“Not exactly.” Skye tried to gather her thoughts by glancing around the room. The furniture all looked new. So new that she spotted a tag still attached to the leather easy chair Ivy sank into. It made an odd contrast to the thirty-year-old rust and brown shag carpeting on the floor and the peeling paint on the wall.
Ivy shifted impatiently, making Skye aware that she needed to say something soon. “Actually, I was just wondering when the services for Logan would be.”
“As soon as the police let me, I’m having him cremated.” Ivy scowled. “He didn’t have many friends in this town. People around here didn’t like how he lived his life and were jealous of his talent. No use having a big wake or funeral. Not many would show up, and the ones who did would be hypocrites.”
Skye had noticed the lack of grief among the Scumble Riverites but figured there would be someone mourning Logan. “How about his family and the band?”
Ivy shrugged. “Maybe I’ll have a memorial service in the spring.” Her voice thickened. “He hated the cold.” She stared into space for a minute, then pinned Skye with an angry glare. “Anyway, I don’t believe for a minute that’s why you came out here. What do you really want?”
Skye decided to go with the truth. “You’re right. I came to see if you really meant what you said last night.” She’d already had a dog at her throat and a gun held to her head; how much worse could it get? “Do you really think Heather killed Logan?”
“She killed him, all right.” Ivy shot up from her seat and waved her finger at Skye. “That bitch knew the only way she could sing with the band was to get rid of him.”
“It seems a little unbelievable that someone would kill to join a small-time rock band,” Skye said.
“But Pink Elephant was close to getting their big break.” Ivy’s eyes shone with the thought. “Real, real close.”
Skye fought to hide her skepticism. “Something like that is pretty hard to predict, isn’t it?”
Ivy hurried over to an old, battered desk that was tucked into the corner of the living room. She moved a vinyl and chrome kitchen chair from in front of it, pulled open the middle drawer, and stuck her hand inside. Snatching a couple of envelopes, she rushed back to Skye and thrust them at her. “Look at these. One is from a record producer and the other is from that new TV talent show American Star. Both of them want Pink Elephant to audition.”
Skye opened the first one and started to read. She became instantly wary and hurriedly scanned the other letter. It was the same. They wanted Logan alone. In order to make the deal, Logan would have to dump Pink Elephant. Which meant, if the group knew about these offers, the other three musicians, including Vince, had a reason to hate Logan. She turned to Rod and asked, “Have you read these?”
He shrugged. “No, I’m not much of a reader, but Logan told me about them. He told all of us about a month ago. We’ve been getting ready for the auditions ever since—extra rehearsals, Vince and Finn writing new songs, the whole nine yards.”
It was clear why Logan hadn’t told the band the auditions were for him as a solo act. If he had, he wouldn’t have had anyone to help him get ready for his big break. He needed the other band members to help him rehearse and write new material.
Skye wondered if Ivy was in on the scam, but no, she wouldn’t have shown the letters to Skye if she had been. “Did you read these, Ivy?”
“Not word for word.” She flipped her hand back and forth in a sort of gesture. “But Logan read them to me when he first got them. Why?”
Skye hedged. “Just wondering if you, uh, had, uh, talked about the details.” If Ivy didn’t know, Skye wasn’t about to reveal the real contents of the letters to her. No reason to let her in on the fact that the other members of Pink Elephant had a motive to kill her husband—especially when one of those people was Skye’s brother.
“Not much.” Ivy took the envelopes from Skye and stuffed them back in the desk drawer. “All Logan could talk about was that this could be his big break. His chance to be a star.”
Skye thought quickly. She wanted to get Ivy and Rod’s minds off those letters. What could she say? When in doubt, attack. “So, you’re trying to tell me the only reason you accused Heather was because you think she wanted Logan’s place in the band?”
“I’m not trying to tell you anything.” Ivy flopped back down in the recliner. “That is the reason she killed him.”
“Maybe, or maybe you accused her because she was sleeping with Logan, and you want her punished.”
There was dead silence for close to sixty seconds, then Ivy brayed with laughter. “Honey, if it weren’t for the fact that Logan was my only chance to get rich, I would’ve divorced that no good son of a tomcat years ago. But he was finally about to hit the big time and make some real money. He could screw the entire female population of Illinois. Heck, he could sleep with the guys, too, for all I cared. There was no way I was getting off the gravy train. At least not until I had a real good ride.”
Skye felt her mouth drop open.
“Logan was a child cleverly disguised as a responsible adult,” Ivy said, continuing to laugh. “Heather wasn’t the first slut he slept with, and she wouldn’t have been the last.”
“So, your marriage wasn’t a good one?”
“You aren’t too swift on the uptake, are you?” Ivy snorted in exasperation. “Guys are all the same. Do you know what you call a handcuffed man?”
Skye shook her head, feeling like she had been swept up in a tornado and was being whipped across the fields with no way to get her bearings.
“Trustworthy.” Ivy laughed at her own joke.
Skye looked at Rod, who didn’t seem all that amused. She asked him, “Do you think Heather killed Logan for a place with the band?”
“Nah.” His jaw jutted out belligerently. “She’s barking up the wrong bimbo.” He jerked his head in Ivy’s direction. “It was one of those Pig-In-A-Poke people.”
“Why?”
“They’ve been out here on and off the past month, trying to get Logan and Ivy to sell their land to them.”
“Before last Sunday?” Skye asked. Why had they approached the Wolfes before the rest of the landowners?
Rod looked over at Ivy, who nodded and said, “Yeah, they first came by right after Martin Luther King’s Birthday.”
“And you and Logan weren’t interested in selling?”
“No way!” Ivy wore an expression of righteous indignation. “We got to protect our farmland. What’s everybody going to eat if we cement over all the fields?”
Skye tried to make sense out of what she was hearing. Ivy wanted money bad enough to stay with a philandering husband but not bad enough to sell her farmland. What was wrong with this picture?
She turned back to Rod, who still stood by the gun rack. “So you think Moss Gibson killed Logan?”
“Maybe. Or it could be one of the pro-Pig-In-A-Poke people from town.”
“Like who?” Skye wondered if he was just trying to distract her from looking at Ivy, or even him, as possible murderers.
“There’s quite a few people who stand to gain a lot financially if that amusement park gets built, not to mention those who want to sell their land and won’t be able to if everyone else doesn’t go along.”
“Name names.” Skye frowned, tired of Rod’s innuendos. “Who in town gains, money-wise?”
Rod hesitated, then blurted out, “Nate Turner, for one. I heard that Gibson promised him the landscaping contract for Pig-In-A-Poke.”
“If that’s true, something like that would be worth hundreds of thousands of dollars,” Skye murmured half to herself. “Who else?”
“The guy who bought the Brown Bag Liquor Store. What’s his name? Jess Larson,” Rod declared. “Gibson has said that Pig-In-A-Poke won’t sell booze, but that doesn’t mean people either going into the park or coming out won’t want a drink.”
“Even if they did sell alcohol at the amusement park or at least in the restaurant and hotel, Larson would
stand to make a lot of money from people who would stop at his place, thinking that the alcohol would be cheaper there.”
Rod had named only two of the town’s businessmen who would gain from Gibson’s plan. If she thought about it for a while, Skye was sure she could add to the list. Then there were the people who owned the land Gibson wanted to buy. There might be a few pros in that group, too.
“I see what you mean.” Skye had found herself nodding, going along with Rod’s logic until it suddenly hit her that if Logan was killed because he was standing in the way of Pig-In-A-Poke, her family would have to be next on the list because they weren’t selling either. She shook her head. “Sorry, Rod, your theory doesn’t really work. Why kill Logan? It’s not as if he were the last one standing in the way of the amusement park.”
Rod shrugged. “Maybe he is, and we just don’t know that everyone else has agreed.”
Skye started to say her family wasn’t selling but then thought better of it. Why put them in danger if there was even a tiny chance someone had gone crazy and was killing off anti-Pig-In-A-Poke people? “I suppose anything is possible.”
“Hey, I got to finish getting ready for work.” Ivy walked over to the door and stood there, her hand on the knob, making it obvious that Skye’s visit was over.
“Well, thanks.” Skye stuck out her hand, which Ivy ignored. “It was nice of you to talk to me.”
“Your boyfriend’s my boss, and I want to keep my job. Did I have a choice?”
As Skye stepped outside, she remembered about the dog, but Ivy and Rod had already closed the door behind her. She looked from side to side. No sign of the animal. She should get straight into her car and drive away, but she wanted a peek in the machine shed. Its newness bothered her.
Skye cautiously climbed down the steps, glancing back at the house. The shades on the windows were down and no one seemed to be looking out. What could she say if they caught her snooping? ‘Hi, I was looking for a place to pee’ just didn’t seem sincere.
She backed toward the shed, keeping an eye out for the dog. As she neared the building, she saw that there were no windows. She went around the corner and tried the door. It was locked. She bent over and yanked on the handle of the big garage-type door, but it wouldn’t budge either. Shoot!
As she made her way back to her car, she thought that it was odd that the shed’s doors didn’t face the driveway.
Skye paused as she passed the garage. It had windows. On impulse she looked inside. A sleek, black Jaguar was parked beside a rundown white Dodge Dynasty. A bumper sticker on the Jag read: JESUS MAY LOVE YOU, BUT EVERYONE ELSE THINKS YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE.
Funny, Skye couldn’t recall ever seeing that car around town, and with that horrible saying on its rear end, she would have remembered it. How could the Wolfes afford a car like that? Or was it Rod Yager’s? Wally had said Rod didn’t have a job. So, how did he support himself?
CHAPTER 19
Who’s Sorry Now?
Skye shot up into a sitting position, shoved the hair out of her eyes, and looked around wildly. What was that noise? Who had turned on the television? Her heart raced. Had someone broken into her cottage? But why would they turn the TV on? Her glance fell on the coffee table, and she sagged back on the sofa.
Bingo was crouched on the tabletop playing with the remote control. He must have pressed the power button when he was batting it around. Either that or the feline was a secret Home Shopping Network fan. Come to think of it, that would explain why her Visa bill was always so high, and he did seem to be watching the hostess demonstrate the newest in kitchenware with an acquisitive interest.
She extracted the remote from between his paws and said, “We’ve got enough pans, especially since neither of us does much cooking.”
What time was it? She squinted at her watch. Five a.m. Her late night Friday and all of the excitement on Saturday had caught up with her. She must have fallen asleep the minute she got home from talking to Ivy and slept on the couch all night—nearly eleven hours.
She stretched and yawned. Might as well shower and go to early Mass. Afterward, she really did have to talk to Wally, Darleen or no Darleen. Vince and Heather were also on her to-talk-to list.
When Skye walked into church, she was surprised to see Simon there. The bowling alley was open until two a.m., so he couldn’t have gotten to bed much before three.
She slid in next to him and whispered, “Good morning. How did things go last night?”
“Good.” He gave her a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Nice crowd and no one got rowdy.”
“How’s your mom managing?”
“Like she was born to run a bowling alley.” Simon rubbed his hand across his eyes. “Which is a good thing, because the hours are too much for me. After today, she’s on her own.”
“Did you find someone to work security?” Skye didn’t like the idea of Bunny not having any backup.
“He starts Tuesday.” The bowling alley was closed on Mondays.
The beginning of the processional stopped their conversation, and it wasn’t until after the service when they were walking out to the parking lot that Simon asked, “What are your plans for today?”
Skye filled him in on her strange encounters of the weird kind the day before, then explained, “So, I want to tell Wally about the increased drug use and make sure he got my message that Ivy is accusing Heather of killing Logan. Then I’ll probably talk to Vince, and maybe Heather, if I can find her.”
“You’re hoping to substitute Heather for Vince as Wally’s prime suspect?”
She couldn’t fault the guy’s observational skills. “Yes, I am.”
“I wish I could go with you when you talk to Wally and Heather, but I really want to stay with my mother one more day.” Simon rested his hip against his Lexus. “But I did make a list of the business people in town, and Monday I’ll start calling around to find out who is pro and who is con on the amusement park issue.”
“Great.” Skye leaned next to him and put her arm around his waist. “Bunny needs you today and I’ll be fine. After all, I’ll either be with the chief of police or my own brother.”
“How about Heather?”
“If push comes to shove, I think I could take her two falls out of three.”
Simon straightened, bringing her more fully into his embrace. “Stop by the alley afterwards, and tell me all about your adventures.” Then to her surprise, since he usually wasn’t demonstrative in public, he kissed her deeply, his tongue hard and sweet and promising.
Skye adjusted her sunglasses and pulled the knit hat covering her hair farther down. She felt like a stalker. After borrowing Vince’s Jeep, with the promise of a full explanation when she returned it, Skye had spent the last two hours sitting across from Wally’s house waiting for Darleen to leave.
A call to the police station had confirmed that the chief was off duty all of Sunday. Unfortunately, Darleen had answered when Skye phoned Wally at home and hung up on her when she heard Skye’s voice. So now she was forced to spy on him as if they were a part of some preposterous James Bond movie.
Skye took a sip of her Diet Coke and slouched back in her seat. Her reasoning was that unless Darleen had moved back in, and surely Skye would have heard that gossip, she would have to leave at some point, if only to get a change of clothes. Skye just prayed that Wally wouldn’t go with her.
Finally at eleven o’clock, the door to Wally’s house opened, and he and his ex-wife emerged. They stood on the porch arguing until Wally turned on his heel and went back inside, slamming the door behind him.
Darleen hesitated, then trudged down the steps, got into her BMW, and squealed out of the driveway.
As soon as the red car disappeared around the corner, Skye was out of the Jeep, across the road, and ringing Wally’s bell. She waited several minutes, but no one came. Why wasn’t he answering?
Just as she pushed the button again, the door was flung open, and Wally bellowed, “Give it a rest, Darle
en.”
“It’s Skye.” She jumped back. “But I can see this is a bad time. I’ll talk to you later.”
The look on his face could have melted wax, but after a moment his features smoothed out, and he said, “Sorry. No. Now’s fine. Come on in.”
Skye eased past him and stood in the entryway. “I’m the one who’s sorry to be bothering you on a Sunday, but I haven’t been able to get a hold of you. Have you gotten my messages?”
“No.” Wally gestured for Skye to go into the living room and take a seat. “I haven’t had any messages from you.”
She had never been in Wally’s house before and wasn’t sure where to sit. She chose the sofa, not wanting to take whichever he considered his chair, but Wally sat next to her and said, “How many times did you call?”
Skye counted out loud, “Thursday night, Friday during school, and Saturday morning.”
He frowned. “I didn’t get any of them. I’ll have to have a talk with the dispatchers about the importance of giving me my messages.”
“Uh, I hate to accuse someone without proof,” Skye began—she couldn’t let Wally yell at the dispatchers when she was fairly sure it wasn’t their fault, “but from what Darleen said yesterday afternoon when I tried to see you at the station, I think she may be intercepting your messages.”
“That’s ridiculous.” His expression was critical. “I know you don’t get along—Darleen’s told me about some of the problems you two have had at school—but suggesting she’s interfering with official police business is serious. Do you really want to make that accusation?”
His words hit Skye like an ax blow, but she refused to let him see how he had hurt her. In an offhanded tone she said, “Darleen and I do have issues at school, but that has nothing to do with this. I’ll let you handle the missing messages. I suggest we move on to the information I was trying to give you.”
“Fine.” His voice was flat. “Go on.”
Murder of a Pink Elephant Page 16