After the kids left, Skye called the police station and left a detailed message for Wally. She hoped he would get it.
Having done her civic duty, she went into the bathroom, turned on the bathtub faucet, and poured in some vanilla-scented oil. While the tub filled, she ate a sandwich. As soon as the bath was ready, she turned out all the lights, put on a Patsy Cline tape, and slid into the hot, foamy water. She knew she’d never be able to put the day’s events out of her thoughts so instead she allowed her mind to free associate. So much had happened in the past week and a half. Was it all somehow connected?
What was the first incident? Skye closed her eyes and ran the days backward through her mind until she came to the band rehearsal a week ago last Thursday. Vince had said everyone was mad at Logan because of his behavior, but maybe he didn’t know the real reason. Maybe one of the other band members had found out that Logan had a meth lab and was selling drugs to teenagers.
Skye put Rod and Finn on her “to-talk-to-again” list and asked herself: What happened next? The false fire alarm, Bitsy’s melt down while they were decorating the gym, Nathan’s impromptu shower at the dance, and, of course, the fire itself. As she had pointed out to Wally, those kids were probably all high at the time of their misbehavior.
And then there was Heather’s presence at the fire. Was she really there to talk to Logan about singing, or was she in on the meth sales too?
Skye nearly drifted off to sleep, but the image of a pig kept wafting through her mind. She sat up abruptly, splashing water over the side of the tub and on to Bingo, who had been stretched out asleep on the bath mat. He yowled and ran away.
The Pig-in-A-Poke Land amusement park was also a recently added element to the local mix. Could Moss Gibson or his grand plans for Scumble River’s future have anything to do with the current goings-on? Logan’s land was a part of the parcel Gibson wanted to acquire, but Ivy had claimed to be antidevelopment. The prodevelopment people Ivy and Rod had mentioned went to the top of Skye’s “to-talk-to-immediately” list.
As Skye was thinking about the rest of the week the phone started ringing. Darn. She should have listened to her answering machine before getting into the bathtub. Oh, well, she decided, whoever it was would just have to leave a message.
Still, she got out of the tub and was drying off when the doorbell buzzed. She hurriedly slipped on her robe and ran for the foyer. After peeking out the window, she flung open the door, grabbed Simon’s necktie, and hauled him inside, saying, “You won’t believe the day I’ve had.”
“Well, let’s see if I can do anything to make it better,” he murmured, kissing her neck.
After Simon shrugged out of his overcoat, Skye took his hand and tugged him toward the bathroom. While she ran more hot water into the oversized tub, she filled him in on her activities. She concluded with, “And then Justin and Frannie left.”
He ran down the roll of Scumble River business people he had spoken to that day, indicating who was for the amusement park and who was against it. Happily, the end of his list coincided with the last of Simon’s clothes hitting the floor.
Hours later, after Simon had left and just before she fell asleep, Skye realized that the one variable she had left out of her equation was the mayoral election. Could Wally’s candidacy have anything to do with what was going on? And come to think of it, where had Darleen gotten the cash for her fancy new car? There was a lot of money in selling drugs, and who had a better excuse for talking to teens than a teacher?
CHAPTER 21
Slippin’ and Slidin’
Skye was kept busy Tuesday morning dealing with the aftermath of Cletus’s actions from the day before. He had been sent home from the hospital and was none the worse for wear, but both teachers and parents were in an uproar over what had happened. Neva and Skye took turns handling the calls and visits.
Earl Doozier had arrived about an hour after school opened. He entered the building shouting, “This really sticks in my craw. What in the hell is going on around here?” He had dressed for the occasion in orange sweat pants and a yellow and black striped sweater. With his short stature and small beer belly, he looked like an angry bumblebee. Twin tufts of hair sticking straight up from the crown of his head quivered like antennas.
Skye spotted him first and steered him into the principal’s office. Once he was seated, she and Neva murmured soothingly until he had calmed down.
Finally, Skye was able to ask, “Earl, do you have any idea where Cletus got the drugs?”
He took out a big blue hanky, blew his nose, and after examining the contents, put it back in the pocket of his sweat-pants. “I’m not for sure of that, Miz D. But he says he got it from Elvis, and Elvis ain’t sayin’ where he got it.”
Darn! Between the lice and Superman, Skye had forgotten she wanted to speak to Elvis on Monday about what had happened at the bowling alley Friday night. She’d have to try to have a word with him that afternoon. If they could get the kids to say where the meth was coming from, they could put a stop to it. But odds were, no one would tell.
They talked for a while longer, until Earl eventually stood and said, “I know you folks are tryin’ real hard to make sure the kids get smartened up, but right now, it might be more better if you turned your attention to findin’ out who’s dealin’ dope to them.”
Neva and Skye agreed that Earl’s assessment of the situation was correct, even if his grammar wasn’t. Unfortunately, Neva had no idea how to solve that particular mystery, and the only thing Skye could think to do involved a return trip to the Wolfe farm. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that. If the police would look into Logan’s possible meth involvement she wouldn’t have to.
Skye had been unable to get to the high school that afternoon, so she called Trixie and asked her to have a chat with Elvis. Trixie called her back about an hour after the last bell to report that her interview had been less than fruitful. Elvis had declared that he wouldn’t “rat on his friends.” Trixie said she didn’t think they’d get anyone to tell, and Skye had to agree.
While she gathered her things and walked out to the car, she considered her alternatives. It seemed that the murder investigation had hit a dead end. She needed to approach it from a new angle. Maybe Rod had been on to something when he suggested Logan’s murder was tied to Pig-In-A-Poke Land. She was convinced there was some connection between the development and the problems Scumble River was suddenly having. It was time to look into the amusement park issue.
Having made that decision, the next logical move was to talk to some of the business people who were in favor of the park. According to Simon’s list, Nate Turner was the most vocal supporter, but Simon had been unable to get a hold of Jess Larson, the liquor store owner, and Skye was curious about the newcomer’s position.
So, whom should she talk to first? Turner, who resembled Jabba the Hut and had the disposition of a grizzly bear with a toothache, or Jess, who was sort of cute and had flirted with her at the Pig-In-A-Poke brunch? Hard choice.
Skye turned toward the Brown Bag Liquor Store, located across Maryland Street from the motor court owned by Uncle Charlie. Both establishments appeared to be enjoying a brisk business, if their full parking lots were any indication.
Previously the Brown Bag had hunkered on the riverbank like a malevolent toadstool, but with the construction of the bar and banquet hall additions, the original building had lost its funguslike air.
Jess was checking people out at the cash register and didn’t look up as Skye entered and joined the line.
She was relieved when no one got in back of her. When it was her turn she said, “Hi. You probably don’t remember me. We met at the Pig-In-A-Poke brunch. I’m Skye Denison.”
Jess’s smile was slow and sexy. “Sure, I remember you. Your brother’s band is going to play for my grand opening.”
“Right.” Skye leaned a hip on the edge of the counter. “Looks like I just missed rush hour.”
“Yeah. The aerosol plant’s day s
hift gets out at four-thirty and some of the guys stop here on the way home for their nightly six-pack.”
“Why don’t they just buy a case? They’d save money.”
“My guess is that if they had twenty-four cans of beer at home, they’d drink that many.”
“Oh.” Skye’s stock of small talk was exhausted. She’d have to broach the actual subject she was interested in or take the chance that another rush of customers would come in and steal Jess’s attention. “So, how’s business?” Fayanne had always moaned she wasn’t making any money, but she seemed to do pretty well when all was said and done.
“Not bad.” Jess hitched up his belt. “Could be better.”
“A lot of people stock up at the Wal-Mart in Laurel.”
“So I noticed.” He gave Skye a crooked grin. “What I want to know is if Wal-Mart is lowering prices everyday, how come nothing is free yet?”
Skye laughed politely. She’d heard that joke before. “Where are you from?”
“Los Angeles.”
“What made you decide to move to small-town Illinois?”
“My father was military and we moved around a lot. No place was really home.” Jess’s expression was hard to read. “Cousin Fayanne’s letters made Scumble River seem like a cross between Mayberry RFD and Leave it to Beaver. It sounded …” He hesitated, obviously searching for the right word. “Friendly.”
“Is it living up to your expectations?”
“So far.”
“I was sure surprised at that brunch when Moss Gibson unveiled his Pig-In-A-Poke idea,” Skye said, edging her way to the heart of the matter. “Was it a surprise to you too, or were you already aware of it?”
“Moss Gibson had talked to me earlier.” Jess leaned back against the wall and rested the heel of one sneaker on the plaster. “He figured since I was new in town, I’d have less attachment to the land.”
“Oh. You own some of the land he wants to buy?”
“A few acres between Scumble River and County Line Roads.”
Skye wasn’t very good with directions, so it took her a minute to realize where he meant. “I think you share your eastern boundary with some of my family’s acres.”
He tipped his head in agreement.
“I imagine it’s crossed your mind that if the Pig-In-A-Poke amusement park goes in, it would be good for your business.”
Another small nod.
“So, I suppose you’ve agreed to sell your land to Moss Gibson?”
“Nope.”
“No? Why not?”
“I don’t need the money.”
“And?” Skye felt there was something she wasn’t getting.
He shoved off from the back wall and came out from around the counter. Skye hadn’t realized that he was only a couple of inches taller than she. It was nice to look a man in the eye without cricking her neck. Simon, Vince, Wally—all the men in her life were so tall.
Jess’s brown eyes stared into hers.
Skye felt her heart do the rumba and scolded herself. Not only was Jess a good five years younger than she was, she already had a boyfriend.
“And I moved to Scumble River, in part, because it wasn’t Generica.”
“Generica?”
“Generica is the interchangeable landscape of most American cities.” Skye’s expression must have broadcast her confusion, because he continued, “You know: strip malls, housing developments, and fast food restaurant chains, all in a row with no character and no imagination.”
“Ah. I see.” Skye finally figured out where Jess was coming from. “Even though you’re new to Scumble River you don’t want it to change.”
“Exactly. Growth is not always progress.”
Skye nodded. At one time she would have disagreed with him, but her opinion had changed in the last couple of years. There was a lot to be said for not trying to improve on a good thing.
It seemed to Skye that she could cross Jess Larson off as a suspect. He was on the same side of the amusement park issue as the late Logan Wolfe and didn’t seem to have any other connection to what was going on.
Which meant there was no getting out of it—she’d have to talk to Nate Turner. Since he seemed to be the most vocal supporter of the amusement park, there was a good chance he would know if someone on his side was gunning for Logan. There was also the strong possibility that Turner himself might have wanted Logan dead for standing in the way of Pig-In-A-Poke Land and the money it would bring to Turner’s company.
No matter how much she dreaded the thought, she had no choice. May trusted her to clear Vince, and Justin and the rest of the kids depended on her to stop the meth production, and there was a good chance the recent events were all connected in a way she just hadn’t figured out yet.
Skye turned west on Maryland, then took a right on Veterans’ Parkway, the first road after the bridge. Turner’s business was located on the northwest corner of Scumble River.
It was close to six o’clock when she turned into the gravel drive and drove under a wooden arch painted with the words: TURNER LANDSCAPING AND SNOW REMOVAL. She pulled up behind a bright green “dually” truck with four rear tires instead of two, which gave it the appearance of a squatting frog.
A neon orange bumper sticker read MY KID CAN BEAT UP YOUR HONOR STUDENT. Trust Nate Turner to embrace a grotesque parody of the original that proud parents used to tell the world that their child was an academic achiever. She had seen that truck several times since returning to Scumble River and always wondered who drove the butt-ugly vehicle.
The landscaping company headquarters was housed in a small trailer. Skye picked her way up the slippery metal steps—it had started sleeting in the short time it had taken her to drive over from the Brown Bag—and knocked on the door.
Turner’s rough voice called out for her to come in. He was seated at a battered desk and using two fingers to type on an old manual typewriter. He looked up as she entered and growled, “What do you want?”
“How do you know I didn’t come to hire you?”
“Because your family does all its own landscaping and snow removal. You have a goddam cousin for any job that comes up.”
“True.” Uninvited, Skye took a seat on a folding metal chair. “Do you have a minute?”
“Why not?” Turner yanked out a piece of paper from the typewriter’s platen, wadded it up, and tossed it in the general direction of the wastebasket. He missed, and it joined several other crumpled sheets on the floor. “What do you want?” As if it suddenly dawned on him, he demanded, “Is my boy okay?”
“Well.” Skye wasn’t sure how to answer that question. “As far as I know, he’s fine right now, but I am concerned about him and some other students.”
“Oh?” Turner’s wooden chair creaked as he pushed back from the desk. “Why?”
Skye held her breath. Would this sumo wrestler come after her if she suggested his son was taking drugs? She exhaled and went for it. “Nathan’s actions the night of the dance were so unlike him that I’m concerned he’s fallen into bad company and might be taking methamphetamine.” She braced herself for a blow and was surprised when the big man sagged back in his scat.
He mumbled, “Me too.”
“You’ve noticed a change in his behavior?”
Turner nodded. “He’s always been a good kid. Captain of the basketball and baseball teams, popular with the girls, straight Cs. But lately he doesn’t sleep—I got up the other night and he was pacing around the downstairs like a cat looking for a mouse. And he’s real emotional—he cried when we ran out of chocolate ice cream. His grades have slipped and I’m surprised he hasn’t gotten kicked off the basketball team. Coach Cramer has been real tolerant and concerned. He calls all the time to talk to Nathan.”
Skye ran through the list of behavior Turner had described. Taking into account her previous knowledge of meth’s short-term effects and what she had read last night in the papers Justin had printed for her off the Internet, Nathan’s use of the drug appea
red to be a slam-dunk certainty.
Despite the fact that Turner was a jerk in most aspects of his life, in this instance Skye felt sorry for him. He seemed to genuinely love his son and want to do what was best for him. What she was about to say would be very painful. Many parents would ignore her advice, but regardless of the obnoxious persona Turner usually showed the world, Skye thought he might listen to her and get his son the help he needed.
“Mr. Turner, it sounds to me from the behavior you’ve described, and what I’ve observed, that Nathan is probably taking meth. It’s come to my attention that there’s recently been an increased availability and use of the drug in this area. Chief Boyd is aware of the situation and is looking into it. Which means it’s important for you to get Nathan into a treatment program ASAP—both for his health and for his future, so he doesn’t end up with a police record.”
Skye waited for the man’s reaction—gauging the distance between her and the door. She no longer believed Turner was a bodily threat to her, but better safe than sorry.
Turner moaned, his head sinking into his chest. He reminded Skye of a silverback gorilla who had been shot and couldn’t understand what was causing his pain.
“How? I mean where?” Turner stood up and moved toward Skye. “What do I do?”
Skye stood, too. She took a notepad from the desk, wrote a few lines, and handed the paper to him. “This is the name of a hospital in Chicago that specializes in this problem. Ask for the drug treatment unit and make an appointment. They’ll probably agree to see you immediately. Put Nathan in the car and drive him there. Don’t let his pleading and promises sway you. Check him in and do what the doctors tell you.”
Turner took a deep breath and clutched the sheet of paper to his chest. “I really appreciate your helping Nathan like this. If there’s anything I can ever do for you, you let me know.”
Skye hated to bother him at a time like this, but she needed answers. “Could I ask you a couple of questions that may help me figure out who is supplying the kids with meth?”
Murder of a Pink Elephant Page 19