Dead Blondes Tell No Tales

by Denise Swanson

  The rest of the participants were chosen, and when the game began, Skye slipped away to check on how things were going in the rest of the bowling alley.

  She hurried through her checklist, wanting to be back in time to see Earl play when it was his team’s turn. The lanes were doing fine, and the cook appeared to have things under control in the kitchen, but Frannie Ryan, the grill’s waitress, was having a rough time.

  The teenagers who had been kicked out of the bar had settled at the counter, and they were obviously intent on humiliating Frannie.

  Skye narrowed her eyes. Frannie was one of the coeditors of the high school newspaper that Skye supervised, and she had been through a lot with Skye, even once helping to save her life. The mean teens had picked the wrong person, time, and place to attack.

  As Skye strode toward them she heard the leader of the pack, a girl named Blair, say to Frannie, “So, do you get all the free food you can eat? Is that why you’re as big as an elephant?”

  Frannie was solidly built and would never be a size two or even a twelve, a trait that caused her much heartache.

  Skye felt a flare of anger. She didn’t put up with bullying of any kind, and being on the curvy side herself, she especially didn’t allow fat bashing. She paused for a second to get control of her temper, and while she was composing herself, Ruby swooped down on the group.

  The older woman put her hands on the back of Blair’s stool and leaned over her shoulder. “You know, honey, I’ve been facing down underfed, ignorant ego busters like you my whole life, and they’ve never won.”

  One of the others at the counter jeered, “Maybe if you’d lose some weight, you wouldn’t have to keep ‘facing people down.’ ”

  Ruby moved over to the boy who was speaking, bent down, and spoke into his ear. “Sweetheart, I’ve had five husbands, one of them a duke, made and lost millions of dollars, and traveled around the world. Do you really think your itty-bitty, no-account opinion means anything to me?” Ruby straightened and flicked him on the arm with her thumb and index finger. “Kids like you may be big shots during your teenage years, but in the real world you generally end up digging ditches or working for someone you looked down your nose at in high school.”

  The teens exchanged uneasy glances. They weren’t used to people talking back and making them feel bad about themselves.

  Although Skye hated to interrupt Ruby when the older woman was on a roll, she couldn’t in good conscience let her attack students from her high school, even obnoxious ones. But she wouldn’t let them get away scot-free either. She preferred to use the behavior-management technique of consequences, so she said, “Kids, I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave the bowling alley. We have a no-bullying policy here, and you’ve broken the rules.”

  Blair twitched her shoulders. “Whatever.” Then she turned to the others and said loudly, “Let’s get out of here before we start to look like these three—Fatty, Fatter, and Fattest.”

  There was some grumbling, but the six teens grudgingly got to their feet and shuffled away. As they rounded the corner Blair’s voice floated back toward where Skye, Frannie, and Ruby stood: “We should have known better than to hang out anywhere Fat Frannie was. People might think we’re her friends. Wouldn’t that be mortifying?”

  Blair’s words had hit their mark. Frannie burst into tears and fled into the stockroom. Skye and Ruby were quick to follow. They found the teen sitting on the floor with her back against the wall.

  Skye sat next to her and said conversationally, “You know, this is what those girls wanted—your crying over what they said makes them the winners.”

  Frannie shrugged, drew up her knees, and buried her face in them.

  Skye opened her mouth, then closed it without speaking. It was tempting to launch into a speech on coping with bullies, but she knew the real art of counseling was not only to say the right thing at the right time, but also to leave the wrong thing unsaid.

  Ruby, on the other hand, felt no such restriction. She pulled an old chrome chair in front of where Frannie and Skye sat, eased onto the cracked vinyl seat, and crossed her legs. “I’m pretty sure that girl was a skinny, evil witch, but we’d better make sure.”

  Frannie sniffed, continuing to stare at the floor. “What do you mean, make sure?”

  “We need to run her through the test to be positive,” Ruby said, maintaining a serious expression but winking at Skye, who shot her a puzzled look.

  Frannie straightened and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “What’s the test?”

  “There are five questions, and you have to answer yes to all of them to classify someone as a skinny, evil witch.” Ruby held up one finger. “First, would that person split a salad with four friends and call it a meal?”

  Frannie nodded. “I’ve seen Blair do that in the cafeteria with the other ‘in’ girls.”

  Ruby put up a second finger. “Would she claim she was full after eating a package of airline peanuts?”

  “Definitely.” Frannie started to smile. “I’ve seen Blair eat one M & M.”

  “Three: Would she count carbs even at a health-food restaurant?”

  “That one’s tougher. We don’t have health food in Scumble River.” Frannie pursed her mouth, thinking.

  “I’m pretty sure we can say yes,” Skye contributed. “It’s the thought that counts.”

  “Is her idea of a great conversation one that consists mainly of the words sit-ups, crunches, and treadmilling?” Ruby went on.

  “Absolutely.” Frannie grinned. “It’s all she ever talks about.”

  “And last, but most important, does she ever say, ‘I’m not hungry, I ate yesterday?’”

  Frannie was now beaming. “Yes, yes, yes! I’ve heard her say that.”

  Ruby nodded solemnly. “Then I pronounce Miss Blair a skinny, evil witch. Do you think she’ll want the T-shirt prize?”

  Skye left Ruby and Frannie laughing and went back into the bar. She had missed the second round of the trivia game, but by some miracle, Earl’s team had made it into the finals, and she watched as one of the opposition answered a question correctly.

  Next Bunny turned to Earl, and, reading from an index card, asked, “Name the four seasons.”

  Earl scratched his crotch, then answered confidently, “Salt, pepper, catsup, and . . .” He chewed his thumbnail. “Tabasco sauce.”

  The audience roared, Skye cringed, and the rest of Team Three scowled.

  Bunny went through another group of questions, and when she once again came to Earl, she announced, “The teams are tied at seven points each. If Earl gets this correct, Team Three wins.” She waited for silence, then read, “According to the Bible, what happened on Easter Sunday?”

  Earl stuck his finger in his ear, dug for a while, then examined what he had mined. Finally he said, “Jesus came back from the dead as a giant rabbit and hid eggs for all the good little kids.”

  The spectators went wild with laughter, completely ignoring Bunny’s attempts to quiet them. Both team captains were shouting that their team had won. Skye stood at the back wondering what to do. She was afraid the crowd would get violent if Bunny didn’t regain control soon.

  Suddenly, over the commotion, a fire alarm sounded, and seconds later Skye heard the sirens of a fire truck heading their way.

  Chapter 7

  Blondes Are the Dark Roots of All Evil

  The firefighters cleared the building, and while everyone stood around the parking lot trying to figure out what was going on, Bunny declared the trivia contest a tie and promised that both teams would receive equal prizes.

  After a half hour, most of the crowd drifted away, disappointed that there were no flames shooting out from the building’s windows and no bodies plummeting from the roof. It was past ten on a work night, and if there wasn’t any blood and guts, t
hey figured they might as well go home and catch the late news on TV, which could be counted on for at least one shot of a bleeding corpse.

  By the time the fire department stated that the bowling alley was safe to reenter, there were only a handful of people remaining, and most of them had a good reason to be there.

  Skye stood between Bunny and Simon, a position she found rather symbolic, since mother and son had been sniping at one another since Simon’s arrival minutes after the firefighters had evacuated the place. They were all shivering, since Bunny and Skye hadn’t been allowed to go back into the building for their jackets, and Simon had left the funeral home in such a hurry he had forgotten to grab his overcoat.

  Frannie, Ruby, and Earl Doozier were an odd threesome sitting on dilapidated lawn chairs that Earl had produced from the trunk of his ancient Buick Regal. Ruby’s contribution to the gathering was a silver flask, which she and Earl were passing back and forth while Frannie watched in fascinated silence. Skye kept an eye on the group to make sure Ruby and Earl didn’t decide to include the teenager in their party.

  Another trio consisted of Skye’s parents and Charlie. Although Charlie’s business was operating the motor court, his true avocation was running Scumble River. He held no public office, except that of school board president, but he was the big cheese in town. Between him and Skye’s mother, thanks to her job as a police dispatcher, they knew everything that was worth knowing about the community, and some things that were probably better left secret.

  Skye’s parents had shown up to make sure she was safe after hearing the emergency call on their police scanner, and then withdrew to discuss the situation out of her earshot. Both were convinced that Skye was still a child and needed their help in all matters.

  Charlie had heard about the fire the same way that May and Jed had, as had nearly everyone in town, since most people owned a scanner, finding it more amusing to listen to than most television shows. Scumble Riverites had discovered the allure of reality programming long before the TV executives started putting it on the air.

  The remaining group hanging around consisted of males of a certain age who turned out to watch whenever there was a fire call. Skye recognized most of them, but a few were unfamiliar. She figured they were probably men who had been at the bowling alley when the alarm sounded.

  Something glinted to Skye’s right, and she squinted in that direction. A man stood off to the side, in the shadow of the shop next door. Could he be the person who wore the gorilla mask to tell jokes in the talent show the night before? He had the same build and posture, but without a face to go by, she couldn’t be sure. Something had struck her about last night’s comic, but she couldn’t quite remember what it was. What had she noticed that made him stick out?

  The fire chief interrupted her rumination by holding out his hand to Simon and saying, “Mr. Reid, good news. There’s no sign of a fire anywhere in the building.”

  Simon shook the chief’s hand, and asked, “What caused the alarm to go off?”

  “As far as we can tell, it was triggered in the upstairs apartment. It looks as if someone burned something in a wastebasket up there and didn’t quite put it out.” The chief took off his helmet and scratched his head. “You’ve got a very sensitive smoke-detection system, and the smoldering paper would have been enough to set it off.”

  “That’s strange.” Simon wrinkled his brow. “My mother lives in that apartment, and she was down in the bowling alley.” He turned to Bunny. “Did you go back upstairs for anything?”

  “No. I haven’t been in my apartment since six, when I changed clothes for tonight’s contest.” Bunny smoothed the pristine white embroidered jeans that clung to her like the peel on a banana. The matching shirt had a mesh vee down the front that reached nearly to her waist.

  Skye noticed that the fire chief could barely take his eyes from Bunny’s silicone valley, which made her aware of her own less-than-attractive appearance. She wore the same clothes she had put on to come to work at noon—black jeans and an emerald-green turtleneck that matched her eyes. They were both covered with smudges and stains from helping people exit the building in an orderly fashion. How had Bunny remained so spotless?

  “Who else has a key to your apartment, Mrs. Reid?” The fire chief withdrew a small notebook from an inside pocket.

  “Please, call me Bunny. ‘Mrs. Reid’ makes me feel so old.”

  “I’d be honored.”

  Skye hadn’t noticed Charlie join the group until she heard him clear his throat and saw him frown at the chief, who ignored him. Skye made a face. She knew Charlie and Bunny had dated back in November, when the redhead had first arrived in town, but she thought that was over. Had they started up again?

  The chief repeated his question. “So, Bunny, who else has a key to your apartment?”

  “Let’s see.” Bunny tapped her cheek with a red-tipped nail. “Sonny Boy.”

  “That would be Mr. Reid?”

  Simon nodded brusquely and frowned at his mother.

  “Were you in the apartment tonight?”

  “No.”

  “Anyone else, Bunny?” the chief probed.

  Bunny was silent, as was Simon, so Skye suggested, “How about Ruby?”

  “What about Ruby?” The blonde had sidled up next to Charlie, and was looking him over appreciatively.

  “I thought you might have a key to Bunny’s apartment, since you’re staying with her,” Skye explained. “The fire chief wants to know who has one.”

  “Yes, Bunny gave me a spare.” Ruby turned her attention to the chief, laying a hand on his arm. “I hope that doesn’t mean you think I deliberately set the fire. I’d be ever so upset if you thought badly of me.”

  It was hard to tell, since the chief’s face was deeply tanned, but Skye could swear he blushed.

  “No,” he stammered, “of course not. It looks like an accident. Maybe you burned something in the wastebasket earlier and didn’t realize it was still smoldering?”

  A strange expression crossed Ruby’s face, but she quickly rearranged her features and produced a single tear. “Oh, my, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think. How awful of me to abuse Bunny’s hospitality like that.” She clutched the chief’s hand. “I was paying bills and I wanted to destroy the invoices. You know, they keep warning and warning you about identity theft, so I burned them. I was sure the fire was out. I can’t believe I was that careless.”

  The chief put his free arm around Ruby’s shoulders. “Don’t you worry about it, ma’am. No harm done. My boys needed the practice anyway.” He turned to Simon. “I’m sure you agree, Reid, that accidents happen.”

  Simon glanced from his mother to the blonde cuddling in the chief’s arms, and shrugged. “Can’t argue with that. Some things are inevitable.”

  Chapter 8

  Nip It in the Blonde

  “Trust Bunny to have an alarming finish for something as tame as a trivia game,” Simon commented to Skye as she drove them toward her cottage.

  After the fire chief had finished talking to them, Simon had gone home to drop off his car. Skye had followed a few minutes later and picked him up.

  Six months ago, Skye and Simon had finally taken the big step and spent the night together. Since then, continuing the intimate side of their relationship without the whole town finding out that they were sleeping together had been a challenge.

  Despite the casual attitude toward sex that Hollywood portrayed in the movies, small-town Scumble River took a dim view of its unmarried citizens hopping in and out of bed with one another. Not that the town singles didn’t have premarital sex; they just had to be a lot more discreet than if they lived in Chicago.

  This posed a bigger problem for Skye and Simon than most, because both their jobs put them in the public eye. In addition, each drove extremely distinctive cars, and Skye’s mother worke
d as a police dispatcher—the officer on patrol would definitely tell her if he saw Simon’s Lexus parked at Skye’s cottage all night.

  Now, as Skye maneuvered the Bel Air into her driveway, she wondered if Simon’s staying over was a good idea. It had been a long day, and she felt anything but attractive in her dirty clothes with her hair morphed from its usual smooth curtain into a mass of wild curls.

  She planned her strategy as she fitted the key into the lock. First, she’d divert his attention. “I was surprised that Xavier didn’t come over to see if Frannie was okay.” Xavier was Frannie’s father and worked for Simon as embalmer and assistant funeral director. “Did you call him and let him know she was safe?”

  “He was in Kankakee. Tuesday nights are his martial-arts classes. I don’t think he gets home until midnight or so.”

  “Oh.” As Skye entered her cottage foyer, a big black cat appeared and began rubbing against her ankles. She picked him up and scratched under his chin. “What’s wrong, Bingo? Are you a hungry kitty?” The feline purred louder and wiggled out of her embrace.

  Simon leaned down to pet him. “What’s up, fella? Can’t take all this attention?”

  Turning to Simon, Skye put phase two of her plan into action—keep Simon occupied while she fixed herself up. “Could you take care of Bingo for me while I take a quick shower? Give him one can of Fancy Feast, fresh water, and sift his litter box.”

  Skye fled into her bedroom while Simon was still nodding his agreement. Fifteen minutes later, she was clean—smelling of Chanel No. 5 rather than sweat—her hair had been tamed into a French braid, and she was dressed in a jade-green satin chemise and matching kimono.

  She was now ready for phase three—seduction. She walked out of her bedroom and purred, “Simon, darling, I’m ready.”

  There was no response. Where was he? She moved farther into the great room. Simon was sprawled on the couch. He had taken off his suit jacket, tie, shoes, and socks; rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and untucked it; and apparently started to read the paper before exhaustion had won. He was fast asleep.