Murder of a Pink Elephant

by Denise Swanson

  Vince rolled his eyes. “Let’s just say we’re tired of playing the ‘Chicken Dance.”’

  Skye hid her grin and asked innocently, “Why?”

  “Because it’s the redneck ‘Macarena.”’ He hummed a few bars and shuddered. “Yech!”

  “You could always do the ‘Hokey Pokey’ instead.”

  Vince swatted her arm. “Gee. Can we? Please?” Before she could return the conversation to why Vince was upset, he sprang up from his chair and said, “We need to get back to practice.”

  Skye was forced to let the matter drop. As long as the band showed up and played for the dance Saturday, she’d worry about their interpersonal relationships later. “Are you going to return the basket and cooler to Mom, or should I take them?”

  “I’ll bring it over to the folks’ house tomorrow, before I open the salon.” Vince moved back behind his drums, and the other guys took up their instruments. “Want to stick around and listen?”

  Skye cringed, thinking, No, thanks, I could hear you just fine from the parking lot, inside the car, with the heater and the fans running full blast. Out loud she said, “Darn. I’m expecting an important phone call, so I’d better get home. I’ll see you guys at the school’s Valentine’s Day Ball. I’m one of the lucky chaperones.”

  “Right. I just hope we can get it together by then.”

  Skye put her coat on and moved toward the door. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll knock ’em dead.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Chain of Fools

  The next afternoon, as Skye pulled into the high school parking lot, a Scumble River Fire Department truck roared out. The driver waved as he passed, and she waved back. He looked somewhat familiar, but then in a town of barely three thousand, most people did.

  Usually fire drills took place only during nice weather, but today students and staff stood shivering in raggedy lines along the blacktop, and none of the teachers had their coats on, a sure sign of an unplanned evacuation. What in the world had happened?

  Skye found an empty spot near the back of the lot. Getting out of the car, she stepped ankle deep into a puddle of slush and swore under her breath. It had been a tough winter. The snow had started in November, and now in February there was no sign of an early spring. After shaking the icy water off her foot, she picked her way carefully across the slick asphalt. The last thing she needed was to perform a pratfall in front of four hundred teenagers with long memories and warped senses of humor.

  Homer Knapik, the high school principal, was standing on the school’s front steps bellowing through a bullhorn that appeared glued to his mouth. “Everyone may now go back into the building.” Homer was squarely built, with a surplus of body hair and a permanent scowl. He reminded Skye of a cantankerous collie.

  The kids rushed for the door, while their teachers shouted for an orderly return. Skye lingered outside, avoiding the crush. As the last student straggled in, she followed.

  Homer caught her as she crossed the threshold. “Just the gal I wanted to see.” He led her into his office and shut the door.

  “What happened?” Skye took off her coat before taking a seat, preparing for a lengthy discussion.

  Homer dropped into the chair behind his desk. “Arlen Yoder pulled the fire alarm.”

  “Shit!”

  “My sentiments exactly,” Homer agreed.

  Two years ago Arlen’s older brother had been expelled, and in September of this year Arlen had gotten into serious trouble, resulting in his temporary suspension. The boys’ parents didn’t feel either punishment was justified and were extremely difficult to deal with. Once, months ago, Mr. Yoder had even been physically violent toward Skye during a meeting about his older son. She had always regretted not reporting him to the police at that time.

  “Why on earth did Arlen pull the fire alarm?” Skye asked. Unlike his brother, he wasn’t a malicious kid. He had fallen into some bad company over the summer, but since that other boy’s removal, he’d been toeing the line.

  “He claims that someone shoved him against the wall during passing time and one of the flaps on his shirt got caught in the fire alarm mechanism. When he tried to get free he pulled the lever accidentally.” Homer folded his hands across his stomach and leaned back.

  “Do you believe him?” Skye asked.

  “That’s the thing.” Homer scratched behind a hairy ear. Skye half expected him to dig out a flea. “While we were waiting for the firemen to clear the building and tell us it was okay to go back inside, I looked at his shirt. It was one of those with all kinds of pockets and zippers, and one of the flaps was torn.”

  “What did you do?” Skye asked.

  “Before I announced that the kids could come back inside, I called his mother to come and get him.”

  Skye pulled her appointment book from her tote and made a note. “Maybe I can figure out if he’s telling the truth. I’ll see him at nine Monday morning.”

  “That will require that he lives that long.” Homer’s eye twitched.

  The ringing of the phone saved Skye from responding.

  Homer snatched up the handset and barked “Yes?” He paused, then said, “No. No. Don’t put him through … Hello, Mr. Yoder. What can I do for you?” Homer listened before saying, “No, I’m sorry, that would be against board policy.” He listened again. “Feel free to call the superintendent. No. I can’t change the rules for your son. Look, just have him report to the school psychologist at nine Monday morning, and we’ll sort things out from there.” He banged down the receiver and told Skye, “Mr. Yoder wants me to let his son attend the Valentine’s Day dance this weekend.” Homer dug a roll of antacids out of his desk drawer.

  “Did you suspend Arlen?”

  “Yes, pending a full investigation.” Homer had crunched two of the Tums, and the white fizz around his lips made him look like he was foaming at the mouth.

  Skye bit back a smile; the situation with Arlen was serious. “So, you can’t let him attend an extracurricular function.”

  Homer nodded and popped two more tablets. “You know his father is going to hound me about it. He’ll ruin my Valentine’s Day weekend.”

  “Put on your answering machine.”

  “He’ll come to the house.” Homer moaned.

  “If that happens, let the police deal with him.”

  Homer appeared to make a sudden decision. “I’ve got to make a call.” He picked up the phone. “You can go now.”

  As she was gathering her things, Skye heard part of Homer’s conversation. “It’s me. I’ve decided we should go away for the weekend. Make us a hotel reservation in St. Louis. We’ll leave tonight as soon as school gets out. I’ll tell the superintendent that I have a death in the family, and they have to handle Saturday’s St. Valentine’s Day dance without me.”

  Apparently there wasn’t room in Scumble River for both Homer and Mr. Yoder, and Homer wasn’t taking any chances on who would win that particular showdown at the OK Corral.

  Skye shook her head and retreated to her own office. After hanging up her coat, she took out the psychological report she was currently writing. Friday after lunch was a bad time to try and see kids for either evaluations or counseling, so she used those hours to whittle away at the stack of never-ending paperwork that was one of the more irritating parts of her job as a school psychologist.

  She was trying to figure out a professional way to state that the boy she had tested did not have a serious emotional problem, and in fact was just a brat, when the dismissal bell rang.

  Skye had been roped into being one of the Valentine’s Day Ball sponsors, and the student committee was meeting in the gym after school to put up the decorations. It was time to go supervise.

  After locking the folders she had been working on in the file cabinet, Skye grabbed her purse and coat. She was on a tight schedule and needed to get home as soon as they finished decorating. She didn’t want to have to return to her office and take the chance of being waylaid by an “emergency.
”

  It was three-fifteen by the time Skye reached the gym. Trixie Frayne—Skye’s best friend, the high school librarian, and another of the dance sponsors—had already gotten the students organized and working.

  The kids represented the full range of the high school social strata or, as the kids called it, the food chain. The female Ultras stood around giggling and tossing their long, straight blond hair, avoiding any activity that might break a nail. Their male counterparts flexed their muscles and flashed blindingly white grins. The Student Body Leaders tried to talk to the Ultras, and when they were ignored, snapped orders at the Brains, who along with the Geeks—those in the band and choir—did all the actual work.

  “How’s it going?” Skye asked.

  Trixie slumped on the bottom bleacher. Her short brown hair, usually a smooth cap, was ruffled as if she had been running her fingers through it, and her normally cheerful brown eyes held a worried expression. She let out a loud sigh.

  Skye frowned. This wasn’t at all like Trixie, who usually bounced around like a super ball and saw the silver lining even in a tornado cloud. “What’s wrong?”

  The other woman played with the heart-shaped buttons on her red cardigan. “Everything.”

  “Could we narrow it down just a little?” Skye leaned forward. “Home, school, the world situation?”

  “All of the above.” Trixie crossed her legs and dangled a red high-heeled slide from her toe. “The kids have been really hyped up lately.”

  “Do you think the false fire alarm this afternoon had anything to do with their behavior?”

  “No. The grapevine says it really was an accident.” Trixie was one of the few adults the kids felt comfortable confiding in.

  “Then they’re probably just excited about the ball.” Since there was little else to do in Scumble River, a school dance was a big deal to the teens.

  Trixie shrugged. “It could be. My gut feeling is that something’s going on that the adults don’t know about.”

  “And how is that any different from our standard operating procedure?” Skye joked. Trixie didn’t smile and Skye hastily continued in a more serious mode. “I’d be glad to call a couple of the kids in on Monday and try to get them to tell me what’s happening, but odds are all I’ll get are blank stares and denials. Trying to find out that kind of information from teenagers is like trying to nail Jell-O to a tree.”

  Trixie’s expression became stubborn. “Something’s happening, and I want to know what it is.”

  Skye twisted a curl around her finger. “Well, we’ve got a meeting with the student newspaper staff scheduled after school Monday. Let’s see if they have any ideas.”

  Trixie nodded. “That’s a good plan. If anyone will tell us, it’ll be Frannie and Justin and their friends. They have a strong sense of right and wrong.”

  Skye smiled at Trixie’s mention of their two star student reporters, Frannie Ryan and Justin Boward. “And they have an excellent nose for news.”

  Trixie nodded again, then lapsed into silence.

  Skye could hardly believe how down in the dumps her friend seemed. Something else was obviously bothering her.

  She opened her mouth to ask, but before she could formulate a question, Trixie said, “What do you think of the mayoral race?”

  Skye shook her head. “I can’t believe Wally’s running.” Walter Boyd was the Scumble River police chief, and it had been quite a surprise when he tossed his hat into the ring for mayor. “But then, I’ve noticed some changes in his personality lately.”

  “Don’t you think he’d do a good job? What changes?”

  “I’m sure he’d be an excellent mayor, but I’m surprised he wants the hassle.” Skye considered the last couple of months and tried to explain. “Wally seems to have lost his zest.”

  Trixie shrugged, clearly not understanding. “I’m more surprised that Ace Cramer is running against him.” He was the younger of the two male gym teachers and coached the basketball and baseball teams at Scumble High.

  Skye jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “Speak of the devil.” Ace had just walked into the gym and stopped to talk to the crowd of Ultras. “He seems like a nice enough guy and appears to be pretty smart, which is more than I can say about Coach.” Skye had a running feud going with the older P.E. teacher, who was also the part-time guidance counselor.

  “Maybe, but he strikes me as mostly glibido.”

  “Huh?” Skye had never heard that expression.

  “All talk and no action.”

  “Oh.” Skye didn’t really know him well enough to comment.

  “And it seems sort of funny for someone employed by the school district to run for public office.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. It just does.”

  “The kids sure seem to like him,” Skye said. “He has a group of them surrounding him whenever I see him.”

  “True.” Trixie abruptly changed the subject. “We got a call from Owen’s mother’s attorney last night.” Trixie’s mother-in-law had passed away a few months ago.

  “What did he have to say?” Skye figured they were finally getting to the main reason for Trixie’s misery.

  “That between the hospital, the doctors, and the funeral, it looks like we’re going to owe about twenty-five thousand bucks.”

  Skye let out a low whistle. “There’s no insurance?”

  “That’s what’s left after her health insurance paid its 80 percent.” Trixie grabbed a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose. “She only had two thousand in life insurance, and her funeral cost nearly seven. It would be even more if we hadn’t bought the double burial plot when Owen’s dad died last year.”

  “What about her house?”

  “Between the second mortgage and back taxes, there’s no equity left.” Trixie hunched over. “We’re just barely making the payments on the farm as it is. Last season’s crops were damaged by high winds, and the price of corn and soybeans is way down. The only way we could get twenty-five thousand dollars would be to sell off some acreage, and Owen would rather sell me than an inch of land.”

  “Yeah. My dad and uncles are like that, too.” Skye patted her friend’s shoulder. She knew only too well what it was like to have money problems. She had crawled back home a few years ago after maxing out her credit cards and was still struggling to pay off her debts. She didn’t see any easy solution to Trixie’s financial woes and couldn’t think of anything to say that would make her friend feel better.

  The two women sat in silence until Skye reached into her purse and pulled out a Cadbury bar. She handed it to Trixie. “You win the emergency chocolate for today.”

  Trixie smiled for the first time since Skye’s arrival. Just before she bit into the bar she said, “Damn right I do.”

  Trixie polished off the candy and licked her fingers. “Any more?”

  Skye stifled the urge to smack her friend. It wasn’t Trixie’s fault she could eat her own weight in sugar and never add an inch to her size four figure, while Skye could gain pounds by reading a Godiva ad. “Sorry. That’s all I have.”

  “Oh, well.” Trixie glanced at the wall clock. “It’s nearly four. We’d better see how the kids are progressing if we want to get out of here by five.”

  Trixie and Skye went in separate directions. Using tulle and quilt batting, the students had created a cloud scene that could be used for the backdrop of the couples’ portraits. Streamers and garlands were draped over the ceiling beams, and murals that the art classes had painted hung along the walls. The only thing left to do was set up the tables.

  Skye grabbed a pink linen square from a stack sitting on a chair and had just flicked it open when a scream echoed through the gym. Her head snapped toward the sound, and she saw Bitsy Kessler with her mouth open for another shriek. Bitsy was standing by the storage area under the stage and pointing.

  Skye dropped the tablecloth and ran toward the girl.

  Bitsy was screaming over and over again, “He’s
dead! He’s dead!”

  Skye pulled her out of the doorway. She didn’t see a body. She took one wary step into the storage area and pulled the string that turned on the overhead light. A little to the left was a dummy draped over a sawhorse, wearing nothing but a Scumble River athletic jacket. The straw stuffed legs and Raggedy Ann-type head made it obvious that it was only a mannequin. By no stretch of the imagination did it look real.

  When Skye emerged from the storage area, Trixie was sitting on the bleachers comforting Bitsy, who was still sobbing. The other kids surrounded them.

  Skye loudly cleared her throat. They all looked in her direction and she announced, “Everything’s fine. No one is dead. Bitsy must have mistaken an old stage dummy for a real person, but everything is okay. Please go back to what you were doing.”

  The teens drifted back to their tasks.

  Skye sat beside Bitsy and asked, “Are you alright now?”

  The girl hiccupped and giggled. “My bad.” Her laugh had a hysterical edge to it.

  It took Skye a moment to understand that in teenspeak Bitsy had just said she had made a mistake. Skye examined the teen carefully. Something was off-kilter. “Maybe you’d better go home. Is your mother picking you up?”

  “Not till five.” Bitsy stood up, suddenly all smiles. “Don’t worry. I’m cool.”

  The girl was bewilderingly changeable, and Skye resolved to stick close to her until her ride arrived.

  They finished decorating the gym a little before five, and after turning Bitsy over to her mother, Skye got into her own car. She patted the wide leather bench seat fondly. No question, the vehicle was growing on her. When her dad and her godfather, Charlie Patukas, had first presented her with the aqua 1957 Chevy Bel Air, Skye had been none too pleased. She’d had plans to buy a sleek little Miata, and the bargelike Bel Air was the last vehicle she would have selected, given a choice. But the love that the two men had invested in the car made it impossible for her to turn it down.

  Now as the engine purred to life, she accepted that this car was probably a better option for her than one that would only seat two people and had a trunk that was smaller than the Bel Air’s glove compartment.