved in as well.
It was touch and go, but Skye finally managed to turn the Bel Air around without landing in a ditch. She retraced her route until she came to Kinsman Street, where she turned right, then right again on Cattail Path. This road hadn’t been plowed, but car tires had flattened the snow until it was a slippery sheet of ice. She slowed the Chevy to a crawl.
City services didn’t often venture into this part of town— when they did, machinery, tools, and sometimes people turned up missing.
Scumble River was originally built in the fork between the two branches of the Scumble River. Since then it had spread along both banks. The group of people who lived along this bank of the river was known as Red-Raggers. These were not folks who appreciated uninvited guests.
Earl Doozier was the king of the Red-Raggers.
Skye had visited the Dooziers three times in the past two and a half years. The first time was to obtain a consent to reevaluate Junior Doozier for special education services. The second was when Junior and his father had fished her out of the river. And the third was to ask Earl and his wife some questions about an incident they’d witnessed during the Scumble River bicentennial. She hoped she was now on good enough terms with the family for Yolanda to talk to her. She knew that no Doozier would ever willingly give information to the police.
When Skye pulled into the Dooziers’ rutted driveway, she was relieved to see signs of occupancy—tracks in the snow and various vehicles scattered in and near the garage.
The house itself was dilapidated to the point of looking third world. Gray snow covered the front yard. Cars up on cinder blocks and old appliances were scattered around like lawn ornaments. A sign had been added since the last time she had visited. Tacked to a post at the end of the lane, it said: TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT. SURVIVORS WILL BE PROSECUTED.
Even in the cold air, Skye could smell animals, and the growls coming from the backyard were anything but welcoming. She was trying to remember if she had actually ever seen the Dooziers’ dogs when Junior burst out the side door.
He had a red crew cut, and a wide jack-o’-lantern grin lit up his freckled face. “Miz D., what are you doing here? You okay?” He had come to her aid on more than one occasion, and now considered himself her personal guardian angel.
“I’m fine, thanks. How about you?”
“I’m bored.”
Skye dug into her purse for one of the little treats she always kept there for the various kids she worked with, and pulled out a McDonald’s Happy Meal toy. She handed it to Junior. “Is this any fun?”
“Sure. Wait until Cletus sees what I got.” He started to run off.
Skye stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Is your Aunt Yolanda staying with you?”
“Yeah, she’s here. Come on.”
Junior led her through the side door, past a small entryway, and up a few steps leading to the kitchen. The odor of stale beer and the sound of angry shouting permeated the air.
Earl Doozier, heavily tattooed and wearing only sweatpants, stood nose-to-nose with a raven-haired beauty whose lush curves made the twisting Scumble River look as straight as the Mississippi. She sported a heart-linked ankle bracelet, and a rose tattoo peeked from her cleavage.
Skye recognized the woman as Yolanda. They had gone to high school together, though Yolanda was a couple of years younger than Skye.
Teenage twins Elvira and Elvis were seated at the kitchen table, along with a woman who looked older than Stonehenge. The Formica tabletop was littered with playing cards and piles of toothpicks. Cletus and Bambi were sitting on the floor, racing toy cars over the dirty linoleum.
Earl’s semitoothless mouth flapped as he yelled, “I was not cheating!”
Yolanda screamed back, “There are only four aces in a deck of cards
. You had the fifth one up your sleeve.”
Skye tensed. Even though Earl was as thin as a blade of grass, except for a modest beer belly that hung over the elastic waist of his sweatpants, she feared what would happen if Yolanda pushed her brother too far. Everyone in Scumble River knew you didn’t accuse a Doozier of cheating at cards, at least not to his or her face. Obviously, the heat of the moment made Yolanda forget.
Earl’s face was now redder than the king of diamonds, and he thrust both arms in Yolanda’s face. “I ain’t wearing no sleeves, you stupid bi—”
Skye cleared her throat. Both combatants swung around to face her.
Junior pushed her forward, saying, “Pa, look, Miz Denison is here. She wants to talk to Auntie Yolanda.”
Earl glared and Yolanda frowned.
“Hi,” Skye said. “I guess this is a bad time, huh?”
“No, Miz Skye.” Earl smiled meanly at his sister. “We’re just havin’ some old-timey family fun.”
She decided to accept Earl’s statement at face value. “Well, good, then.” She turned to Yolanda. “Hi. You probably don’t remember me. I’m Skye Denison. We went to high school together. I’d like to talk to you about Ken Addison, if you have time.”
The brunette looked her up and down. “You’re Vince’s sister, right?”
“Yes.” Skye wondered how Yolanda knew her brother. She hoped it was because he cut her hair, and not because he had dated her. Vince’s love life tended to be complicated.
“You’re the one who solves all the murders.” Yolanda’s violet eyes were thickly lashed, and her sable-colored hair was intricately curled and artfully arranged on top of her head.
“I’ve helped the police with a couple of cases.”
“Are you working on Ken’s murder?”
“Sort of.”
“Then I have time. This game is over with.” She shot a malevolent glare at her brother.
The twins slunk off without acknowledging Skye, although she knew them both from school. The old woman sat and stared but didn’t speak, and no one introduced her. Skye figured she had to be the infamous MeMa, the clan matriarch.
Yolanda said, “Have a seat.”
Skye sank into a chair. Interesting. Yolanda spoke without the Dooziers’ unique speech pattern.
“So, what did you want to know about Ken?”
“Well, anything you could tell me would be great. But specifically, I’d like to know about him and Dr. Zello, and what’s going on in their practice.”
Before Yolanda could answer, Glenda Doozier trudged up the steps carrying a huge purple-and-green purse. From her stiletto-heeled silver boots to her Frederick’s of Holly-wood blond wig, she was the quintessence of Red-Ragger womanhood.
Earl, beaming like the proud owner of a blue ribbon hog, rushed over to her and put an arm around her waist. “Glenda, honey, Miz Skye come here to talk to Yolanda.” He turned to Skye. “You remember my lovely wife, Glenda, doncha?”
“Of course.” Skye waved. “Hi.”
Glenda ignored her and stared at Earl. “What’d you do to your hair?”
Skye noticed for the first time that Earl’s greasy brown hair was sticking up in uneven clumps all over his head.
He looked down and mumbled, “I should never’ve tried to give myself a haircut after drinking a case of beer.”
Glenda cuffed him on the side of the head. “Fool.” She stormed out of the kitchen, followed by her daughter, Bambi.
Earl didn’t seem upset by his wife’s assessment. He and the boys pulled chairs up to the table and looked at Skye. “So, you gonna ask Yolanda something, or just sit there with your mouth hanging open catching flies?”
Junior and Cletus giggled.
“Sorry.” Skye refocused on the matter at hand. “Let’s start with the medical practice. Have they been losing patients?”
“Lord, yes,” Yolanda answered quickly. “I’d say not a day goes by that someone or other stops in and asks for their records to be transferred.”
“Any idea why?”
Yolanda snickered. “Those two had what you might call a monopoly on sick people for a long time, and their attitude toward their patients showed it. But about five or six months ago, a couple of lady doctors opened up an office in Clay Center. Tony and Ken were sure people wouldn’t drive the ten miles to go see them. They were wrong.”
“Attitude? What do you mean?”
“Well, let me give you a for instance.” Yolanda pursed her mouth in thought. “If you came in with a cough and Tony didn’t know what the problem was, instead of sending you for a chest X ray, he’d prescribe whatever the drug companies were slipping him big bucks to push. It got to be whenever I heard him say, ‘This should fix you up,’ I’d shudder, knowing he was at it again.”
“Did Ken do the same thing?”
“He was worse.” Yolanda picked up the playing cards and started to shuffle. “Whenever I heard him say, ‘Let me schedule you for some tests,’ I knew that translated to ‘I have a forty-percent interest in the lab and want to buy a new car.’”
“Boy, I may never go to a doctor again.”
“Oh, honey, you don’t know the half of what goes on.” Yolanda smiled thinly. “Ever since those two started doing research, I wouldn’t let them work on my dogs.”
“Tell me about this research project,” Skye urged, perking up. Joy had mentioned something about that, too.
“It’s two projects. That’s another part of the problem.”
“Oh?”
“At first they worked together, but then Ken had some sort of breakthrough on his part of whatever they were doing, and so the next time they had to apply for a grant, he did it on his own.” Yolanda held up her hand. “Don’t ask me what it was. I have no idea, and it doesn’t matter. The important thing is that it caused Tony and Ken to have a huge fight.”
Skye chewed her lip. “So, did Tony get cut out of the loop completely?”
“No. But Ken got the big money and an article in some fancy doctor’s magazine.” She dealt out a hand of solitaire.
“How did Tony take that?”
“’Bout like you’d expect for someone with an ego the size of a semi truck.”
Skye thought that over, then asked, “Did it bother Ken that Tony was upset with him?”
“Nope. Not at all. He said that a couple of more breaks in his research and he could put Scumble River in his rearview mirror for good.”
“So, he wasn’t happy living here?”
“He hated it. Almost as much as his wife did.” Yolanda shook her head. “They only moved here because Tony convinced them that they could make a lot of money, fast.”
“They sure seem to have done that.” Skye thought of their big house, Barbie’s jewelry, and their cars. “So, when Ken died, he and Tony still weren’t on very good terms?”
Yolanda snorted. “That’s one way of putting it.”
“Was old Doc Zello involved?”
“No, that sweet man only comes in a couple of mornings a week. He has no idea what his son and Ken were up to.”
Skye hesitated to ask her next question, and tried to ease into the subject. “I’ve heard that Ken was a bit of a womanizer.”
“You are the queen of understatement, aren’t you?” Yolanda started to turn over cards. “He would screw anything in skirts.”
“Do you know who his most recent mistress was?”
“No. And that was peculiar.” Yolanda studied her nails. They were painted candy-apple red and manicured into perfect ovals. “Usually he liked to rub my nose in his conquests, but this time he kept it hush-hush. Even had me stop answering his private line. I figured this one must have a real jealous husband.”
“Maybe somebody jealous enough to kill him?”
Yolanda nodded. “That’s what I was thinking.”
“I hate to ask, but did you yourself ever, ah …” Skye trailed off, not quite knowing how to phrase her question.
“When I first started working fo
r him, we had a brief fling.” Yolanda turned over a queen of hearts and put it on top of a king of spades. “But I knew it wasn’t ever going anywhere, and I ended it.”
Skye’s expression was skeptical.
“Look, that man’s idea of honesty in a relationship was to tell you his real name.”
“So everyone says. I wonder how he ever got women to go to bed with him, considering his reputation.”
“They were blinded by his prestige and money. And they were able to convince themselves that they were special. That they were the one who would change him.”
Earl had been silent while the women talked, but now he scratched his crotch and said, “The only woman who knows where her husband is every night is a widow.”
Glenda charged into the kitchen and whacked Earl on the head with a hairbrush. “You best remember, I’d better know where you are every night, mister, or I will be a widow.”
Earl mumbled, “Geez, I was just bein’ funny.”
Glenda grabbed his ear and pulled him from the room. “I keep telling you, you ain’t that amusin’.”
With that insightful observation, Skye stood up. “Thanks for taking the time to talk to me. Sure wish I knew more about his latest affair.”
“Well, you could always ask his ex-cleaning lady, Dorothy Snyder.” Yolanda didn’t look up from her card game. “You might want to ask her about why she was fired, too.”
As Junior walked Skye out to her car, she mulled over Yolanda’s last comment. Her mom and Dorothy had been good friends since grade school. May would probably smack her the same way Glenda had hit Earl if she tried to question Dorothy. So how could she get the information she wanted without ticking off her mother? Junior’s tug on her sleeve interrupted her thoughts.
He gestured for her to lean down and confided, “Did you know that if you spray dust bunnies with hair spray and then run over them with Rollerblades, they catch on fire?”
“No, I didn’t.” Skye opened her car door. “It sounds sort of dangerous.”
“Nah, it’s fun.”
“Have you tried it?”
Murder of a Barbie and Ken Page 10
