Murder of a Pink Elephant

by Denise Swanson

  The other teenagers were even less communicative. Those who knew weren’t talking, and those who didn’t know wanted to keep it that way. Skye could empathize. There was a sense of dread hanging over the school—almost as if the jury was out and everyone was waiting for a verdict.

  When she walked outside after school that afternoon, her father was sitting at the curb in his old blue pickup, his brown lab, Chocolate, riding shotgun.

  “Hi,” Skye said as she hopped into the cab, nudging the dog toward the center of the seat. Chocolate woofed but allowed himself to be moved. She scratched behind his ears, and with an elaborate doggy yawn, he stretched out between her and Jed.

  “Your ma and I picked up the Bel Air from the garage and brought it to your place,” Jed said, putting the truck in gear and driving toward the exit. “Needs a new seatbelt; otherwise it’s fine.”

  “Thanks. How long will it take to get the new belt?”

  “Couple weeks.”

  “I probably shouldn’t drive it without one, right?”

  Jed shrugged.

  Skye thought about that and told herself she’d only drive it around town, not on the highway. Besides, she rarely got above thirty-five miles an hour in Scumble River.

  Jed turned into her driveway and stopped at the front door.

  Skye gave Chocolate one last pat and jumped out of the cab. “Thanks, Dad. Let me know how much I owe you for the new seatbelt.” AAA had covered the towing charge. “See you tomorrow for Grandma’s birthday party.” Jed’s mother, Cora Denison, was turning eighty-four the next day, and the family was getting together for cake and ice cream after the mayoral debate.

  Jed nodded, waved, and drove away.

  Bingo greeted Skye as she walked into her cottage. She fed him, gave him fresh water, and cleaned his litter box, then went to change her clothes. She’d had all day to figure out what she would do next, and the only thing she had come up with was to go and see Ivy Wolfe again. Clearly, Wally didn’t intend to do anything more about the information regarding the Wolfes’ possible drug connection. Skye was pretty sure that the answers to at least some of her questions were out at the Wolfe farm.

  Earlier that afternoon, Skye had checked with Bunny and found out Ivy was off work on Tuesdays. Then she had phoned Vince and asked him to call an emergency Pink Elephant meeting for six o’clock so that Rod would be occupied. If things went as planned, Ivy would be home and alone.

  The minutes ticked by slowly. Skye ate supper and tried to watch TV. Impatiently, she flicked off the set and glanced at her watch—another half an hour before she could leave for Ivy’s.

  She paced. Who had killed Logan and why? Was it a band member who was jealous of Logan’s opportunity for stardom? Was it Heather or Logan’s wife, upset over his straying affections? Or was it something to do with selling methamphetamine? If it were the meth, was he killed because he was cheating his partners or because he had sold drugs to the wrong parent’s child?

  At precisely six o’clock, Skye turned into the Wolfes’ driveway. She had forgotten how dark and unnerving the canopy of trees made the lane leading up to the house. It seemed to go on forever.

  As she parked the Bel Air, Skye looked around for the dog. She had come prepared this time, having picked up a box of dog biscuits at the grocery store on the way over. She grabbed a handful, ready to use them to barter her safe passage from the car to the porch.

  Skye got out and made her way to the front door. She knocked, waited a few minutes, and knocked again. The lights were on and a radio blared rock and roll, giving every indication that someone was home. Was Ivy just not answering her door?

  After a moment Skye thought she heard footsteps behind her. She whirled around but saw nothing. Could it be the dog or were other animals roaming around?

  A minute or so later the door was opened, and Ivy stood with a bath towel wrapped around her head, panting. “Sorry, I was washing my hair.”

  Skye made an apologetic face. “Oh, I’m sorry for disturbing you. Do you have a second?”

  “Just. I’m getting ready to go out.”

  “It won’t take long.”

  Ivy gestured Skye inside. “What do you want?”

  Skye sat on the edge of a chair. “Uh, well, I talked to the people you and Rod suggested.” It was hard to start by asking if the woman’s dead husband had made dope for a living.

  “And?” Ivy sprawled on the couch, looking totally apathetic.

  “Seems that your property and the Fraynes’ farm are the key pieces in Moss Gibson’s development.”

  “Then he’s not going to be able to build. I told you, I’m against that stupid amusement park.”

  “The Fraynes have agreed to sell, so that would mean you’re the only one in his way.”

  “And you think he killed Logan?”

  “Could be.” Skye saw an opening. “Unless Logan was involved in something else dangerous. Something that someone might want to kill him over.”

  Ivy’s eyes flickered, then she jumped to her feet and moved toward the door. “Nothing I know of. Look, sorry to throw you out, but I have to leave in a few minutes and I need to finish getting dressed.”

  Skye couldn’t come up with any way to get Ivy to admit Logan was a meth “cooker” so she allowed herself to be ushered out of the house.

  Back in the Bel Air, she thought hard. If Ivy were leaving soon, that would be the perfect time to look around. Skye put the car in gear and drove back down the lane. She had noticed a small turnout about a quarter mile down the road. She parked there, snatched the box of dog biscuits, and headed back to the Wolfe farm on foot.

  She stuck to the side of the road, and planned to duck behind the trees if she met Ivy’s car coming down the lane. It was even creepier walking down the shrouded path and she was relieved to arrive back at the clearing.

  The lights in the house were off and it looked unoccupied. Ivy must have already left. This was Skye’s chance to take a good look at the shed and garage. She had her Swiss Army Knife in the pocket of her jeans and thought she could probably pick the cheap button lock on the shed’s small door.

  Skye approached the shed cautiously, keeping an eye out for the dog. As she neared the building, she paused and sniffed. What was that sickeningly sweet smell? She edged around the corner. The overhead door was up and Ivy was standing behind a table loaded with a mixture of kitchen utensils and science lab equipment.

  The scene was exactly as the Internet article had described it. This was a meth lab, and Ivy was the “cooker.” Had she always been, or had she taken over when her husband died? Did she kill Logan to get the business? There was no time to figure that out. Skye needed to get back to her car and go for the police.

  She flattened herself against the side of the building and poked her head around, prepared to pull back at any indication that she’d been seen. As soon as Ivy seemed distracted, Skye would make her getaway.

  She watched as Ivy picked up a heavy glass beaker and placed it on a hot plate, then paused and consulted a well-thumbed spiral-bound notebook. Muttering to herself, she reached for a stack of coffee filters, “Logan, why’d you go and get yourself killed? I can’t run this lab on my own.” Empty blister packs of cold medicines were scattered along the table’s surface.

  Skye started to inch away from the shed, hoping Ivy was too busy to notice any noise she might make during her retreat. A sound behind her made her freeze. She scanned the area but saw nothing. Had it been the dog? After waiting a few seconds, she continued to ease away from the building and toward the lane.

  She was nearly all the way to the driveway when she heard a shot. Immediately, she dropped to the ground, rolled under some bushes, and covered her head with her arms. She waited, tensed for the next shot. Nothing happened. She had finally convinced herself that she hadn’t really heard anything and had just lifted her head to look around, when blue jean-clad legs ran past her heading for the road.

  Ivy had been wearing black jeans. Someone el
se was running around the Wolfe farm. Should she go see if Ivy was okay, should she run like heck back to her car, or should she try to get in the house and call the police?

  Before she could decide, she heard a whoosh, saw a blinding flash, and felt a wave of heat roll over her. She curled into a ball and started to pray, but the next explosion was even more powerful. Pieces of burning material began to rain down on her, something hit her head, and everything went black.

  CHAPTER 24

  Born to Run

  Skye spent all night Wednesday and most of Thursday at the Laurel Hospital. She kept telling everyone she was fine, but no one believed her. Granted, when she had first opened her eyes and seen the firefighter she hadn’t been able to tell him her name or where she was or what day it was. But that information had all come back to her in a minute or two, or at least most of it had.

  The scariest part had been seeing everyone dressed in hazardous material suits and wearing respirators. The EMTs had put her in an ambulance and brought her to the hospital despite her protests. They kept talking about head injuries—the blood flowing down the right side of her face was a bit disturbing—and chemically-induced pneumonia from the contaminated air.

  It must have been a slow night at the emergency room because the doctors and nurses had swarmed over her as if she were the last ticket to a sold-out rock concert. After what seemed like forever, they finally put her in a room and told her to rest. Which she would have been perfectly willing to do, if they’d just stopped waking her up every hour to check on her.

  Early Thursday morning, when the doctor lifted his ban on visitors, Wally was the first through her door. Marching in, he stood to one side, towering over her, his eyes raking her from head to toe. Suddenly Skye was aware that she had not been allowed to shower, wash her hair, or put on makeup. She didn’t so much look like something the cat had dragged in, but more like something the cat had barfed up.

  There was a fleeting expression of concern when Wally’s gaze reached the huge bandage taped to her forehead, but his frown quickly returned, and he snarled, “What in the hell were you doing at the Wolfes’? And how did you get there? I thought your car was in the garage.”

  That explained why Quirk hadn’t been tailing her. “Dad got it out for me.” She’d have to ask Jed to pick the Bel Air up before the police discovered its present location. It would be hard to explain why she had parked there.

  “Driving without seatbelts. I’ll add that to your list of violations.”

  “Fine.” Skye refused to be bullied. “I told you I thought Logan was running a meth lab, and you said that you couldn’t get a search warrant, so I went out to see if Ivy would tell me anything.”

  “And did she?”

  “No.”

  “So why didn’t you leave?”

  “I did.” Skye hedged. “But I came back.”

  “Why?”

  Skye debated with herself, then prevaricated. “I forgot to ask something, but Ivy wasn’t in the house so I looked around. I thought maybe she was in one of the outbuildings. And she was, in the machine shed, cooking up a batch of methamphetamine. I was sure that shed was the meth lab, and I was right.”

  “So, we can add interfering with a police investigation and trespassing to your record? What other crimes have you committed? Picked any locks, broken into any buildings?”

  “No and no. I wasn’t trespassing either. Ivy never said I wasn’t welcome on her property.” Skye had had enough of Wally’s rotten attitude. She was the one who had been right. “And tell me exactly how I was interfering with a police investigation. It’s not like I locked Quirk up somewhere or raced by him as he was approaching the Wolfe property. You told me yourself you couldn’t get a search warrant.”

  “Damn!” Wally thundered. “You’re poking your nose into meth labs and drug dealers. Do you have any idea how dangerous these people are?”

  “Of course I do. I watch the news and read the papers. But these people have come into the schools and abused my hometown. This is no longer some story on a TV screen. The kids who are being harmed are the ones who trust you and me to protect them, to keep them safe until they’re old enough to make good choices.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that the police might be dealing with this matter?” It was clear that Wally’s temper was dangerously close to igniting like a bottle rocket.

  Skye didn’t care. She’d had enough of him and his feelings. So he was turning forty; it was time for him to get over it. “I gave you every bit of information I had, and I didn’t see you making any progress with traditional police methods. Either there’s a lack of ingenuity on your part, or you didn’t think that what I was telling you was important enough to investigate. This is my fault in what way?”

  “Just because you didn’t see any progress doesn’t mean none was being made.” Wally scowled. “We do work on cases without telling you our every move.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Skye was beyond displeased with Wally. Either running for mayor or his ex-wife’s return to his life had changed him and not for the better. He seemed to be becoming more rigid and narrow-minded every time she spoke to him. “Have you made any progress?”

  “What have you accomplished?”

  “How am I supposed to know? No one will tell me anything,” Skye fumed. “What exactly happened? Is Ivy okay? What blew up? The meth lab?”

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss that right now.” Wally’s voice was as chilly as his eyes.

  The nurse chose that moment to chase Wally out of Skye’s room and insist that she rest. After that Skye was only allowed one visitor an hour and then only for fifteen minutes.

  May claimed the next visit; it took the full quarter hour to calm her down. She was frantic with worry, but after seeing and talking to Skye, she seemed to feel a little better. Jed was mutely concerned, and Uncle Charlie was frenzied. He spent his time ranting about the drug users in Scumble River and vowing to stop them. None of them would tell her anything specific about what had happened at the Wolfe farm. Either they didn’t know or Wally had sworn them to secrecy.

  Simon finally got in to see her at eleven. He brought a bouquet of yellow roses, a box of chocolates, and the newest mystery by Carolyn G. Hart.

  After a sweet kiss, he sat by Skye’s bedside and took her hand. “Bunny sends her love, but I talked her out of coming over.”

  “Thanks. With all these people waiting to see me, I feel like I’m terminal and no one will tell me.”

  “Everyone’s just concerned.” Simon squeezed her fingers. “How do you feel?”

  “A little sore, but otherwise fine.” Skye braced herself for the lecture she expected from Simon.

  But he only said, “I guess I’d better buy you a helmet and a Kevlar vest for your birthday this year. It seems you’re destined to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Maybe full body armor would be better.” Skye snickered. “Do you know what hit me?”

  “A piece of the machine shed sliced into your forehead. You’ll probably have a scar, but it’s right at the hairline so it shouldn’t show.”

  Skye fingered the bandage. “Why was the doctor so worried?”

  “There were dangerous chemicals in the air and head injuries are tricky. Since you lost both memory and consciousness, they had to be careful.” Simon squeezed her hand. “Do you have any residual memory loss?”

  “No. I was just dazed at first. I remembered everything after a couple of minutes. I remember seeing Ivy in the meth lab, the explosion, and getting hit in the head.”

  “That’s a good sign.”

  “The meth lab blew up, right? Did Ivy get hurt?” She’d been asking this question since she’d come to back on the farm, but no one had answered her.

  Simon pursed his lips, a debate obviously going on in his mind. After a minute, he said, “Ivy’s dead. She was caught in the heart of the explosion.”

  Skye swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. There would be no second chance
for Ivy. “What a horrible accident,” Skye murmured, then paused. Or was it? Another thought was teasing Skye. There was something else she remembered, but just as it was about to surface, the nurse stepped in and told Simon his time was up.

  Next on the visiting list were Vince, Trixie, Frannie, and Justin. The teens were planning on writing a story for the newspaper. Skye only hoped that Trixie would edit it carefully.

  At four, the doctor appeared and told Skye she could go home. All the test results indicated that she was okay. He wanted to see her in a week to remove the stitches. She was to come back immediately if she experienced any blurred vision or memory loss.

  Simon was waiting to drive her. “Did Dad get my car?” Skye asked.

  “Yes. He and your mom dropped it back at your cottage.”

  “I’m surprised they weren’t here to pick me up.”

  Simon reached over and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. “I won the coin toss.”

  “Really?”

  “No. But May seemed to understand I needed to be the one to get you. However, she is waiting at your cottage.”

  “Great. She’ll probably want me to move back home so she can take care of me.” Skye leaned her back against the headrest. The pain pills made her sleepy.

  The next thing she knew, they were pulling into her driveway. Simon took her elbow and guided her up the front steps and inside.

  May was dozing in the recliner, but her eyes flew open when Skye stepped into the great room, and she shot out of the chair. “How are you feeling?”

  “A little groggy, but okay.”

  “I made you some homemade chicken noodle soup and chocolate cupcakes.”

  Skye smiled. “Sounds great. I’m starved. Hospital food is awful.” Whenever she had been sick as a child, May had always made her soup and cupcakes.

  While Skye ate, the three of them talked about Scumble River’s reaction to the meth lab explosion.

  When Skye finished, May looked at her watch and said, “The mayoral debate is in half an hour. Are you going?”