Murder of a Pink Elephant

by Denise Swanson

  That explained why Justin had seen Frannie near the pool door. She hadn’t been coming out, she’d been going in. “Then what happened?” Skye asked.

  ‘There was no one around the pool, but I heard noises in the boys’ locker room, so I went to check it out.”

  “What kind of noises?”

  “Just noises.” Frannie shrugged. “As soon as I stepped through the locker room door, someone hit me on the head and that’s all I remember, until seeing you when you opened the locker door.”

  They continued to talk throughout all of first period and most of second. When Frannie finally went back to class, Skye had only a few minutes to get to her third-period meeting. A student currently enrolled in an alternative school because of his previous violent behavior would be main-streamed back into Scumble River High, and it had been decided that he would begin his return by taking a fine or practical arts class, rather than a core curriculum course. Skye was supposed to meet with the faculty involved and assist with his transition.

  After twenty minutes of moaning, the staff decided that the returning student could do the least amount of harm in music. That music teacher was less than thrilled about the new addition to his class, but everyone else was pleased.

  Since they had twenty minutes remaining in the period, they moved to the lounge, and conversation turned to a more interesting topic—the possibility of Pig-In-A-Poke Land coming to Scumble River. The news had easily overtaken the fire and the murder as the prime subject for gossip, and everyone had an opinion about it.

  Trixie came in for a cup of coffee and joined the discussion. Skye watched her friend’s expression as the amusement park was discussed, but she couldn’t interpret it.

  Finally Trixie said, “It all comes down to money. If you want or need the money, the amusement park seems like a good thing. If you don’t, it doesn’t.”

  Before anyone could respond, Trixie left the lounge. Skye hadn’t thought of it before, but Trixie’s farm was one of those Moss Gibson would want to buy, and the Fraynes certainly needed the money.

  Although she tried for the rest of the day, Skye was never able to get Trixie alone to talk. Was her friend avoiding her? Normally, she would have hung around and nabbed her after school, but Vince’s problem seemed more immediate than Trixie’s, so Skye stuck to her original plan and left as soon as the teachers’ dismissal bell rang.

  As she drove towards Rod’s apartment that afternoon, she was struck by the thought that the murder of a wannabe rock star had caused barely a scratch on the record album of Scumble River life. The kids sure didn’t appear to be upset, and the adults didn’t give the impression they were concerned either. Pig-In-A-Poke Land had pushed the murder to the back page of most people’s interest. It certainly was odd that no one seemed to be mourning Logan.

  Rod lived in an older apartment building next to the railroad tracks. Eyeing the ramshackle exterior, Skye reluctantly stepped into the entryway, found the name Yager, and pressed the bell. There was no answer. She waited and tried again. Still nothing.

  She was about to give up when a teenager pushed through the inner door heading outside. He looked vaguely familiar and Skye said, “Hi. I’m looking for Rod Yager. Do you know him?”

  “He’s in 2C.”

  “Do you know if he’s home?”

  “Nah. He hasn’t been here since Saturday. Leave him a message on his answering machine. He told me once that he checks it every couple of hours since he’s a musician and doesn’t want to miss a gig.”

  “Thanks.” Skye waved good-bye as she walked back to her car. It seemed Rod was making himself rather scarce lately. Where was he hiding? And why?

  Skye turned into her driveway and frowned. A red Lincoln Town Car was parked in her usual spot. Where had she seen that car before? Behind the wheel she could barely make out a tuft of white hair gleaming in the fading light. She stopped the Bel Air next to the other vehicle and got out.

  The driver of the Lincoln also popped out of his car. It was Moss Gibson, AKA Mr. Pig-In-A-Poke. He sketched a slight bow and said, “Miz Denison, I presume?”

  “How did you guess?” Skye made no move to go inside, even though she was freezing.

  “I do believe that not too many lovely young ladies drive 1957 Bel Air convertibles.”

  “True.” Someone had obviously described her to him. She wondered what he wanted.

  He rubbed his hands together. “I’d like a moment of your time, if I could.” He was wearing a red wool overcoat but no hat or gloves.

  “In reference to what?”

  “Could we speak inside? I’m from Mississippi and I’m not at all used to this kind of weather.”

  Skye thought about it and finally said, “Alright. Come in.” She didn’t trust him, but she wanted to hear what he had to say, and she was pretty sure she could take him on physically if push came to shove. After all, she was a good seven inches taller and thirty years younger than he was.

  She unlocked the door and ushered him through, taking his coat and hanging it up along with her own. They moved into the great room and she motioned for him to sit down on the sofa.

  After settling on the chair facing him she said, “So, Mr. Gibson, what did you want to talk to me about?”

  He adjusted the cuffs of his red jacket and straightened the creases of the matching pants. “I hope you enjoyed that there little shindig I threw on Sunday.”

  “The food was delicious,” Skye answered cautiously.

  “Thank you. I like my friends to have the best.”

  Skye raised an eyebrow. “Have you made a lot of friends here in Scumble River?”

  “Some.” A crafty look crossed his cherublike face. “I’m fixin’ to make a lot more.”

  “Really?” Skye fought to keep her expression from reflecting her distrust. “How are you planning to do that?”

  “Easy as shoofly pie.” His blue eyes twinkled below his bushy white brows. “I’m gonna put this town and its citizens in high cotton.”

  “By building an amusement park?”

  “Pig-In-A-Poke Land is no ordinary amusement park. It’s a state-of-the-art family destination, located in a natural setting representing a simpler, more God-fearin’ lifestyle.” He bounced off the sofa and stood with one hand holding the lapel of his jacket and the other clenched in a fist. “A family will be able to experience the rides, games, and attractions at Pig-In-A-Poke, then go into town and feel like they’ve never left the park—like they never left 1950.”

  “What if the people of Scumble River don’t want to be actors in your fantasy world?” Skye let ice drip from her next words. “What if the farmers don’t want to sell you the land that has been in their families for more than a hundred years?”

  “Missy, you’re colder than a mother-in-law’s kiss.”

  “So I’ve been told.” Skye leaned back in her chair. “But that doesn’t answer my question. What about the residents who don’t want to sell and don’t want this big a change for their town?”

  “Now you have me bumfuzzled.” Gibson fell back on the couch as if he’d been shot. “Why would anyone not want to be rich?”

  “Money can’t buy happiness,” Skye pointed out.

  “If that don’t beat all.” The very idea seemed to make him dizzy and he clutched his head.

  “So why did you come to see me?” Skye asked.

  “I stopped by your momma and daddy’s place, and they told me to talk to you first.”

  Skye smiled. After the brunch on Sunday, she had told her parents not to talk to this guy alone. For once, they had listened to her.

  “Most of the area farmers are not in the market to sell their land, and I will certainly advise my family against selling.”

  “Dadgumit!” Moss Gibson straightened and said, “You’d argue with a milepost, wouldn’t you?”

  “Probably.” Skye shrugged, thinking, If I knew what that meant.

  The little man got back to his feet, the spring gone from his step and the
twinkle vanished from his eyes. “Listen to me, Missy.” Now instead of looking like a jolly elf, he looked a lot more like a spiteful hobgoblin. “Pig-In-A-Poke Land is going up as planned and on time. I will get your family’s land one way or another.”

  Threats didn’t faze Skye. After several years of facing angry or unhappy parents, she had learned to let them slide off her back like oil off a hot griddle. “Do your best. We aren’t in debt, so there’s nothing you can do.”

  Gibson smiled meanly. His teeth suddenly looked sharp and menacing. “Gimme a holler, sweetheart, when you’re ready to admit defeat.”

  The developer grabbed his coat and flung open the door, not bothering to close it after he marched through. Skye shivered and hurried to shut the door. She sure hoped the chill she felt was from the February wind and not from any truth in Gibson’s threat.

  CHAPTER 15

  Stop! In the Name of Love

  “February is the longest month of the year,” Skye declared Thursday afternoon as she sat behind her desk at the high school with her feet resting on the half-open bottom drawer.

  Simon sat in one of the visitors’ chairs he’d pulled close to her. The remains of their lunch lay scattered across the blotter. He had surprised Skye by showing up with a picnic basket, whisking her into her office, and locking the door—after placing a DO NOT DISTURB sign on the handle.

  “Really? I was always told it’s the shortest,” he said dryly.

  “There are two ways to measure time.” Skye stretched her arms over her head and then rested her hands on the back of her neck. “Actual time and perceived time. I was referring to perceived time.”

  “I see. And February has annoyed you somehow?”

  She got up, grabbed the wastebasket, and started clearing away their lunch debris. “Not annoyed me exactly, but I feel like something is about to happen. Sort of like watching the pin come closer and closer to the balloon. You know you’re going to be shaken up soon, and no matter how much you brace yourself, you still jump.”

  “Any idea of what you’re afraid is about to burst?”

  She shook her head. “There are so many possibilities, I’m not sure what to worry about first.”

  “Give me the lineup.”

  “First there’s Trixie’s financial situation.”

  “Her mother-in-law’s debts,” Simon confirmed. “Anything new since she told you about that last week?”

  Skye filled him in on her theory that Trixie and Owen would have to sell their land to Moss Gibson, concluding with, “I still haven’t had a chance to talk to her about it.”

  “I’m sure you’ll catch up with her today. Didn’t you say you and she have a student newspaper meeting after school?”

  “True.” Skye resumed her seat. “But something else Trixie mentioned last Friday is bothering me too. She said the kids have been acting funny, and I sort of blew her off, thinking that it was just the usual end-of-winter cabin fever, but now several weird incidents have occurred, and I’m concerned that something worse is going on.”

  “Let me see. You told me about Bitsy and Nathan’s strange behavior; then there’s the fire itself. Anything else?”

  “Did you hear about the kids pulling down the water tower in Brooklyn?”

  “Yes. But what does that have to do with Scumble River’s teenagers?”

  “I don’t know, but I have a hunch it does. After all, it’s only ten miles away.” Skye rested her feet back on the drawer. “The kids do know each other.”

  “Okay. So far we have Trixie and the kids. Anything else on your anxiety agenda?”

  “Moss Gibson was waiting for me at my cottage when I got home from school yesterday.”

  “What did he want?” Simon lifted her right foot from the drawer, slipped off her shoe, and set her heel on his lap. He started massaging her toes, working his way down to the ball of her foot.

  “He wanted me to convince my family to sell him our land.” Skye closed her eyes and enjoyed the massage. “I told him to take a flying leap at a rolling donut hole, but I’m afraid that, like Trixie and Owen, other farmers in the area won’t be able to resist the money. Crops have been bad the past couple of years, and people are in debt.”

  “I know. I’ve buried a lot of loved ones on the installment plan lately.” Simon moved onto her arch and she sighed in pleasure.

  Simon was such a good guy. Skye wondered how many other funeral home owners would allow families to pay a little at a time. She’d bet not many.

  “But what’s really disturbing you?”

  “Logan Wolfe’s death.” Skye opened her eyelids a crack and asked, “Have you gotten the results of the autopsy back yet?”

  “It came in this morning’s mail. Blunt-trauma injury to the head. The fire damage occurred after death.”

  “So he was bopped on the head, and the fire was set to cover up the murder,” Skye said half to herself.

  “Or the assault happened during the fire, and the perpetrator merely took advantage of the situation.” Simon switched feet and started rubbing her left one.

  “That would make sense, too. I guess, considering Frannie’s experience, Logan’s death couldn’t have just been an accident? Maybe he was running from the fire, tripped, hit his head, and died,” Skye offered hopefully.

  “No. The injury isn’t consistent with a fall.”

  “Darn.”

  “Why do I think you still haven’t told me your main fear?” Simon finished the massage and slipped her shoes back on her feet.

  “Mom’s convinced that Vince is on the top of Wally’s suspect list.” Skye’s face took on a pinched, worried look. “And I’m afraid she might be right. Even before Tuesday, when Vince told him about Heather’s involvement, it felt like Wally was concentrating on Vince.”

  The bell rang and Simon got up. “Then we better provide him with a better suspect.”

  Skye stood too, and moved around the desk. She put her hands on Simon’s shoulders and pressed a soft kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.” She gestured around the room. “For lunch and the foot massage, but mostly for not laughing at my worries and thinking I’m silly.” Simon really had changed. Not only was he okay with Skye looking into the murder, he was offering to help. Previously he had been angry when she had become involved in this type of investigation.

  “You’re welcome.” Simon moved toward the door and Skye followed. “Tonight I have a funeral, and tomorrow is the bowling alley’s grand opening, so we won’t have much private time together this weekend. Let’s each make a list of people who might want to kill Logan Wolfe and then Monday we can start to look into them.”

  Skye felt the weight on her chest ease a little. It was so good to have someone with whom to share her anxieties. Skye and Simon parted at the school’s front door.

  After watching him get into his Lexus, she walked back to the main office and said to the secretary, “Opal, please call Nathan Turner out of science, and ask him to come to my office.” It was time to find out why he had decided to take a shower in his clothes during a school dance.

  Unfortunately Nathan was absent, and Bitsy was taking a test, so Skye’s afternoon plans were thwarted, and she ended up writing psychological reports and answering phone calls instead.

  The last period of the day was nearly over when Trixie dashed into Skye’s office. She plopped into a chair and blew her bangs out of her eyes. “What a day! Cramer was scheduled to bring his six classes into the library to do research—that’s how they decided to handle giving a P.E. grade with the gym out of commission. But instead of staying with them, he kept disappearing. I ended up trying to supervise thirty kids and help find the materials they needed, all by myself.”

  Before Skye could commiserate, Trixie asked, “Do I look like I know a lacrosse stick from a cricket bat?” Skye tried once more to respond, but Trixie continued, “If Cramer is too busy for his classes now, what will he be like if he wins the mayoral race?”

  This time Skye was able to slip in a qu
estion. “Will he still teach if he’s elected? I sort of assumed he’d take a leave of absence.”

  Trixie took a Jolly Rancher from the jar on Skye’s desk. “All the other mayors have kept their day jobs.”

  “That’s true. Mayor Clapp had the used car lot, and the guy who was in office when I was in high school worked at Com Ed.” Skye got up and went to her filing cabinet. “Could Wally keep on as police chief and be mayor at the same time?”

  “Good question. Wasn’t Andy Taylor the mayor and the sheriff of Mayberry?”

  “You do realize that was a fictional town, right?” Skye was worried that Trixie had gone off the deep end. “Anyway, Andy was the justice of the peace and the sheriff. Someone else was mayor.”

  “Whatever.” Trixie shrugged. “It never dawned on me that Wally might have to quit being police chief if he wins. Who would take over?”

  “Roy Quirk is next in rank.” Skye flicked through the folders, found the one marked Scumble River High School Scoop, and extracted it from the row. “He’s a good officer but a little young to be chief.”

  “Then they’d have to bring in someone new.”

  “Oh, my gosh.” Skye sank back into her chair. “Otto McCabe has been trying to get on the force for ages. Mom says he’s always picking up odd shifts.” She shook her head. McCabe was a dead ringer for Barney Fife—both physically and mentally. “If he were hired, we really would be living in Mayberry, just like the Pig-In-A-Poke guy wants us to.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Skye realized what she had said and looked to see Trixie’s reaction.

  “Speaking of that Gibson guy’s plan, what do you think?” Trixie asked. She suddenly seemed to find the charms on her bracelet fascinating and didn’t look up.

  Skye bit her tongue. She couldn’t tell Trixie the truth, but she didn’t want to lie either. She answered cautiously, “I’m not thrilled with the idea of our town being turned into a tourist attraction where all the ‘city folk’ come to laugh and point at the local yokels.”

  “But the town needs money, and he’s offering a lot of it.” Trixie’s voice lacked conviction.