Murder of a Pink Elephant

by Denise Swanson

  Skye opened her mouth, then closed it. What could she say? “That’s true. I just wish there was another way of getting it.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Why weren’t you and Owen at the brunch?”

  “We had no idea who Moss Gibson was until he came to see us Monday night. I had thrown away the invitation to Sunday’s party, figuring it was some sort of scam.”

  Skye bit her tongue to stop herself from saying, It is. He’s trying to con all of us into being unpaid actors in his amusement park. Instead she said in an offhanded tone, “Well, everyone has to make up their own mind about Pig-In-A-Poke.”

  “Yeah, well. Some people have no other choice.”

  The bitterness in Trixie’s voice shocked Skye, and she resolved never to say anything negative about the amusement park in front of her friend again. She immediately changed the subject. “Are you still worried about the kids acting strange?”

  Trixie straightened and appeared to shake off the other topic. “Well, the water tower incident in Brooklyn certainly qualified as outlandish. Did you hear what happened in Clay Center last night?”

  “No. I turned off my radio this morning after the weather.”

  “Some kids broke into the grain elevator and pumped the grain out. The DJ said it looked as if it had snowed soybeans. They think they’ll be able to recover some of it, but a lot will have to be trashed.”

  “What in God’s green earth has gotten into these kids?” Skye slapped the folder she’d been holding down onto the desk. Now, to go with Scumble River’s fire and Brooklyn’s flood, Clay Center had gotten famine. Why were the plagues of Egypt being visited upon central Illinois?

  “I don’t know. But I think we’d better find out.” Trixie pulled a clipboard from her tote bag and made a note. “I’ll call the other school librarians and see if they’ve heard anything. Do you know the school psychologist at Brooklyn or Clay Center?”

  “Sort of, but it’s someone they share from the special ed co-op, so I’m guessing he wouldn’t be around enough to be in the loop.” Many of the smaller school districts obtained specialist services from a special education cooperative. These included psychologists, social workers, speech pathologists, and occupational therapists, as well as teachers for low-incident disabilities like hearing- and vision-impaired students.

  Trixie looked at her watch. “Classes will be out in another minute. Maybe Frannie and Justin and their friends will have some ideas about the recent bizarre events.”

  The school newspaper staff was meeting in Skye’s office to plan the March issue. Luckily, unlike her tiny offices at the elementary school and junior high, her high school office was roomy enough to hold ten people comfortably.

  The bell rang, and seconds later kids stared pouring through Skye’s door. They all grabbed a folding chair from the stack behind the file cabinets and seated themselves in a semicircle around her desk. Within a few minutes, the teens had their notebooks open and pencils ready.

  Skye noticed that Justin wasn’t sitting beside either Bitsy or Frannie, and both girls were seated as far from each other as possible. Too bad the road to teen romance was so full of potholes.

  Currently they had three boys and five girls on staff. A lot of students had come to one meeting, found out they actually had to write, not just give ideas for others to turn into words, and never returned. Frannie and Justin were co-editors. Skye and Trixie were the faculty sponsors.

  Frannie looked over at Justin, then said, “We have a question for you guys.”

  The “guys”—Skye and Trixie—nodded.

  Frannie’s smile was mischievous. “Well, if the saying ‘quitters never win and winners never quit’ is true, which is what Mr. Cramer always tells us, then why does Ms. Cormorant say quit while you’re ahead?”

  Trixie snickered and started laughing, but Skye sought a serious answer. Finally she offered, “I think it has to do with how you view the world. An optimist would agree with Mr. Cramer’s view and a pessimist with Ms. Cormorant’s. You can choose which type of person you want to be.”

  Frannie nodded, clearly surprised by Skye’s thoughtful response.

  Justin frowned and said, “But isn’t your personality something you’re born with? Can you really change it?”

  “You can change your behavior, which is a big part of your personality. I won’t try to con you and tell you it’s easy to make that change, but everyone is capable of great good and great evil. Each of us has to decide which path we want to take in life.”

  Skye looked to see who had understood what she was trying to tell them and who thought she was full of beans. Most heads were nodding, but Justin still appeared skeptical. Now was a good time to segue into the topic she and Trixie had been discussing before the kids arrived. “Speaking of good and bad, Mrs. Frayne and I were wondering if any of you can explain what has been going on around here lately.”

  A circle of innocent faces looked back at Skye.

  “I’m talking about all the trouble the teenagers in the area seem to be getting into recently.” She raised an eyebrow and scanned the group, finally saying, “How about you, Bitsy? Anything you can think of that might be behind the recent rash of odd events?” Skye didn’t want to be more specific, knowing that sometimes if the questions were vague enough, the person responding would fill in the blanks, and more information would be revealed.

  “No, Ms. Denison.” Bitsy ducked her head.

  After asking a few others, Skye decided to let it go. The kids would probably be more willing to talk alone than in a group.

  For the rest of the meeting, Trixie and Skye approved story ideas, helped with the newspaper’s layout, and answered questions about how to word sentences. At five o’clock, Trixie announced she had to leave. Everyone gathered up his or her belongings, and Trixie and the teens filed out.

  Justin brought up the rear and lingered after the others had left. “Ms. D.?”

  “Yes?”

  “Uh, if I tell you something, can you keep it between you and me?”

  “Yes, unless you tell me something that I think will harm you or someone else,” Skye answered carefully, feeling slightly alarmed.

  His dark, serious eyes studied her for a long moment before he said, “I’m not sure, but I think some of the stuff that’s happening is because all of a sudden there’s a lot of crank floating around school.”

  Skye fought to keep her face expressionless. “Crank, as in methamphetamine?”

  “Uh-huh.” Justin nodded. “There’s always been some around and a few kids using, but now there’s a whole shitload.”

  “Do you know who’s selling it?”

  “Nah. Everyone knows how I feel about drugs. No one’s going to tell me anything.” Justin swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing like a fishing lure. “But if you want, I’ll try and ask around. You need to stop it. It’s getting pretty bad out there.”

  “No. Don’t ask around.” Skye felt sweat start to form on her upper lip. She did not want the boy poking into something that could be extremely dangerous. “I’ll look into it. Is it okay if I ask Chief Boyd if he’s heard anything?”

  Justin paused, considering, then said with reluctance in his voice, “Okay, but don’t tell him you got the 411 from me.”

  “Sounds fair. I’ll say I heard the information from a reliable source.”

  After Justin left, Skye sat for a while and mulled over what she had been told. A sudden rise in teenagers taking meth would certainly explain the recent weird behavior. For instance, if Bitsy had taken the drug before she came to decorate the gym, the exacerbated thought patterns that methamphetamine was known to produce might explain why a dummy lying underneath the stage might make the girl think she was seeing a dead body.

  And if Nathan Turner had taken meth while at the dance, his sudden need for a shower could be explained by an increased heartbeat that would make him feel extremely overheated.

  Skye shrugged into her coat and locked up. As she walked dow
n the hallway toward the front door, it occurred to her that even the fire might be a result of the drug. Long-term users often became paranoid and had hallucinations. A person like that could easily think he had to burn down the school.

  Skye drove home, wondering who was selling meth to the students and how she could stop them.

  CHAPTER 16

  Shake, Rattle, and Roll

  Where in the heck was everyone? It was Friday afternoon, and during the twenty minutes Skye’d had free for lunch, she’d tried to phone both Wally and Rod again but ended up leaving them each yet another message to call her. Neither of them had returned her phone call from the night before.

  Rod she understood. He probably knew she wanted to talk to him about why he’d sicced the police on Vince. But Wally’s silence worried her. He needed to be told about the methamphetamine problem ASAP. Was his mayoral campaign or his ex-wife taking up all of his attention these days?

  Speaking of Wally’s ex, it was time to shut her up. At this moment they were attending an annual review, and Darleen had already repeated herself four times. The parents of the special ed student under discussion were starting to look annoyed.

  Skye cleared her throat and said, “It sounds to me like your son has made good progress this year, but he still needs support and modification with organizational issues.”

  Darleen shot back, “That’s not what I’m recommending. He’s not disorganized. He’s just lazy. If he would focus and do his homework, he’d be fine.”

  Skye allowed, “Yes, I understand that, but his parents have told us how difficult the homework is for him and how much time they spend helping him in the evenings, so I don’t think it’s quite as simple as just plain laziness.” She paused, then pointed out, “And he does have auditory processing and visual-motor difficulties, so he does have to work at least twice as hard to produce what other students are able to do in half the time.”

  Darleen glared at Skye. She opened her mouth, but Skye said quickly, “But this is a team decision, so let’s hear what everyone else thinks.”

  The principal, the boy’s parents, and the regular education teacher agreed with Skye and felt he still needed services. As Skye finished up the paperwork, Darleen stalked out of the room without saying another word.

  Skye shook her head and continued to write. It had been a busy day. She’d had eighth grade annual reviews scheduled every forty-five minutes, starting at eight-fifteen, and it was now nearly four o’clock. The law required that the school hold a meeting every year for all students receiving special education services. During this gathering, the student’s progress was reviewed against the goals set in their Individual Education Plan and a new IEP was written for the next year. Eighth graders had the honor of going first in the process, in order to give the high school extra time to prepare their schedules for the next year.

  After handing the parents their copy of the IEP, Skye hurried to her office, grabbed her coat and purse, and rushed to her car. She drove as fast as she could to the police station but when she arrived Wally was already gone for the day and she was forced to leave another message.

  While she drove home, she wondered if she should have insisted the dispatcher call Wally back to meet with her. A glance at her watch convinced her she didn’t have time for that. Simon was picking her up at five and it was already four-thirty.

  A couple minutes later, she pulled into her driveway, ran inside—throwing her coat on the hall bench as she raced into her bedroom—and flung open the closet door.

  “So, Bingo, what should I wear?” Skye asked the black cat who was now sitting at her feet.

  The feline was staring into the closet’s depths with an intensity that suggested he was about to choose an outfit for her.

  But the cat didn’t answer and she started to push the hangers back and forth. “What hasn’t Simon already seen me wear a hundred times? That’s the problem with an exclusive relationship; your clothes get old too fast.”

  Bingo yawned, exhibiting needlelike teeth and a pink tongue. He lifted his back leg and started washing.

  “You’re right. The benefits far exceed the drawbacks. But that still doesn’t give me a clue as to what to put on.” She pulled out a velour leopard-print shirt and a pair of black silky pants. “Is this appropriate for a bowling alley grand opening?”

  Bingo didn’t look up from his bath.

  “A lot of help you are.” Shoot! It was already quarter to five and Simon hated it when she was late.

  There wasn’t any more time to second-guess her choice of outfits. She tore off her school clothes and stuck her arm through the sleeve of the blouse.

  The doorbell was ringing as she inserted a gold hoop into her ear. She grabbed her shoes and ran to the foyer. After a quick peek through the window, she flung open the front door.

  Simon stepped in and whistled. “You look great.”

  “Thanks. It’s really sweet the way you always notice.” Skye slipped on black loafers and snatched her coat from the hall bench. “Are you nervous about tonight?”

  “No. Why?”

  “You’re wearing one black shoe and one brown one.” They both looked down at his feet.

  “Damn. We’ll have to stop by my place so I can change.” The tips of his ears were red. “Are you ready?”

  They drove over to Simon’s and he ran inside. Skye waited in the car, using this bonus time to fuss with her hair and touch up her makeup. A few minutes later Simon returned wearing matching shoes and a sheepish grin.

  The bowling alley was housed in a brick building close to forty years old. Simon parked his Lexus in the lot on the west side of the entrance.

  As they walked to the front Simon pointed upward. “What do you think?” A new sign hung above the door. Previously called the Gold Strike, the alley was now named Bunny Lanes. “Sort of sappy, huh?”

  Skye’s voice caught in her throat and she couldn’t respond right away. Simon’s relationship with his mother had come such a long way since November when Bunny had first appeared in Scumble River. Back then he wouldn’t even talk to her. But after sharing a harrowing experience where Simon was nearly killed, mother and son had at least partially cleared the air. Still, after twenty years of hurt feelings and misunderstandings, it would take more than a few months to entirely heal the breach.

  Skye took Simon’s arm and squeezed. “I think it’s a great name. Your mom must be thrilled.”

  “She is happy.” Simon pushed open one of the double doors and waited for Skye to enter. “I was surprised at what a hard worker she turned out to be, and she’s pretty smart about running a business like this.”

  It was the first time Skye had seen the alley since it had been remodeled. The change was remarkable. The interior had gone from nineteen-sixties brown and orange to a sleek palette of blues with touches of silver.

  “This looks wonderful.” Skye turned to Simon and hugged him.

  “Thanks.” After returning her hug, he helped her out of her coat and hung it and his own on the shiny new coat rack. “My goal was to modernize the place enough to attract new people but not so much that I’d lose the old regulars.”

  Skye hoped Simon had achieved the correct balance. “It might take some people a while accept the new look.” The citizens of Scumble River did not like change. “But I’m sure they’ll come around.”

  Skye and Simon continued farther into the building. The bar area had been expanded and enclosed. Etched glass doors led into the newly created room, which now included a small stage and dance floor.

  Bunny was placing bowls of snacks on small metal tables as they entered. She tottered over to them on four-inch heels and flung her arms around Simon. “Sonny. This is going to be such a wonderful night.”

  “Please don’t call me Sonny.” Simon’s eyes met Skye’s over his mother’s head.

  Skye shrugged. Some things would never change.

  Bunny turned to embrace Skye. “What do you think? Son … Simon and I make quite a team,
don’t we?”

  Skye was momentarily distracted by the older woman’s appearance. Bunny had clearly been ordering from the Frederick’s of Hollywood catalog again. Considering Bunny’s past as a Las Vegas showgirl, Skye wasn’t really surprised. Tonight, Bunny was decked out in a black chiffon blouse—its deep V-neck and the cuffs of the sleeves outlined in marabou—and a long black lace skirt that looked modest until she moved and the front slit opened.

  “Amazing,” Skye finally managed to choke out before looking at Simon.

  He just shook his head.

  Skye ran her finger down one of the new chairs. “I really like these. This blue Ultrasuede fabric is beautiful.” It was a big change from the old Formica tables and torn vinyl chairs.

  “Look at the grill.” Bunny tucked an errant red curl into the cascade of ringlets on top of her head, then took Skye and Simon by the arms and dragged them through another set of glass doors. “We’re all set to go.”

  This area had also received a face-lift. The countertops were now blue faux marble, and the stools were upholstered in a denim fabric with silver studs.

  Bunny handed Skye a pristine menu and tapped the laminated cardboard with inch-long crimson nails, saying, “We added a lot of new items.”

  Skye scanned the columns quickly. There was now a nice variety of food instead of just burgers and pizza. “Who’s working the grill?”

  “I am.” A young woman stepped out from the kitchen.

  Simon introduced them. “Skye, this is our grill manager, Ivy Wolfe. Ivy, this is my friend Skye Denison.”

  The two women exchanged greetings and Ivy said, “I know your brother, Vince. My husband used to sing in a band with him.”

  Skye asked, “Was your husband Logan Wolfe?”

  Ivy nodded.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Ivy nodded again. “Thank you.”

  An awkward silence fell over the group. Skye searched for something more to say, but what was appropriate small talk for such a recent widow? She finally said, “I heard Logan sing on several occasions. He had a great voice.”