Murder of a Pink Elephant

by Denise Swanson

  The thought of the noise and the smoke and facing Wally and Darleen again were too much. “No.”

  May nodded. “Good. You need to rest.”

  “But I am coming to Grandma’s birthday party afterwards. What time do you think it will be?”

  “The debate is supposed to last an hour, and then there’ll be questions, so we’re all meeting at the house at eight.”

  “That’s pretty late,” Skye teased.

  “Well, a lot of the family wanted to attend the debate and the others wanted to have Grandma’s birthday party on her actual birth date, so this was the compromise.”

  “Okay. I’ll be at your house at eight.”

  “Then I’ll get going, if you’re sure you’re all right?”

  “Go.” Skye looked at Simon. “You, too. I want to know how the debate goes.”

  Simon stood and kissed her cheek. “I’ll pick you up and drive you to your parents’ for the party.”

  “Thanks. See you then.”

  Once they were all gone, Skye sank back on the couch. Bingo had been hiding while May was there, but he came out and stretched beside her. It was a relief to be alone for a while. Now she could think.

  One mystery was solved. Logan had been the one “cooking” the meth, and his lab was no doubt responsible for the increased use of the drug in and around Scumble River. Now she just had to figure out who had killed him. Who had the most to gain from his death? Not the band members. Without Logan, they were no closer to their big break than if he were alive and auditioning as a solo act, so what would be the point of murdering him?

  How about Heather or Ivy? Neither woman seemed that broken up over the singer’s death. Granted, with Logan gone, Heather got to sing with the band, but was that really enough to kill for? Small-town garage bands were a dime a dozen.

  And Ivy had cleared herself with her last words. She wanted Logan there to run the meth lab and to get his big break and share the success with her.

  Who did that leave? Skye thought over what she had learned. Nate Turner had told her that Moss Gibson needed the Wolfe land in order to build Pig-In-A-Poke. Trixie had confirmed that she and Owen would sell to Gibson, and he already had the third piece, which meant only the Wolfes stood in his way.

  But then why didn’t he kill Ivy too? He couldn’t have counted on her having a fatal accident. Wait a minute—the gunshot just before the explosion. Skye sat up abruptly, making her head spin, but she kept a firm grasp on what she had been thinking. Maybe Moss Gibson hadn’t relied on an accident. Maybe he had just tried to make it look like one. The killer had to be Moss Gibson. None of the other suspects wanted both Logan and Ivy dead.

  Wally needed to know about the gunshot, but since at this moment he was tied up with the mayoral debate, she’d wait and call him in the morning. Informing Wally could wait twelve hours, but making sure Simon ordered an autopsy on Ivy Wolfe couldn’t. Skye would talk to him as soon as he picked her up for the birthday party.

  At seven Skye started to get ready. Her movements were stiff and her head ached. She had decided to take the pain medication only at bedtime because it made her too groggy otherwise. It took her several minutes to find a shower cap—the doctor had told her she couldn’t get the wound wet—but she persisted, and was rewarded with a refreshing shower.

  Makeup and an attractive outfit did wonders for both Skye’s appearance and her morale. She was waiting in the foyer when Simon rang her doorbell, and they were at her parents’ house in less than five minutes. On the way over she had told him about the need for Ivy to be autopsied and he’d called the medical examiner on his cell phone.

  She and Simon were among the last to arrive, everyone having come directly from the mayoral debate. As they walked in the back door, they greeted the women in the kitchen, and then Simon went to sit with Jed and the other males in the living room. These parties were strictly segregated by sex. The only ones allowed to intermingle were the children or the women serving the food.

  After Simon was gone, Skye asked, “Is there anything I can help with?”

  May looked around. The birthday cake was on the counter surrounded by piles of dessert plates, napkins, and forks. The coffee urn was percolating and cups, spoons, creamer, and sugar were set out near it. “No, I think we’re all ready.”

  “Did Maggie make the cake, Mom?” May’s friend and exercise buddy was well known in the area for making all the special occasion cakes. Her creations were both beautiful and delicious.

  May nodded.

  There was a brief flourish as Cora Denison arrived and everyone wished her a happy birthday. She was a big woman, five foot ten and solidly built. At eighty-four, she had buried a husband, two children, and a grandson but was not ready to lie down and die herself. She was famous for her dinner rolls and her dry sense of humor.

  As she enfolded Skye in a hug she said, “I hear you’ve been getting into some serious scrapes the past couple of days.”

  Skye shrugged, not knowing exactly what her grandmother was getting at.

  “Your mom tells me it’s because you’re trying to figure out who killed that Wolfe boy and why there are so many drugs around lately.”

  “Lots of kids have gotten hurt and the police don’t seem able to do anything.”

  Cora nodded. “I can see you’ve got Grandpa Denison’s strong streak of justice running through you. It obliges you to get involved, even when you could be harmed yourself.”

  “I guess that’s true. I tell myself that this time I’m not going to get mixed up in the situation, but I always end up in the middle of things.” Skye was surprised to hear her grandmother refer to her grandfather. No one talked about him or how he had died. In fact, Skye knew nothing about his death except that he had died young.

  Cora touched Skye’s bandaged forehead lightly. “Just remember: eagles may soar, but weasels don’t get sucked into jet engines.” Cora turned to talk to another well-wisher.

  Skye stood there trying to puzzle out her grandmother’s message. Cora’s bits of advice were often cryptic.

  After “Happy Birthday” was sung, the candles blown out, pictures taken, and the cake served, Skye sat by her mother and asked, “So, how did the mayoral debate go?”

  “It was disgraceful. Ace Cramer played dirty pool.” May tsked.

  “What did he do?”

  “He made poor Wally look like a fool.”

  “Really?” Skye took a sip of coffee. “How?”

  “Well, for the most part they talked about the normal issues like replacing the water treatment plant, building new sidewalks, and improving parking downtown.”

  “Those sound like fair issues for a debate.” Skye savored a bite of frosting.

  “They were, but then someone from the audience brought up how you keep solving Wally’s major crimes for him and asked if he were elected mayor, would you be running the town for him, too?”

  “Shit!”

  “Watch your tongue.” May did not abide cursing. “Anyway, Cramer went after Wally on that issue like a squirrel with a new ear of corn.”

  “How do you think it ended?”

  May shook her head. “Cramer would win if the election were tonight.”

  “Sh—” Skye glanced at her mother’s censorious expression and ended, “—oot.”

  Skye got up and put her dish, cup, and silverware by the sink, then went and sat near her grandmother.

  They talked about what had been going on the past couple of weeks; then Cora said, “The Wolfe family never had any luck.”

  “How’s that?” Skye loved hearing the old stories. Maybe she’d write a history of Scumble River someday.

  “Logan’s grandfather was a rich man. Back in the forties, he owned the big dance hall and a factory that manufactured wooden window shades. But during the war, rumor got around town that he was a German collaborator, and the dance hall burnt to the ground. Due to the mysterious circumstances, his insurance company refused to pay.”

  “But he st
ill had the factory?” Skye asked.

  “Orders dried up, and he couldn’t get material or labor. His product wasn’t essential to the war effort, so eventually he had to shut it down.”

  “Was he a collaborator?”

  “I doubt it.” Cora shook her head. “He went from being one of the wealthiest men in Scumble River to barely eking out a living on forty acres of farmland.”

  “That had to be rough.”

  “It was harder on his wife. She committed suicide shortly afterwards.” Cora took a sip of her coffee. “But much later on he did remarry.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Not so’s you’d notice.” Cora put her cup down. “His new wife was more than twenty years younger and she immediately had two babies—a boy and then a girl. She died giving birth to the girl.”

  “Oh, my. Poor Mr. Wolfe.”

  “Poor babies,” Cora corrected.

  “The boy, who was Logan’s father, made out all right. But Wolfe couldn’t bear to see the girl, so he sent her over to Clay City to his wife’s sister to raise.”

  Skye was fascinated by this modern-day tale of Job. “What happened to that generation?”

  “Wolfe left everything to Logan’s father, not that there was much, just the land mostly. But Logan’s dad was killed in a farming accident when Logan was five or six.”

  “Jiminy Cricket.” Skye couldn’t believe how cursed this family was. “What happened then?”

  “Logan’s mother ran off—she couldn’t face trying to farm and raise the boy on her own—so he was sent to live with his aunt and her family.”

  “The aunt who was disinherited?” Skye asked. “That must have been fun.”

  “I think she treated him okay, and he and his cousin seemed to be pretty close. Logan and Ivy socialized with him and his wife quite a bit.” Cora got up. “In fact, I was surprised to hear that Ace went through with the mayoral debate today. I would think he’d be too upset after what happened to Ivy last night.”

  It took Skye a moment, but she finally processed what her grandmother had said. “Do you mean Ace Cramer was Logan Wolfe’s cousin?”

  “Yep. And since they were both only children, a few years apart in age and raised together, they were really more like brothers. Before Logan grew his hair so long and Ace got a buzz cut, you could really see the family resemblance.” Cora moved toward the sink. “I even heard a while back that Logan had signed over half the farm to Ace.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Black Friday

  Ace Cramer was Logan’s cousin and owned half the Wolfe farm. Skye paced back and forth in her bedroom going over the facts. Could she be right? Could Ace be the killer?

  He certainly had opportunity. Ace had been at the dance, and Skye couldn’t remember seeing him for quite a while after the fire alarm had sounded. He hadn’t been in the parking lot, and he turned up at the junior high at the same time Skye arrived, which was odd since she had been among the last to get there because of her search for Frannie.

  As to means, Ace knew his way around the school, especially the gym, and he could have stored the cans of starter fluid in his office until he needed them. In fact, come to think of it, Skye remembered that he had remained in his office watching the whole time the boys were going in and out to get the punch ingredients prior to the dance. He had never allowed the students to be in his office alone.

  Now that Grandma Denison had supplied the motive, it all fell into place. Ace was rabidly in favor of the amusement park development. Finally Skye knew why. He owned the vital piece of land Moss Gibson needed. Gibson had probably offered him a huge sum to sell, maybe even a percentage of the amusement park’s profits—and the only people standing in Ace’s way were his own cousin and that cousin’s wife.

  The single piece that she wasn’t sure of was the meth lab. Was Ace a part of that, too? As a teacher, he was in a perfect position to sell the stuff to students. But if they sold the farm to Gibson for Pig-In-A-Poke Land, they’d have to discontinue making the drug. Is that what Ace wanted—to go legit?

  Skye stopped pacing and made a decision. Even if she was wrong, she had to tell Wally her theory. Thank goodness she hadn’t called him earlier and accused Moss Gibson. She snatched up the receiver and dialed before she could change her mind.

  Both the dispatcher and the officer on duty were part-timers, not exactly the ideal people to share her ideas with. She left Wally a message but was afraid the story was so convoluted he might not understand. Next, she tried his home phone—but no luck there either. When the answering machine picked up, she left an urgent message for him to call her as she had important information regarding Ace Cramer, the murder, and the amusement park development.

  Should she drive over to Wally’s house? Maybe he was home but just not answering the phone. It was after midnight. Wally would think she had flipped out if she showed up on his doorstep now and tried to explain her concern.

  She took a deep breath and considered her options. She could try to track Wally down, or she could talk to him in the morning. Did the situation warrant a midnight pursuit of the police chief, especially considering the very real possibility that she would find him in bed with Darleen? Skye shuddered at the picture and decided to wait until morning. After all, it wasn’t as if Ace were about to kill again.

  Tomorrow would be soon enough. She would phone Wally from school and ask him to come over and talk to her. If he refused, she’d go to the police station on her lunch break. There really was no need to run around like a chicken with its head cut off. Wally would be much more likely to listen to her if she presented her case coolly and calmly. Besides, she’d left several messages; maybe he’d return her calls and the issue would be resolved.

  Skye slept badly and was up early. Wally had not returned her calls. On the bright side, except for a few bruises and a headache, she felt fine. She had been extremely lucky to survive both the auto accident and the explosion with such minor injuries.

  There were a couple of cars in the school parking lot when Skye arrived at seven, but most teachers wouldn’t appear for another half hour. Her plan was to give Wally time to get to the police station—he was on the seven-to-three shift—have a cup of coffee, and listen to his messages. At which point, he should call her. If he didn’t get in touch by seven-thirty, she’d phone him.

  This time she wouldn’t rush in and do something foolish. Once she convinced Wally of Ace’s guilt, she’d sit back and let the police handle the matter. No way would Wally, the newspaper, or even Darleen be able to blame her for how this situation turned out.

  Skye signed in at the counter, grabbed the messages from her box, and headed down the hall. It would be a busy day. After she solved the murder for Wally, she had three meetings to attend and a psychological evaluation to complete.

  Her phone was ringing as she let herself into her office. Thinking it might be Wally, she snatched up the receiver. A vaguely familiar voice said, “This is Cal. Mr. Knapik wants you to meet him in the gym immediately,” then hung up.

  Why was the custodian calling with a message from Homer? And why did the principal want her to meet him in the gym, which was supposed to be off-limits while the construction crew was working there? Skye shrugged. This wasn’t the goofiest order he had ever given her. Not by far. She dropped her purse and tote bag on her desk and went to meet her boss.

  It was creepy entering the darkened gymnasium with its smoky odor and singed walls. Scaffolding and other building materials were jumbled in with the abandoned dance decorations. In the dim light the combination looked surreal.

  Skye was glad she hadn’t taken off her coat. There was no heat or electricity in this area while construction was underway.

  She called out, “Homer, where are you?”

  “Over here.” A male voice echoed through the cavernous room.

  “Where?” Skye walked toward the sound.

  Suddenly, Ace Cramer stepped in front of her, grabbed her by the arm, and dragged her acr
oss the gym and into his office. Skye screamed and struggled to break his hold.

  He flung her into a chair and said, “No one can hear you.”

  He was right. Since the fire, no one had any reason to be in this wing of the building. She eyed him. He obviously knew that she knew he was the killer, but how had he found out?

  As if reading her mind Ace said, “Darleen intercepted your message to the chief and called me. No one will be coming to your rescue.”

  “Darleen was in on the murders with you?” Skye didn’t like the woman, but …

  “No, you silly cow. She thinks your theory that I’m the killer is stupid, but she was afraid you’d screw up the Pig-In-A-Poke deal, so she called to let me know what you were up to.” Ace leaned against the desk and folded his arms. “Darleen has an agreement with Moss Gibson. In exchange for keeping him informed about what Wally and the other antidevelopment people are up to, he pays the lease on her new car.”

  “Oh.” Skye measured the distance between the door and Ace. Could she make it out before he grabbed her? “But wouldn’t helping you throw the election for Wally? I thought she wanted to be Mrs. Mayor.”

  “She realized a while ago that I was going to win and decided to give up gambling on being Mrs. Mayor and go with the sure thing, Pig-In-A-Poke. Gibson promised her one of the concessions in exchange for sabotaging Wally’s campaign and going in with us.”

  “So, Gibson had it all figured out.” Skye tensed to make a run for it.

  “All except for you.” Ace paced in front of her, his face growing redder by the second. “I thought for sure you’d back off after I ran you off the road, but you just couldn’t leave it alone, could you?”

  Skye shrugged, not sure if he meant her activities surrounding the murder or against the amusement park development.

  “Gibson said that if one more thing got in his way, he’d move the park to another town.” Ace ran his fingers through his hair. “I had to make sure that didn’t happen.”

  “So you killed your cousin?”

  “It wasn’t my fault.” Ace bounded off the desk, grabbed Skye by the arms, and dragged her up from the chair and through the office door. “Logan wouldn’t listen to reason.”