Murder of a Pink Elephant

by Denise Swanson

  Skye made herself detach and think clinically. This was a puzzle, just like finding out what motivated a student to misbehave. “Where were the tattoos located?”

  “Upper arms and right calf. It looks like the guy was caught headfirst under some burning debris so his upper torso and head got the worst of it.” Wally shook his head. “We can barely see the tattoos on the arms, but the ones on the right leg are visible.”

  “What are they?”

  “Musical notes that form a circle around the calf.”

  Tattoos. Where had she recently seen someone with a lot of tattoos? Skye concentrated but couldn’t bring the memory up. Instead, she said, “I guess Frannie being stuffed in that locker pretty much makes it clear the guy was murdered? If he’d had an accident, there wouldn’t be any reason for someone to attack Frannie.”

  “True.”

  Abruptly she flashed to the band rehearsal Thursday night and asked, “Could you tell if the victim had any piercings?”

  “Not that we noticed, but the body was in pretty poor shape. Why?”

  Skye kept her face expressionless and prayed that she wouldn’t throw up. She swallowed and said, “Well, Logan Wolfe, the band’s vocalist, had tattoos on his upper arms, but I didn’t see his legs. He also had a pierced eyebrow and a huge hole in his ear.” Skye read the skepticism in Wally’s eyes and persisted, “A tattoo of musical notes would make sense for him, since he’s a singer.”

  “I’ll check it out,” Wally conceded, “but I doubt it’ll be that easy.” He sighed. “Nothing ever is anymore.”

  “You know, there’s one odd thing, if it does turn out to be Logan.”

  “Only one?”

  “One that seems important,” Skye answered seriously. “If it is Logan, I know that he’s married and lives just outside of town. Which means his wife must have heard about the fire at the school, and she has to know he was playing there last night. So why hasn’t she reported him missing?”

  CHAPTER 9

  Beast of Burden

  Skye glanced over at her brother sprawled in the Bel Air’s passenger seat. His long legs were stretched out and crossed at the ankles, his right arm rested on the windowsill, and he was whistling along with the oldies station on the radio. He was the picture of ease.

  Vince never seemed to worry about the past or the future, choosing to live in the here and now. Skye wondered if he would find that attitude a little hard to maintain if the body from the fire turned out to be Logan Wolfe.

  If that were the case, there was no way that his recent fights and arguments with Logan would stay quiet. Someone would talk. And once the police knew about their disagreements, Vince would instantly become a suspect.

  Skye chewed on her lip. Should she warn Vince that Logan might be the victim? No. It would be better if Vince didn’t know. Wally might make the wrong assumption if Vince didn’t act surprised enough when the body’s identity was finally revealed. Which meant she really shouldn’t ask him about the musical note tattoo either.

  “Vince?” Skye asked.

  “Mmm?” He adjusted his sunglasses and turned toward her.

  “Have you talked to the other band members since the fire?”

  “Rod called to ask if I knew when we could get in and salvage the equipment that got left behind.”

  “How much gear did the band lose?” Skye asked.

  “Maybe an amp or two and some music.” Vince leaned against the headrest. “I lost a couple of drums, but I think most of the other guys got their stuff out.”

  “Is it insured?”

  “Yeah. And what we don’t have covered, the school’s policy will probably take care of. I’ll call about the insurance tomorrow and see what we need to do.”

  The wind had picked up and snow was blowing across the blacktop, making the surface slick. Skye struggled to keep the big car between the lines. “Will you be able to play for Wally’s ‘Meet and Greet’ Tuesday?”

  “Sure, we all have old instruments and equipment we can drag out and use in place of anything that’s missing.” Vince flipped down the sunshade and peered into the mirror, smoothing a strand of hair back into place. “This will be the band’s first political campaign rally. We don’t want to mess that up. If we do a good job, other candidates might hire us.”

  “I take it you’ll be playing your regular rock and roll rather than the acid rock you played last night?” Skye turned the Bel Air into the Country Club’s long drive. Unblemished snow covered the course. Clearly, not even the hardiest golfer had been out to play in a while.

  “We cater to the crowd, so, yes, we’ll be back to the soft stuff.”

  As she maneuvered the huge aqua vehicle into a parking spot, she asked, “The band means a lot to you, doesn’t it?”

  “Sure. We could get a big break and become the next teen craze.”

  Her brow puckered. Vince always had such pie-in-the-sky dreams. She just hoped he wasn’t headed for a big disappointment.

  He bounded out of the car. “Quit worrying, Sis. Everything will turn out fine. It always does.”

  Together they walked through the packed lot and into the clubhouse. The building was cream-colored brick and sported huge floor-to-ceiling windows. Inside, the golf shop and offices ran the length of the right wing. The opposite side consisted of several small rooms whose dividers could be opened to form one large room.

  The delicious scents of frying bacon and maple syrup wafted over Skye as she and Vince paused in the doorway of the banquet area. A salad bar, omelet station, and sweet table had been set up against one wall. Another span of starched white linen held covered pans being kept hot on small burners. Whoever Moss Gibson was, he had spared no expense for this gathering.

  Long tables had been set up in a U shape, facing a small dais at the front of the room. Most people had already arrived, and many were grouped around the portable bar at the back.

  Skye scanned the crowd looking for her parents. She knew they were here somewhere. She had spotted their car in the parking lot.

  A cute young guy smiled at her as she and Vince stood in line for a drink. “Hi, I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Jess Larson.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Skye Denison, and this is my brother Vince. Do you live in town?” Skye shot Vince an enquiring look, and her brother shrugged.

  “Moved in around Thanksgiving.” Jess tugged at the collar of his dress shirt as if he weren’t used to wearing anything that formal. “I bought the Brown Bag Liquor Store when my cousin Fayanne Emerick retired.”

  “Right. I did hear she sold it to a relative.” Skye tilted her head in thought. Jess must be related to Fayanne through her mother, because Skye knew for a fact that Fayanne was the last of the Emericks. Her lineage had factored into a murder awhile back. “Did you buy Fayanne’s other properties too?”

  A strange look crossed Jess’s face but was immediately replaced with a bland expression. He turned to Skye’s brother without answering her question. “So you’re Vince Denison. I’ve been wanting to talk to you. I’m adding a bar and banquet hall to the liquor store, and they should be done by the end of the month. Logan said you keep the band’s calendar. Did he tell you that I’m interested in having you play when it opens?”

  “No, he didn’t mention it.” Vince frowned. “He must’ve forgotten. Give me a call at the shop and we’ll firm up a date.” Vince fished in his pocket and handed Jess a business card.

  The men shook hands and Jess walked away.

  “It looks like there are place cards.” Skye pointed to the tables. “Let’s go see where we’re sitting.”

  Before they could move, a voice stopped them. “Ms. Denison, nice to see you. I wanted to thank you. I understand if it weren’t for you, a lot of the kids might have been trapped in the fire.”

  It was Quentin Kessler, Bitsy’s father and owner of Kessler Dry Goods Store.

  “Mr. Kessler, I’m afraid someone is exaggerating.” A few months ago, Skye had accidentally witnessed a se
x orgy Kessler and several other of Scumble River’s most respectable citizens had been participating in, and now she had trouble picturing him any other way. She took a firm grip on her imagination and said, “I didn’t do anything more than the other adults did. Is Bitsy okay?”

  “She’s a little shaken but physically unharmed.”

  “I’m so glad.” Skye was never sure how parents would take things. She was always ready for them to turn on her. “Do you know my brother, Vince?”

  “Sure. He cuts my hair. Good to see you, Denison.”

  Vince nodded and Quentin Kessler went on, “So, how did the fire start? I’ve heard it was carelessness on the custodian’s part, that he left oily rags lying around.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.” He took a sip of his martini. “And if that’s the truth, the school better be prepared for a huge lawsuit.”

  Ah, the other shoe had dropped. “I really haven’t heard anything about the fire’s origins,” Skye said.

  Mr. Kessler leaned closer. “How about the dead body?”

  “Well.” Skye played for time. She hated lying outright. “Of course, I’ve heard a lot but nothing official yet. I know all the kids have been accounted for.” School personnel had called and checked on every registered student.

  “Well, that’s something, at least.” Mr. Kessler looked around. “Guess I better find the wife.”

  “Yes. We need to get over to our folks, too.” As Skye and Vince moved away, she asked him in a low voice, “What’s your take on Kessler?”

  “He’s a weasel.” Vince pointed. “There’s Mom and Dad.”

  May and Jed were just taking their seats at the table. On one side of them were May’s sister, Minnie; Minnie’s husband, Emmett; and their twin daughters, Ginger and Gillian. Skye wasn’t surprised to see that the twins’ husbands weren’t with them. They were nearly always working, hunting, or fishing and rarely attended social events.

  Vince and Skye said hi to all their relatives and sat down.

  Skye’s assigned seat was next to her father. She leaned close to him and said, “It looks like a Leofanti family reunion around here.”

  “Yep,” Jed confirmed.

  May overheard her and nodded. “It sure does. My brother and his family are here, too.”

  Suddenly the loudspeaker squealed to life and they all looked to the front of the room. A short, rotund, older man dressed in a red suit stood behind the podium gripping the microphone with one hand and running his fingers through thick white hair with the other. He had a full beard and a sizeable belly. What was Santa Claus doing in Scumble River?

  He smiled and said, “Welcome. My name is Moss Gibson, and I have a dream.”

  The crowd quieted. Skye narrowed her eyes. This guy didn’t look like Martin Luther King, and she’d bet his dream had nothing to do with peace and brotherhood.

  Moss Gibson waited a beat before continuing. “I invited you all here today because you have the power to not only make my dream come true but also to share in the reward.”

  Skye tensed. This was definitely some pyramid scheme. She leaned behind her parents and said to Vince in a low voice, “We need to get the family out of here ASAP.”

  He grinned. “Let them enjoy the show. We won’t let them sign anything.”

  Skye wasn’t as confident of their abilities to talk any one of their relatives out of something once they were mesmerized by a con man.

  People were buzzing after Moss Gibson’s opening statements. He allowed the excitement to build, then said, “But before I tell you all about my dream, please help yourself to brunch.”

  Before Gibson’s last word stopped echoing, chairs were pushed back and a line began to form at the food tables.

  Gibson spoke above the hubbub. “And since I want all of my new friends to have a good time, the bar will stay open.”

  A general cheer went up.

  Owing to the clever way the buffet lines had been set up, waiting was minimal and everyone was quickly back at their tables and eating.

  Emmett took a slug of his beer and said, “This guy’s slick. We need to be careful.”

  Skye piped up, “Uncle Emmett’s right. Don’t sign anything today. Even if it looks good, run it by your lawyer first.”

  Ginger leaned past her father and a wave of gin-breath washed over Skye. “Let’s keep an open mind. I don’t know why everyone is always so paranoid.”

  “Being careful is not paranoia.” Now Skye was really worried. Neither twin was the quickest horse on the racetrack.

  But from the expressions on the rest of the family’s faces, it was clear that they agreed with Skye and Emmett.

  Ginger must have noticed, because her voice took on a cajoling tone. “Well, I don’t want to ruin the surprise, but let’s just say I’ve met Moss Gibson and what he has planned could really improve our lives.” She finished her drink and looked toward the bar. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

  As soon as her cousin left, Skye caught Vince’s eye. He shrugged. They would just have to wait and see what was going on.

  Skye got up, saying she was getting dessert. As she walked slowly toward the serving table, she overheard snatches of conversation.

  The owner of the real estate agency was saying to the people around him, “Listen, I’ve talked to this guy. He’s going to revive Scumble River.”

  A little farther down, Ace Cramer said to his dining companions, “Right now the economy stinks, but Gibson’s plan can bail us all out.”

  Skye pursed her lips. What was Gibson’s plan? She put a few chocolate-dipped strawberries and some petits fours on her plate and rejoined her family.

  After everyone finished eating, waiters came by with bottles of champagne and trays of glasses. While they were serving, Moss Gibson stepped back up to the dais and spoke into the mike. “Did everyone enjoy brunch?”

  A polite round of applause answered him.

  “Good. Now, lean back, sip your bubbly, and enjoy the show. The lights darkened and a screen descended from the ceiling. After a few seconds of blurry gray snow, an image of an amusement park appeared, and the recorded voice of a has-been movie star said, “Welcome to Spudville, located just outside the growing town of Rat Cove, Idaho. At one time, this fine community was in serious financial trouble, but now with the thousands of tourists Spudville attracts to the area, it’s turned into a thriving city.”

  Skye watched in appalled silence. From the Mashed Potato Water Ride to the Tater Tot Train, the attractions grew tackier and in worse taste with each one shown. The pièce de résistance was something called the “French Fried Follies”—a Hee-Haw-type show that insulted and exploited women at every possible level.

  By the time the promotional film ended, Skye wanted to scream. Not only was the whole thing hokey beyond belief, it stereotyped and insulted almost every minority on the planet.

  Before she could express her exasperation, Moss Gibson began to speak. “Folks, up until now Spudville has been my pride and joy, but in less than a year, with all of your help, my new vision, Pig-In-A-Poke Land, will outshine Spudville.”

  As he paused for breath, Skye noted that most of the crowd looked confused, but some people were already nodding and whispering to their neighbors.

  Gibson went on, “Pig-In-A-Poke Land will encompass three hundred acres, including parking and the Farmer-in-the-Dell Hotel. We’ll employ over a thousand people. This doesn’t count the jobs that will become available as support businesses spring up.”

  The audience was beginning to split into two groups—the ones sitting with frowns, shaking their heads, and the others smiling and taking notes.

  Suddenly two young women in denim bikinis, straw hats, and cowboy boots appeared, pushing a wheeled table between them. A white cloth was draped over the table’s contents. Voices immediately rose.

  After the noise died down, Gibson said, “This is a model of Pig-In-A-Poke Land. There are also brochures.” He nodded to the women, who whipped off the cover
.

  A collective gasp came from the spectators.

  Gibson concluded his speech with, “You have probably been wondering why you were invited here today. The reason is simple. You all have an important part to play in revitalizing your town. And you all have a once-in-a-lifetime chance to make your fortune.”

  This was it, the pitch to invest their money.

  Gibson made eye contact with everyone present before saying, “I’ll be making appointments to talk to each and every one of you separately, but just so you know, I want your land, and I’m prepared to pay cash.”

  Skye looked at her relatives. May and Minnie were shaking their heads, her father and Uncle Emmett were scowling, but Ginger and Gillian were smiling and whispering to each other.

  All around the room, voices were raised and arguments erupted. Two men were already on their feet, fists clenched.

  Vince came over, squatted next to Skye’s chair, and said, “Welcome to the new Family Feud game, the special Scumble River edition.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Blue Monday

  Shit! Skye stopped wiggling into her bathing suit and stood with the maillot around her knees. It had just dawned on her that the high school pool would be closed because of the fire. Damn! She needed the exercise, and more importantly, the stress release that swimming provided.

  Great. Now she would have to face a Monday without her morning swim. And it would undoubtedly be quite a Monday. She had tried all Sunday night to reach Homer Knapik, but he didn’t answer his phone. Heck, with the threat of Leroy Yoder’s vengeance hanging over Homer’s head and the repercussions of the fire ready to crash down on his shoulders, she’d bet big money that the principal was screening his calls, hiding under his bed, or maybe even back in St. Louis.

  Skye used her foot to flip the useless swimsuit into a corner and stomped into the adjoining bath. A hot shower would have to substitute for her missed laps.

  After dressing, she downed a quick cup of tea, then drove to the high school. It was still early, but she really needed to catch Homer before the day started.