Skye took a moment to collect her thoughts. She wanted to present a concise list of what she knew and get out of there before she either smacked him or started crying or both. “Thursday after school, a student mentioned to me that he or she had observed an increase in the availability and use of methamphetamine in the Scumble River area. This observation is consistent with some of the unusual teenage behavior that has been recently reported.”
“Explain.”
Skye matched his clipped tone. “Exacerbated thought patterns, increased heartbeat causing one to feel overheated, and paranoia and hallucinations in long-term users.”
“What are exacerbated thought patterns?” Wally asked.
“All your thoughts are exaggerated.” Skye struggled to put the psychological concept into simple terms. “It’s sort of like you see a pretty flower, but you think it’s not just a pretty flower, to you it’s the most beautiful flower that ever bloomed. The flower is so gorgeous it makes you cry.”
Wally’s expression was still puzzled, but he shrugged and asked another question. “You mentioned hallucinations. Would that be like a voice telling them to burn down the school?”
“Exactly.”
He got up, went into another room, and returned with a legal pad. He jotted something down, then asked, “Who told you about the increased availability?”
“I can’t say—confidentiality.”
“That didn’t stop you with Grady Nelson.”
His comment, light as the flick of a whip, had hit its target. Guilt was a sharp knife plunging into her stomach. Wally knew how difficult it had been for her to break confidentiality. Even when doing so seemed justified, it was always a judgment call and one she continued to question.
What had gotten into Wally? Why was he being so awful to her? Instead of asking, she defended herself. “As I explained at the time, I told you about Grady because there was an immediate potential that he might hurt himself or someone else. In this case, there is no such impending danger. The student has told me all he or she knows and is not a possible instrument of harm.”
“Fine.” Wally blew out an exasperated breath. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”
“In a separate, but perhaps related issue, Ivy Wolfe accused Heather Hunt of killing her husband.”
“When did this happen?”
“At the bowling alley Friday night. Ivy didn’t know that Heather had started singing with the band, and when she found out, she screamed that Heather had murdered Logan.”
Wally made another note. “Any idea why Ivy thinks Heather is the killer?”
“Maybe …” Skye trailed off. She had planned to tell Wally about yesterday’s visit to the Wolfe farm, but he had been so mean and so unreasonable she was afraid of his reaction. Still, she’d better tell him everything now. He’d just be more upset if he found out later.
“Maybe what?”
Defiantly she looked him in the eye and said, “When I talked to Ivy yesterday, her explanation was that Heather wanted to be a part of the band so badly, she was willing to kill to take Logan’s place as the singer.”
“You talked to Ivy Wolfe yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you do a stupid thing like that?” His voice rose in anger.
Skye had had enough. “Because when Darleen refused to let me talk to you at the police station yesterday afternoon, she said Vince was one of your main suspects in the Logan Wolfe murder case, which is something I had already figured out.” She’d come to Wally in good faith to share information with him and he was treating her like dirt. She didn’t know what line of bull Darleen had been feeding him about her, but if he was fool enough to believe his ex-wife, so be it. The gloves were coming off.
“And that gave you the right to tamper with a possible witness?”
“Yes.” Skye leaped to her feet. “You tried to railroad Vince once before. I’m not letting you do it again.”
“If you think I would do something like that, I don’t know why you even bothered to come over today to share your information with me.”
“And if you think I would accuse anyone, even Darleen, of something without a mighty good reason, you obviously don’t know me very well.” Skye stalked into the entryway and flung open the door. As she marched out, she said over her shoulder, “And you obviously don’t trust me like you claim to.”
Skye ran across the road to the Jeep and jumped inside. She jammed the gearshift into drive and roared away. A few miles down the road she pulled to the side and let the tears flow. What in the world had just happened? What had gotten into Wally? And what had gotten into her?
After a few minutes, she fumbled in her pocket for a tissue, wiped her eyes, and blew her nose. She needed to talk to someone about this—not Simon or May, and Trixie had enough troubles of her own right now. Uncle Charlie would probably punch Wally in the nose for upsetting her, so Vince would have to do. Anyway, she had to return his Jeep, and she wanted to hear what he had to say about the big break Logan had promised the band.
Vince was watching an old Three Stooges movie on TV when Skye entered his apartment. She collapsed on the sofa beside him and put her head on his shoulder.
When the commercial came on, he switched off the set, and asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I just had the strangest encounter with Wally.” She briefly described what had happened. “So, has he gone crazy or have I?”
“Well …” Vince teased.
Skye straightened and hit his arm with the back of her hand. “Well?”
“Well, look at it this way. The man is being besieged by his ex-wife, is in the middle of a mayoral campaign he may or may not want to win, and has just had a murder case land in his lap.” Vince grabbed Skye’s hands and held them so she couldn’t hit him again. “And then the newspaper runs an article on the Scumble River Nancy Drew. Do you really think he can be held responsible for anything he says right now?”
Skye gave her brother a speculative look. “You’re pretty generous toward a guy who has your name high up on his list of prime suspects.”
“I didn’t do it, and it’ll all work out in the end.” Vince let go of her hands and reached for the remote. “You worry too much, Sis. You’re getting as bad as Mom.”
“Thanks a lot.” Was she really as much of a worry wart as May? Nah. It was just in comparison to Vince that she looked like a fussbudget. Her brother wouldn’t be concerned even if the IRS called him for a surprise audit. “Before you return to your movie, I have a couple of questions.”
“Shoot.”
“Did Logan tell the band that they were about to get their big break? That he had letters asking Pink Elephant to audition for a record producer and American Star?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you say anything about it to me?”
“Logan always thought everything was going to be our big break. We just went along with him. No one else thought it would amount to anything.”
“If you felt that way, why did you agree to all the extra rehearsals and start to write new songs?”
Vince shrugged. “The band needed all the rehearsals it could get, and I’m always writing new songs.”
Skye found her brother’s explanation hard to believe. Maybe Vince felt that way, but did the other two musicians? “Did Logan ever show you or the other guys the letters?”
“I didn’t see them, and I don’t think the others did either. Why?”
“Ivy let me read them today.”
“So?”
“The auditions were for Logan as a solo act. They didn’t include Pink Elephant.”
Vince frowned. “Are you sure?”
She nodded.
“So Logan was just using us?”
“Seems that way.”
Vince threw the remote he had been holding across the room, where it crashed into the wall and exploded in little plastic pieces. “That son of a b—”
Skye cut him off. “Do you think maybe either Rod
or Finn found out what Logan was up to and killed him because of it?”
“If Finn found out, he would have told me and Rod. He likes to stir things up.”
“And if Rod was the one to find out?”
“He’s usually pretty quiet, likes to let things go with the flow, but I have seen him blow up once before. And when he does, he loses all control.”
“Interesting.” Skye contemplated that piece of information for a moment, then asked, “So if you guys weren’t mad at Logan about him going solo, why were you all so ticked off the night I attended your rehearsal?”
“Well, part of it was the whole Heather issue.
“But there was more?”
“Logan had turned into a real pain in the ass. Everything had to be his way. We could only do songs he approved of and only take gigs he thought were worthy.” Vince wrinkled his forehead, thinking. “He was always late, so we had to wait for him. Then he’d hang out with the teenyboppers, which made Finn uncomfortable. He and Rod wanted to replace him with another vocalist.”
“You didn’t?”
“I didn’t want to confront him. I thought he’d straighten out. You know how I hate conflict.”
Vince had given Heather’s phone number to Skye but claimed not to know where she lived. Skye tried calling her from his apartment but got an answering machine. It featured Heather singing something about living forever and everyone remembering her name.
There was only one option left. If Skye really wanted to find Heather, she would need to ask May. Her mother either knew where everyone lived in Scumble River or knew someone who did. Since Skye was already in the car, she headed to her parents’ house.
White pea gravel crunched under the Bel Air’s tires as Skye turned into their driveway. It had finally stopped snowing, but the temperature still hovered around the freezing mark.
Skye crossed the patio to the back door, glancing at the concrete goose at the foot of the steps. She had finally given up trying to stop her mother from dressing the lawn ornaments and now found it interesting to see what outfit May had chosen for it this week. A little like a Rorschach test for farmwives.
Today the statue wore a tiny white powdered wig and black suit. An ax was strapped to its wing. It took Skye a minute, but the set of false teeth positioned over its beak was the giveaway. Today was George Washington’s Birthday.
As she entered the utility room Skye called, “Mom, it’s me. Are you home?”
She had crossed through the kitchen and stepped into the living room before she heard a voice answer. “I’ll be out in a sec.”
Her father was asleep on the big leather recliner in the corner. A nature program was playing on the TV, its soundtrack of roaring animals punctuated by Jed’s snores. It was amazing; he was louder than the lions and more annoying than the hyenas.
Skye took a seat on the sofa and picked up the book section from the Kankakee Journal. She wanted to see what was being reviewed this week. Skye’s tastes and the columnist’s were usually similar.
Several minutes later. May emerged from the bathroom. Her hair was newly combed, and she had on fresh lipstick. She asked, “Have you eaten? We had roast and mashed potatoes. I can fix you a plate.”
Skye debated with herself. She hadn’t eaten and in fact couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a real meal, as opposed to a sandwich or a salad from a plastic bag, but she had vowed to be more independent and not let her mother baby her so much. Her stomach won. “If it’s not too much trouble, that’d be wonderful.”
“Trouble? Don’t be silly. You know your father and I would like you to eat all your meals here.”
In the past, May had tried to get Skye to move back home, but when she got Bingo, her mother stopped issuing that invitation. May couldn’t abide animals in the house.
As May bustled around the kitchen heating leftovers, Skye sat at the counter and asked, “Do you know the new girl with Vince’s band?”
“I saw her at the bowling alley Friday. I don’t really know her, but I’ve heard about her.”
“I don’t recall the name Hunt. Is her family from around here?”
May slid a heaping plate in front of Skye and handed her a fork. “They’re part of the Doozier clan.”
Skye took a bite of mashed potatoes. These creamy spuds hadn’t come from any box. She savored the buttery taste before saying, “I thought I knew all the Dooziers. How are the Hunts connected?” In a funny way, Skye counted the Dooziers as friends. Maybe not pals you’d go to the movies with but allies she could count on.
May scrunched up her face in thought. “MeMa Doozier was a Hunt, so Heather would be some sort of cousin to the family.”
As close as anyone could judge, MeMa, the matriarch of the clan, was well over a hundred years old. The next oldest in the line was her great-grandson Earl, the current patriarch of the family. The middle generations had been wiped out in an accident involving a rickety porch, an out-of-control pickup, and several kegs of beer.
“Then Heather isn’t a close relation?”
May shrugged. “You know the Dooziers. They’re a very tight-knit family.” She put a piece of chocolate cream pie in front of Skye and asked, “Why are you so interested in Heather?”
Skye paused, a bite of pie halfway to her mouth, trying to decide how much to tell her mother. May already knew that Vince was a suspect, but she didn’t know the whole sordid Heather story, and Skye saw no good reason to tell her. Still, she needed an explanation for her curiosity. She decided to try the casual approach. “Just wondering, since she’s joined Vince’s band and all.”
May shot Skye a sharp look and went right to the heart of the matter. “Is Vince involved with that girl?”
“I don’t think so,” Skye answered honestly. Thank goodness her mother hadn’t asked if he had been involved with her.
“We need to make sure he doesn’t start.” May wiped the counter in vicious circles. “From what I hear, she’s been hit on more than Vince’s drums.”
Skye choked. Her mother didn’t often talk about someone that way. After taking a sip of water, she said, “I think Vince is safe from her charms.”
“You need to warn him about her.”
“I’ll do that. And I’ll warn her to keep away from him.” Skye kept her face expressionless. “You wouldn’t happen to know where she lives, would you?”
“Sure. She shares an apartment with the girl who runs my exercise class. It’s in the building right behind the high school.”
Skye rang the bell next to the card marked Hunt/Price. It was a little after three on Sunday afternoon and should be a good time to catch someone like Heather at home—late enough to be out of bed but too early to go out. A voice came from the intercom, “Yes?”
“I’m looking for Heather. Is she home?”
“Sure. When you hear the buzz, turn the knob right away, then go up the stairs and to the left.”
Skye smiled to herself, glad she didn’t have to explain who she was and what she wanted while standing in the lobby and shouting into a little metal box.
Heather was standing in an open doorway. She seemed confused to see Skye. “Do I know you?”
“I’m Vince’s sister. We met the other night. Could I talk to you for a minute?”
The singer shrugged and backed into the apartment. “I guess so. Do you want to sit down?”
Skye nodded and looked around. The room was filled with typical grandma’s attic castoffs. A hideous purple plaid couch upholstered in a material that no one had been able to wear out in the past forty years took up most of the space. A couple of easy chairs with chenille bedspreads thrown over them occupied the rest of the floor plan. Brightly colored plastic milk crates served as occasional tables and the walls were papered with posters of Britney Spears, J. Lo, and other female rock stars.
“Heather,” Skye said after they both were seated, “I was at the bowling alley Friday when Ivy Wolfe attacked you. Could I ask you a couple questions about that?”
A tiny line formed between Heather’s perfect eyebrows. “She was really, really mean to me.”
“Yes, accusing you of killing Logan was pretty nasty.” Skye sat on the edge of the couch, leaned forward, and assumed her best counselor position, hands lying palm up on her knees. “Do you know why she would say something like that?”
Heather’s lower lip thrust out. “She was jealous of me.”
“Because of Logan?”
A look of confusion settled on Heather’s face. “Maybe that too, but mostly ‘cause I have star quality and she doesn’t. She can sing okay, but she doesn’t have the looks or the stage presence you need to be a superstar.”
Skye was having trouble following the girl’s reasoning. “But why would Ivy’s lack of charisma cause her to accuse you of murdering Logan?”
“Silly! Logan and I were just about to get our big break.” Heather’s cornflower-blue eyes sparkled. “He and I had auditions set up to do a duet for a big record producer and for that TV show, American Star.”
“I’m still not following how that would give you a motive to kill Logan.”
Heather shook her head, clearly unable to believe Skye’s stupidity. “Just before the fire, Logan told me that Ivy wanted to sing the duet with him instead of me. And that meant he’d have to sing the song me and him had written together with Ivy instead.”
Because she was thinking what a rat Logan had been—stringing along this poor girl and the members of Pink Elephant to further his own ambitions—it took a moment for Skye to realize what Heather had said. Even then, she wasn’t sure she had interpreted it correctly. “Do you mean you talked to Logan at the high school the night of the dance, after he and Vince had their fight in the break room?”
“Yeah.”
“Right before the fire started?”
“Yes. I was standing in the wings and there’s a spot where there’s a long instrumental part, so Logan stepped off stage and that’s when he told me.” Heather’s little girl voice became even more breathless and high pitched. “We were arguing, but when the alarm went off I just ran out of the building and came home.”
“What about Logan? Did he run out too?”
Heather shrugged. “He probably went back for his guitar.”
Murder of a Pink Elephant Page 17