Murder of a Barbie and Ken

by Denise Swanson

  Okay, she’d move along to number two on her list—checking in with Wally. She wanted to share what she had learned from her talk with Charlie and see if he had found out anything about Addison’s medical research. When she had tried to telephone earlier, the new dispatcher didn’t seem to know how to use the radio to find the chief. In fact, she didn’t seem real sure of who the chief was. Skye wasn’t even positive the woman had known she was in the town of Scumble River.

  The police department parking lot was almost as empty as the school’s. Her mother’s white Oldsmobile, a beat up Ford pickup, and a lime-green Gremlin were the only cars there when Skye pulled in.

  She didn’t recognize the truck, but she knew the Gremlin was the librarian’s. That poor woman worked twelve hours a day for six hours’ worth of pay, and the board still tried to cut her salary every year. She’d probably be driving the Gremlin until it rusted out around her.

  May spotted Skye as soon as she entered the station and buzzed her back behind the counter. “What’s up?”

  “I just wanted to talk to Wally for a second. Is he still here?”

  “He’s in his office.” May wheeled her dispatcher’s chair away from the computer. “He hardly ever leaves anymore. Seems like he’s afraid to go home.” She faced Skye. “You know any reason for that?”

  Skye shrugged, not about to tell her mother about Wally’s problem with his ex-wife calling him. She was a little surprised that May didn’t know. Darleen must not phone him at the station. Skye changed the subject. “How’s Dad?”

  “He’s spending a lot of time in the garage with that dog of his.” May wrinkled her brow. “I think finding those poor people like that, and then having you in danger, got him real upset. But you know your father, he won’t talk about it—at least not to a human.”

  “True. The Denison men are definitely the strong silent type. They don’t yack about a problem—they fix it,” Skye said. “And this is something he can’t stick a little duct tape on and make it all better.”

  “Good thing Vince takes after my side of the family. The Leofantis enjoy a good talk. Your dad can be downright aggravating with his silence.”

  Skye and her mother nodded together in a rare moment of perfect mother-daughter rapport.

  After a second, May asked, “Are we still going Christmas shopping Friday?”

  “Definitely. You don’t have to work, do you?”

  “No, I’m off for the next two days. I took the weekend shifts instead.” May opened a drawer and pulled out a pad of paper. “I’ve been making my list. Do you know what you want to get?”

  “I’ll think about it tonight.”

  The radio blared, and May turned back to work. Skye waved at her mother and went to find Wally.

  As Skye stood in his open office door waiting for him to look up, the faint smell of cigarettes drifted over her. Although Wally had never smoked, the ever-present odor was a gift from his predecessor, along with the faded linoleum and battered metal desk.

  Wally finished what he was writing, and spotted Skye as he turned to put the file in his drawer. “Well, hi. I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “I tried to call around lunchtime, but the daytime dispatcher seemed …” Skye searched for a kind word to describe the woman’s behavior.

  “Stupid?” Wally asked.

  “I was going to say new.”

  “Yeah, new to this planet.”

  “That’s not a very gentlemanly thing to say.”

  “I don’t do impressions.” Wally leaned back and crossed his arms behind his head. “Remember, Simon is the gentleman. I’m just a cop.”

  Skye let that comment pass and took a seat. “So, did you learn anything about Addison’s research?”

  “Yep.” A slow smile spread across Wally’s face. “Zello wouldn’t tell me anything, and the judge wouldn’t give me permission to go into the records, but it occurred to me that someone had to be typing his papers. Yolanda said it wasn’t anyone in the medical clinic, and I didn’t think it would be the good doctor or his yuppie wife, so I put the word out that I was looking for the typist.”

  “So who was it?” Skye’s smile matched Wally’s. There was nothing like the grapevine in a small town if you really wanted to find out something.

  “The biology teacher at the high school.”

  “Makes sense. What did he tell you?”

  “He showed me the article Addison had gotten published in the Midwestern Medical Review. Basically, it boils down to rashes. It turns out that a lot of Midwestern towns located along small rivers have been reporting a high incidence of unspecific skin inflammation among their population. A pharmaceutical company that manufactures dermatological creams is funding a study among doctors who practice in these towns. Addison found a connection between the change of seasons and the rashes.”

  “How much money did he get for it?”

  “The teacher didn’t know exactly, but thought it was probably in the neighborhood of six figures.”

  Skye whistled. “Nice neighborhood.” She shook her head. Could someone really have been murdered over a skin rash? She refocused. “Sounds like you’ve been busy. Oh, before I forget, I wanted to tell you what Charlie told me last night.”

  “Something he conveniently forgot to tell me?”

  “I don’t think he was purposely concealing it. It probably never even occurred to him that it was important.” Skye crossed her legs. “I was trying to get him to remember something about Addison’s latest mistress, and he suddenly thought of a false fingernail he had found among the used towels.”

  “Did he keep it?” Wally asked sharply.

  “No. But he did recall that it had a parrot painted on it.” Skye leaned forward. “How many women in town have nails that fancy?”

  “Good point. I’ll get Quirk to question the local manicurists.” Wally rocked back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. “Anything else?”

  Skye chewed her lip. Should she tell Wally about the sex party supposedly going on tonight? Quentin Kessler was one of the police commissioners, and Wally had to work closely with him. How would this information affect that relationship? She decided not to mention it and said, “No, nothing right now.” Some stones were best left unturned, because if you disturbed them, some really slimy things might crawl out.

  As she left the building, she poked her head into the dispatch room and asked her mother, “Any idea where I’d find young Dr. Zello this afternoon?”

  May answered without stopping what she was doing on the computer. “Sure. He has a standing appointment with Vince every Wednesday at five o’clock.”

  Her mother’s uncanny knowledge of the Scumble River citizenry truly amazed Skye. It was quarter after five, so if she hurried, Vince would be just finishing Tony’s haircut when she arrived.

  The gravel parking lot of the Great Expectations Hair Salon had been turned to a frozen concoction that resembled gray peanut brittle—slick and lumpy. Skye was getting really tired of trying to walk across slippery surfaces, and wondered if there were some kind of cleats she could attach to the smooth soles of her boots.

  She tugged at the door of the salon, and nearly fell when it abruptly opened. Vince needed to have that repaired. Maybe she’d mention it to her father. It would give Jed something to do, and help take his mind off discovering the bodies. Her dad liked nothing better than a fix-it project.

  Only one customer sat in the waiting area. The lone woman looked up as Skye entered, and the cold wind ruffled the pages of her magazine. She was seated on an upholstered white wicker chair, a large black handbag on the glass table in front of her. The garden print of the cushions along with the mauve walls gave the room a spring look. The waiting customer nodded to Skye and went back to reading People.

  The styling area was located through a lattice archway. This time of year, May had it decorated in the oranges, rusts, and browns of fall, but come next week, the Christmas garland, red ribbon, and shiny gold ornaments would be brought out.


  Tony Zello sat talking in an elevated chair, shrouded in a mulberry colored nylon cape. Vince had on his the-customer-is-always-right face. Once again, May’s people-locating radar had been right on the money. If May worked for the FBI, the Ten Most Wanted list would quickly become the We Gotcha list.

  Skye sized up the situation. Vince was using an electric razor to trim the back of Zello’s neck, which meant he was nearly finished with the haircut. He glanced up from his work and waved at Skye.

  She hung her jacket up on the coat rack and walked through the arch, stopping in front of the two men. Vince gave her a quick hug. “Need a trim?”

  “No. I’m fine. Thanks.” Skye turned to the man in the chair. “Hi, Tony. I realized after I spoke with you this morning that I needed to ask you a few questions, so I was wondering, after you finish here, would you have time to discuss something with me?”

  He looked put-upon and glanced at his Rolex. “I’ve only got a few minutes.”

  “Well, I’m not going to make much progress on that matter you wanted me to look into until I talk to you.”

  “If it’s that important.” Tony looked at his watch again.

  Skye took the hint. “Maybe we could talk right here.” She turned to her brother, who had finished with Tony and was busy sweeping strands of hair from the floor. “Vince, is the tanning room occupied?”

  “No.”

  “All right if we use it for a few minutes?”

  “Sure.”

  Tony stood up, leaned close to the mirror, and inspected his haircut. He gave himself a little smile, then got out his wallet and handed Vince a twenty, saying, “Keep the change.”

  Skye stole a quick glance at her brother. That had been a six-dollar tip. Tony was clearly a big spender, at least by Scumble River standards.

  “Thanks, Tony.” Vince walked over to the cash register and put the bill inside. “Same time next week?”

  “Right. Got to keep up the old image.”

  To Tony Skye said, “The tanning room is this way.” She headed for a door that led off the short hallway going back to the shampoo bowls.

  After they settled themselves, Tony looked at his watch for the third time. “What’s so important?”

  “I’ve talked to some people and a couple of questions have come up.”

  “Oh?” His mouth tightened. “About me?”

  In her best counselor mode, Skye leaned forward with her hands held loosely on her lap. “About Ken and his dealings with people.”

  “I don’t like speaking ill of the dead, and I’ll deny I said this, but he wasn’t always the most upright citizen.” For all his protests, Tony seemed anxious for Skye to know that Ken wasn’t one of the good guys.

  “I’ve heard quite a bit about his womanizing. Do you know the identity of his latest conquest?”

  His squirming caused the vinyl seat of his chair to squeak loudly. “No, we didn’t talk about that.”

  She looked at him skeptically. They saw each other every day, were partners in a medical practice, and they didn’t talk about their personal lives? Maybe men really were aliens from Mars. “But you knew he had affairs?”

  “Well, yes. Everyone knew that.”

  “Did you know who his other women were?”

  Tony ran a finger around the inside of his collar, found a stray hair, and flicked it from his fingers. “Most of the time.”

  Boy, someone needed to talk to this guy about maintaining a poker face. If she and Simon ever got to play bridge against him again, she’d have to remember to tell Simon how transparent he was. “Is it true he and your office manager had a fling?” Might as well check Yolanda’s story. It never hurt to confirm the credibility of your sources.

  “A long time ago.” His grin was sour. “She saw through him pretty quickly.”

  “Who else did he sleep with?”

  “I couldn’t even begin to list them all.”

  “I heard it was almost every woman in the Bettes,” Skye prodded.

  “Probably,” Tony mumbled.

  Skye raised her eyebrow. “Including your wife?”

  Tony’s mouth snapped shut. “That’s an offensive question. I’m not going to dignify it with an answer.”

  In other words, yes. Skye tucked that bit of info away. “Let’s change the subject.”

  “Let’s.” He slumped back in his chair, clearly relieved that Skye had given up so easily.

  “Okay. Let’s talk about skin rashes.” She watched his reaction carefully as she spoke.

  His face froze. “What do rashes have to do with anything?”

  Skye tsked. “Please. I’m not stupid. I know Dr. Addison and you were both doing research on skin rashes, and when you began to get close to a solution, he stole the valuable part of your study and turned in the report without your name on it.”

  Tony shot out of the chair. “How did you find out about that?”

  Skye smiled. A direct hit. “I have my sources.”

  “It’s none of your business. It has nothing to do with the murder.”

  “The fact that he double-crossed you, stole hundreds of thousands of dollars from you, and got his name rather than yours in the medical journals doesn’t make you a prime suspect?” Skye asked, deliberately goading him.

  “No, of course not.” His gaze bounced from wall to wall. “I wouldn’t kill someone over that.”

  “Money and betrayal—seems like a strong enough motive to me.”

  “Look.” Tony sat back down and finally made eye contact. “Would I have asked you to look into the murder if I was the killer?”

  “You’re a smart man. It would be a clever way to get me on your side.”

  Tony’s face flushed a dull red, and his fists clenched. Skye was glad she was seated nearest the door. How long would it take him to strangle her? Could she summon her brother, or would she be unable to make a sound? An image of the Addisons’ bodies floated through her mind and she shuddered.

  A few seconds passed and Tony took a deep breath, then reached into his pocket. Not waiting to see what he was grabbing for, Skye popped out of her seat and backed toward the door. No way was she ending up like Barbie Addison.

  He waved a small, leather-bound pad with an attached pen at her, and smiled meanly. “Not as imperturbable as you try to appear, are you?”

  It was her turn to blush. She couldn’t think of anything to say to that.

  “And speechless, too. How refreshing.” He took the pen from the loop that held it to the notepad and wrote something down. “Sorry to scare you, but you reminded me of something I want to take care of, and I didn’t want to forget it. Hope you’re okay.”

  “Guess I had too much coffee today.” Skye’s heart had returned to its normal rhythm, and she was itching to find out what he had written on that paper. “Maybe I’d better switch to herbal tea.”

  “That would probably be a good idea. Calm you down some. Help you be less impulsive.” His concerned tone was as false as Grandma Denison’s teeth.

  She frowned. Was he insulting her or threatening her? She didn’t like either possibility. “I prefer to think of it as being alert and spontaneous.”

  He didn’t quite snort, but said, “I need to get going. Was there anything else you wanted to discuss with me?” He moved toward her.

  This time she refused to let his actions alarm her. “One last thing. Do you think, with Ken gone, you’ll win back some of the patients who have taken their business over to those two women doctors in Clay Center?”

  His chest heaved, but that was the only sign he gave that she had hit another nerve. “Some might come back, but it’s no big deal. There are invariably more sick people than our practice can handle. Doctors never have to worry about job security.”

  Skye wasn’t sure she believed that, but she let it go. “I’ve always found it sort of scary that doctors call what they do practice.” She opened the door and stepped aside to let him through.

  At first she didn’t think he wou
ld respond to her verbal jab, but as he passed her, he stopped and said, “The more I think about it, the more you may be right. Maybe the murderer was some disgruntled patient, or one of their family.” Zello made a show of scratching his chin and narrowing his eyes as if deep in thought. “I’ve seen it happen time and time again. Relatives come in and want to talk to you about the loss of their loved one, but we have a whole roomful of live patients to take care of and we can’t drop everything to listen to them. Besides, how do you bill an insurance company for the time you wasted listening to them whine?” Tony shook his head, clearly disgusted with anyone who would stand in the way of his making money.

  Skye stared at him, thinking how nice it must be to be the center of the universe—or believe you are.

  He shook his head again and went on, “Most people need to learn that no matter how bad they feel, the world doesn’t stop for their grief. At least not my world.”

  Skye tried to quell the slow boil rising inside her. She could feel her hands curling into fists and the blood rushing to her head. If she didn’t gain control within the next few seconds, she would punch this coldhearted, unsympathetic son of an ATM machine in the nose.

  He must have sensed the danger because he said, “Well, just something for you to think about while investigating poor Ken’s murder.” He took off at a trot, adding over his shoulder, “Got to run.”

  Skye found that Vince had finished with his last customer and was getting ready to lock up.

  “So, what’s going on between you and Zello?” he asked.

  “He and his buddy Ginardi asked me to look into the Addisons’ murders. They want the killer found before GUMB secrets get out.”

  “Ah, that makes sense.” Vince took the money drawer out of the cash register and started to stack the bills. “Both of them have egos bigger than a beauty queen’s hair.”

  “Have you heard anything new about the murders?”

  “No. Everyone’s talking about them, but no one is saying much, if you get my drift.”

  Skye nodded. “Are you bringing anyone to Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow?”

  “Nope. Can’t single out one lady. It makes the others jealous.”