Skye knew her brother rarely dated more than one woman at a time. She tilted her head and looked at him. What, or better yet who, was he hiding from the family?
Vince secured the cash with a rubber band and put it into a small vinyl bag with a zipper. Stamped on the front of the pouch was SCUMBLE RIVER FIRST NATIONAL BANK and the bank’s hours. “You bringing Simon?”
“Yes.”
Vince put his coat on and helped Skye with hers. As they walked out to their separate cars, he asked, “How about Simon’s mother? Are you bringing her, too?”
“Shoot. I forgot about her. I guess we can’t leave her sitting all by herself at the motor court on Thanksgiving.” Skye felt a headache start to form. Neither Simon nor May would be happy with the idea of Bunny joining them.
CHAPTER 17
There is but one step from the sublime to the ridiculous.
—Napoleon
After saying good-bye to Vince, Skye drove to her cottage. It was nice coming home to an empty house. Bingo was all the company she wanted at the moment. He rubbed against her ankles and purred as she put food into his bowl, then promptly forgot her existence as he got down to the serious business of eating. She briefly wondered if Bingo missed Bunny and vice versa. The redhead truly loved him and had spent a lot of time petting and grooming him.
Skye pushed that thought away. Bunny’s move to the motor court was for the best, and Skye had three current problems to solve, each with its own degree of urgency and concern. The most pressing one was figuring out what to bring as her contribution to Thanksgiving dinner. Breaking the news to her mom and Simon that Bunny would be joining them came next. But, by far, the sex party Frannie and Justin had told her about was the most worrisome. What if the kids decided to investigate even though she had told them not to?
First things first. The aunts could bring all the good stuff for family dinners—the pies, the pork sausage dressing, the scalloped corn, and the Parker House rolls. Skye’s generation was restricted to the boring things like salads and vegetables. This was a challenge to Skye and her cousins. Each holiday they tried to come up with something new, a dish that would become the next family favorite.
As Skye flipped through her cookbooks, looking for the right recipe, the phone rang. “Hello, sweetheart.” Simon’s warm voice sent a tingle to her stomach.
“Hi. I was just thinking about you.”
“Good. I thought of you all day.”
“Ah.” Obviously, he was in a good mood. Skye hated to be the one to change it, but it was better to jump in and get it over with. “Before I forget, we’ll need to take Bunny with us tomorrow to dinner at Mom’s.” Silence greeted that statement and Skye hurried to explain. “We can’t leave her alone on Thanksgiving.”
“She never seemed to mind leaving Dad and me alone on the holidays.”
“But that’s different. You had each other. You weren’t really alone.”
Another silence, then Simon said, “You’re right. Just don’t expect me to talk to her.”
“Well, I could ask Uncle Charlie to bring her. That way you wouldn’t have to be in the same car with her.”
“That’s a good idea.” Simon sounded happier. “Considering the huge size of your family, I might not even see her there.”
One down, one to go. “That’s right. The women and the men don’t even sit together for the meal.”
“True. Maybe it won’t be too bad.” Simon said good-bye after telling her he had a wake that evening and he had to go set up the viewing area. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at eleven-forty-five.”
Without even bothering to hang up the receiver, Skye dialed her mother. May wasn’t any more thrilled than Simon had been, but admitted that Bunny couldn’t be left by herself on a holiday.
Charlie was Skye’s next call, and the only one who was happy to hear her suggestion. He said he’d invite Bunny and drive her to Skye’s folks’.
Skye picked up a cookbook and resumed her search. Nothing appealed to her. Where was that recipe her friend Sally had sent her for that wonderful chicken liver pâté? It would be a risk. Many of her relatives would turn their noses up at the thought of eating something foreign, but she hoped at least a few of the younger ones would try it. And Simon loved it.
On the down side, she didn’t have all the ingredients, which meant a run to the grocery store. The good news was the delivery trucks had finally made it into town, so food would be available. The bad news was every Thomasina, Dixie, and Harriet would be at Walter’s picking up last-minute items for tomorrow’s big feast. The place would be a madhouse.
As Skye drove to the supermarket, she thought about Frannie and Justin and the sex party that was supposedly scheduled for that night. How could she stop them if they decided to investigate?
The grocery store was as crowded as Skye had been afraid it would be, but at least this time there were carts and no one was fighting in the aisles over food. She grabbed a cart and headed toward the meat department to get the chicken livers.
As Skye rounded the corner, she caught a glimpse of a woman with long blond hair. She was slender, and at her throat she wore an apricot scarf tied in a big bow.
Skye froze and flashed to an image of Barbie Addison lying in the freezer with the peach ribbon knotted around her neck. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead and the waxed linoleum squeaked underfoot.
Suddenly, Skye felt removed from her surroundings, almost as if she were shrouded in cling wrap. She could see the people around her, but they seemed blurry, as if she were looking through a lens smeared with Vaseline. Too much had happened in too short a time. A sense of dread enveloped her. She couldn’t seem to break through the plastic.
Finally, someone brushed against her and everything came back into focus. Skye leaned against her cart and closed her eyes until her head stopped spinning. She looked around. No one seemed to have noticed.
That had been weird. Had she just had a panic attack? Was she experiencing the first signs of post-traumatic stress disorder? No, she refused to believe that. It was just low blood sugar—she’d had only a small salad from the cafeteria for lunch. Or exhaustion—she hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. A candy bar and a nap would fix her right up.
Still, she needed to get home. Skye made a hasty circuit of the store, grabbing the ingredients for the pâté and a baguette of French bread to serve it on, then heading toward the checkout.
She joined the ten-items-or-less line and scanned the nearby shoppers. Joy Kessler stood in the next lane, her cart full of chips, dips, and other party munchies. When Skye waved, Joy flushed and turned her head away. That was odd. They had parted on good terms yesterday. Something was up.
Skye felt her heart sink. Frannie and Justin were probably right about the Kesslers hosting a sex party. Now she really would have to do something about the teens’ plan to investigate.
It was nearly seven by the time Skye got back to the cottage. After a quick supper, she started making the pâté. Her first challenge was finding a small saucepan. Bunny hadn’t put things back where they belonged.
While Skye worked, she considered what to do about the Kesslers’ alleged party. An idea came to her as she was putting the completed dish in the refrigerator. At nine o’clock she would call Justin and Frannie. If they were home, she would make up some question about the school newspaper. If not … well, then it looked like she might be attending her first orgy.
Neither teenager was home. Justin’s mother said he was over at Frannie’s studying. Frannie’s father said she was over at Justin’s watching a video. Skye didn’t mention to either parent that the only thing their kids were likely to be looking at was X-rated.
Skye slammed the telephone receiver onto the hook. Crap! There were four aspects of investigating a murder that Skye hated, and now it looked like Frannie and Justin would force her to do most, if not all, of them in one night.
She disliked sneaking around, she detested spying on people’s private lives, and she de
spised having to lie. And more than anything, she hated getting caught. She hoped she could at least avoid the last one.
No matter how many times she told herself that a girl had to do what a girl had to do, whenever she was compelled to sneak, spy, or lie, she felt ashamed.
Fortunately, like most other people, Skye was good at rationalization, and her justification for tonight’s foray into the wild side was twofold—she had to make sure Frannie and Justin were safe, and it might help her find out who killed the Addisons.
She pushed the consequences of her last illegal search out of her mind. Getting trapped in a coffin months ago hadn’t really been that scary. At least that’s what she told herself as she put on her black jeans, sweatshirt, and rubber boots. After tucking her hair underneath a dark ski cap, she rummaged in the kitchen junk drawer for her heavy-duty flashlight, a pair of latex gloves, and her Swiss Army knife.
In her car, she headed south of town. As Skye passed the Addisons’ driveway, she could see both the Zello and Ginardi houses, and the Kesslers’ was just around the corner. They all lived within walking distance of one another.
This was the expensive part of Scumble River, where each of the houses was situated on several acres of land. It was ironic that they all backed up to an old graveyard. The homeowners had fought long and hard to have the bodies moved, but had lost the fight.
At the time, Skye had wondered why they had built their houses there to begin with, if they didn’t like living next to a cemetery. It wasn’t as if the tombstones had popped up overnight and surprised them.
Tonight Skye was glad of the cemetery’s location. Previously the Bel Air’s distinctiveness had proved to be a problem in her sleuthing, but the graveyard was the perfect place to stash the Chevy while she was on her spy mission. No one would notice her car parked there at nine-thirty at night.
Skye turned into the cemetery’s entrance and stopped. She hadn’t considered all the snow they’d had in the past week. Only a narrow pathway was plowed, and none of the normal parking pull-offs were open. Now what should she do?
To her right was a maintenance shed, the area in front of it cleared of snow. Skye pulled in and cut the motor. Surely no one would be doing yard work in the dead of night.
Unfortunately, this put her at the opposite end of the cemetery from where the Kesslers’ house was situated, which meant a brisk hike among the gravestones. She wrapped a wool scarf around her throat, tugged her hat down over her ears, and pulled on her mittens before getting out of the car.
Yikes! It was freezing out. Skye much preferred her environment to have a controlled temperature of seventy-six degrees with low humidity. Tromping through a winter wonderland was not her idea of a good time.
She was nearing her destination when she heard rustling. It wasn’t the wind—there was no wind—so what or who was in the cemetery with her? As she broke into a jog, she tried to pinpoint where the noise was coming from, and whether it was getting any closer.
It was off to her left and, yes, it was gaining on her. She prayed, Please, please let it be a nice, friendly dog and not a mean, hungry zombie. She really had to quit reading Stephen King novels, or maybe just stop going into funeral homes and graveyards after dark.
In the moonlight, the Kesslers’ backyard glowed brightly about a hundred yards ahead. Once there, she could at least see what was chasing her. She didn’t want to use her flashlight and give away her location.
As Skye cleared the boundary between the cemetery and the yard, she kept running until she reached the side of the house and leaned against the rough brick. Taking huge gulps of air, she waited to see if whatever had been trailing her would follow her into the open area.
Nothing emerged from the cemetery. Could the whole thing have been her imagination? When her breathing got back to normal, she examined her surroundings. The windows were dark. At first she thought no one was home, but then she heard music and realized that all the drapes were tightly drawn.
To her left, a vapor light brightly illuminated the area in front of the garage. Skye kept to the building’s shadow as she crept toward it. She took a small notepad and pencil from her hip pocket and noted the license plate numbers of all the cars parked on the concrete apron.
She checked all around the house’s perimeter and throughout the yard, but there was no sign of Frannie or Justin. Maybe she had been mistaken, and they hadn’t come after all. But then, why had they lied to their parents?
With the drapes closed, there didn’t seem to be any way to see what was going on inside the house, which meant there was no use sticking around. She decided to take the long way back to her car: down the road, onto the next, and into the front of the cemetery. Somehow, going back among the tombstones did not seem like a good idea.
As she passed the side entrance to the garage, she saw that the door was ajar. She was fairly sure it had been closed the first time she checked. What was going on? She pulled off her mittens and shoved them in her pocket, then tugged on the latex gloves.
The last time she had entered an unlocked garage, it had turned out badly. She hoped this would not be a repeat performance. The sound of a teenage girl’s giggle spurred her forward. Frannie!
Before she could take more than a few steps inside, a hand descended on her shoulder. She let out a scream, but another hand quickly covered her mouth, muffling the sound. Slowly she was turned around and came face-to-face with her captor. A light was shined on his face from somewhere to his left, and he put his finger to his lips. When she nodded, he let her go.
Justin Boward stood in front of her, a smirk on his face and Frannie by his side. He pointed to a plain wooden stairway leading to a second-floor entrance and said in a low voice, “The door up there’s not locked.”
She pulled him and Frannie close and whispered, “How nice. Now let’s get out of here.”
He shook his head. “They’re all in the big room at the back of the house, and you should see what they’re doing.”
“No. We have to leave right now.” What were they doing in there? She didn’t want to know. Probably best not to get that mental picture stuck in her head.
Justin shrugged and looked at Frannie. The girl said, “Why? We’ve been inside twice and no one’s noticed.”
“Try being arrested for breaking and entering, that’s why.” Skye was getting frantic. How would she make these kids leave if they didn’t want to?
Justin whispered something to Frannie, and she nodded. He turned back to Skye, “We’ll leave if you take a look inside first.”
“Why?” Both teens shrugged, their expressions impossible to read. Skye knew she would regret this, but she said, “Okay. A quick peek. But you two stay here.”
She walked up the stairway, eased open the door at the top, and stepped inside. A burst of laughter greeted her, and for a heart stopping moment she thought she had been discovered. She quickly realized she was standing in a loft area with a balcony that overlooked the living room below. On the other side of the loft was a large playroom with its own set of stairs leading into what she guessed would be the kitchen.
As Skye crept forward, the sound of music and voices got louder. She crouched down by the bottom of the balcony rails and stuck her face close to the opening.
A quick scan of the room confirmed that the gang was indeed all there. It was amazing how many people didn’t look good with their clothes off. Skye sat back on her heels and watched in open-mouth disbelief. She might not learn anything about the murders, but she was certainly being taught a lesson in deviant sexual behavior.
Polly Turner, wearing a black satin corset with a matching G-string, was lying on a long, cream leather sofa next to Tony Zello, who had on some sort of black rubber suit that squeaked whenever he moved. Judging from the expressions on their faces, neither seemed to be having a very good time.
Joy Kessler, dressed in an abbreviated French maid’s costume, was sitting on the lap of a man Skye had seen at various GUMB functions but never me
t. They were doing things with whipped cream, chocolate sauce, and maraschino cherries that made Skye vow that she would never again eat a hot fudge sundae.
Hilary Zello had on some wire contraption that looked like a half bra and thong hooked together. Another GUMB member Skye couldn’t put a name to was kneeling in front of her as she ground her white stiletto into his backside. He was making the same sound Bingo made when Skye scratched the cat under his chin, but he wasn’t nearly as cute.
The more Skye watched, the more it seemed that the partygoers weren’t actually doing anything. It looked like they were all dressed up for their wildest fantasies, but more pretending to sin than actually sinning.
Still, Skye’s skin crawled. Seeing people she knew behave like this was profoundly repulsive.
Tony Zello tottered to his feet and grabbed a martini glass. “May I have your attention, please?”
Skye blinked. The way he was speaking, he seemed to think he had on a tuxedo rather than a rubber suit. What was he supposed to be, a condom?
Tony waited for everyone to stop what they were doing, then continued, “Let’s all raise our glasses to the late Ken Addison. The man who talked us into trying these kinds of parties by playing on our fears that we would seem too unsophisticated and ‘small town’ if we refused.” The guests complied and Tony added, “The biggest asshole that ever lived.”
Skye noticed that everyone toasted except Polly Turner, who surreptitiously wiped away a tear. Skye squinted. Were there parrots painted on Polly’s nails? She couldn’t tell for sure from this distance, but it made sense. Parrots were often named Polly, as in “Polly want a cracker?” Charlie had said that the fake nail he found had a picture of a parrot. Could Polly have been Ken’s last mistress?
Joy Kessler struggled to stand, and was finally assisted by a shove on the derrière from her partner. “And to Barbie Addison, runner-up in the contest for chief asshole.”
A couple of the men looked puzzled, but everyone raised his or her glass.
Murder of a Barbie and Ken Page 17
