Murder of a Pink Elephant Read online

  “It’s no mystery why the first Scumble River novel was nominated for the prestigious Agatha Award. Denise Swanson knows small-town America, its secrets and its self-delusions, and she writes as if she might have been hiding behind a tree when some of the bodies were being buried. A delightful new series.”

  —Margaret Maron

  Praise for Denise Swanson

  Her “SCUMBLE RIVER MYSTERIES ARE MARVELOUS.”

  —Jerrilyn Farmer

  Murder of a Barbie and Ken

  “I was thoroughly entertained by the antics of Skye Denison and company and plan to add the Scumble River Mysteries to my ‘must read’ list.”

  —Paula Myers, Old Book Barn Gazette

  “As with any good mystery, the action starts early and doesn’t let up. Swanson deftly blends Skye’s compelling personal issues with town gossip and murder clues. Cleverly plotted, subtle and stylish, this one ends with a brilliant bang.”

  —Romantic Times (Top Pick)

  “The book is well-written, it is humorous in a subtle and self-deprecating way (no slapstick here), and it is eminently readable. I predict you will love a visit to Scumble River.”

  —Mystery News

  Murder of a Snake in the Grass

  “Swanson’s Skye Denison, amateur sleuth, is an endearing and realistic character…. A fast-paced, enjoyable read.”

  —The Herald News

  “This book is delightful…. The characters are human and generous and worth following through the series.”

  —Mysterious Women

  “A well-written, nonviolent, enjoyable story that captures the essence of the small Midwestern town.”

  —Mystery News

  Murder of a Sleeping Beauty

  “A smooth, pleasant, and ultimately satisfying book.”

  —Chicago Tribune

  “Another cunning, light-hearted story from Swanson. The book keeps pace, reminding us all over again why we have come to know and love that sly, witty Skye—the paradigmatic sleuth.”

  —The Sunday Journal (Kankakee, IL)

  “Another delightful and intriguing escapade … do yourself a favor and buy it.”

  —Mystery News

  Murder of a Sweet Old Lady

  “Superbly written with emotion and everything a good mystery needs…. Shame on you if you miss anything by Denise Swanson.”

  —The Bookshelf

  “Swanson’s writing is fresh and snappy…. Skye Denison [is] one of the most likable protagonists in softer-boiled mystery fiction today. Murder of a Sweet Old Lady is more fun than the Whirl-A-Gig at the County Fair and tastier than a corndog.”

  —The Charlotte Austin Review

  Murder of a Small-Town Honey

  “A delightful mystery that bounces along with gently wry humor and jaunty twists and turns.”

  —Earlene Fowler, Edgar Award-winning author

  “A light-hearted, entertaining mystery.”

  —Fort Lauderdale Sun-Sentinel

  “A charming, insightful debut mystery.”

  —Carolyn Hart

  “A likable new heroine reminiscent of some of our favorite childhood detectives—with a little bit of an edge…. A fresh, delightful and enjoyable first mystery.”

  —The Charlotte Austin Review

  “Skye is smart, feisty, quick to action and altogether lovable.”

  —I Love a Mystery

  “A charming debut novel that rings with humor, buzzes with suspense, and engages with each page turned…. An impressive first novel worthy of praise.”

  —The Daily Journal (Kankakee, IL)

  Other Scumble River Mysteries

  Murder of a Barbie and Ken

  Murder of a Snake in the Grass

  Murder of a Sleeping Beauty

  Murder of a Sweet Old Lady

  Murder of a Small-Town Honey

  Murder of a Pink Elephant

  Murder of a

  Pink Elephant

  A Scumble River Mystery

  D

  ENISE

  S

  WANSON

  SIGNET

  Published by New American Library, a division of

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,

  New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto,

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  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  First published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  First Printing, July 2004

  10 9 8 7

  Copyright © Denise Swanson Stybr, 2004

  All rights reserved

  ISBN: 978-1-101-56754-8

  REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

  Printed in the United States of America

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  To Joan, George, Beth, Tom, Kathy, Kate, and Emily Stybr; and Lynn, Ralph, Allison, and Adam Vanderhyden. Thanks for allowing me to become a part of your family.

  In loving memory of Lisa Stybr (1959–1984).

  Our time together was too short.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1 Roll Over, Beethoven

  Chapter 2 Chain of Fools

  Chapter 3 Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?

  Chapter 4 Break It to Me Gently

  Chapter 5 What’s Love Got to Do with It?

  Chapter 6 Great Balls of Fire

  Chapter 7 Dark Side of the Moon

  Chapter 8 Whole Lot of Shakin’ Goin’ On

  Chapter
9 Beast of Burden

  Chapter 10 Blue Monday

  Chapter 11 Mama Said

  Chapter 12 Material Girl

  Chapter 13 You’ve Got a Friend

  Chapter 14 That’ll Be the Day

  Chapter 15 Stop! In the Name of Love

  Chapter 16 Shake, Rattle, and Roll

  Chapter 17 Beat It

  Chapter 18 Superstar

  Chapter 19 Who’s Sorry Now?

  Chapter 20 Stairway to Heaven

  Chapter 21 Slippin’ and Slidin’

  Chapter 22 Tuesday Is Gone

  Chapter 23 Fire and Rain

  Chapter 24 Born to Run

  Chapter 25 Black Friday

  Epilogue: Just the Way You Are

  Murder of a Smart Cookie

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to the “real” Plastic Santas, Al Sefcek, Rick Cole, Tom Johnson, and Greg Votta, who are nothing like the fictional ones—except for their great musical talent. A special thanks to my cousin, Greg Votta, for sharing stories of his band with me.

  Thanks also to Julia Alldredge, who told me the story of the rural meth labs and sent me the newspaper clippings to prove it.

  Scumble River is not a real town. The characters and events portrayed on these pages are entirely fictional, and any resemblance to living persons is pure coincidence.

  CHAPTER 1

  Roll Over, Beethoven

  The music struck Skye Denison with the force of an ax blow. She stood in the open door of her brother Vince’s hair salon with a cooler at her feet and a picnic basket in her arms, trying to determine if her ears would start bleeding if she ventured over the threshold.

  When Vince mentioned his band was changing their name from Plastic Santa to Pink Elephant, Skye hadn’t realized that they’d be changing the type of music they performed, too. Now she understood why her mother had asked her to drop off the food at the rehearsal. Skye had thought it was odd May didn’t want to do it herself. Normally, Skye’s mother used any excuse to get out of the house and go somewhere. Evidently May had already heard Pink Elephant rehearse.

  A blast of frigid air blew a strand of Skye’s hair across her face and reminded her that she was standing outside in the middle of one of the coldest Illinois Februaries on record. Steeling herself to the deafening sound, she kicked the plastic ice chest through the doorway and entered the waiting area.

  White wicker chairs and settees, which usually held customers waiting for their turn to be cut, colored, or coiffed, were filled with instrument cases, amps, and cables. The stark black equipment was a jarring contrast to the sofa’s garden print cushions, and the glass coffee table that typically displayed People, Cosmo, and Glamour was littered with guitar picks, sheet music, and drumsticks.

  Skye moved through the waiting room and paused at the entrance to the styling area. This was the juncture where the noise level went from merely painful to excruciating. She felt as if there should be a sign saying, “ABANDON ALL HOPE OF EVER HEARING AGAIN, YE WHO ENTER HERE” posted among the red hearts and shiny pink-foil garland that decorated the lattice archway.

  The band members were scattered among the styling stations, curler carts, and freestanding hair dryers. The smell of testosterone battled with the acrid odor of perm solution, while the stink of cigarettes and beer lost the war to the sweet aroma of floral shampoo and conditioner.

  Skye blinked. It wasn’t every day that she saw four macho musicians performing against a beauty salon background of delicate mauves and pinks.

  Vince was crowded up against the far wall between the front windows, surrounded by drums of all sizes. Whenever he lifted his drumsticks too high they got tangled with the fronds of a fern that hung down from a shelf above his head. There were beads of sweat above his green eyes, and his butterscotch hair was tied back in a ponytail.

  Opposite Vince, sitting at one of the freestanding hair dryers and hunched over the keyboard in front of him, was Finn O’Malley, a scruffy carrottop wearing faded jeans and a tattered T-shirt. At some point the dryer’s hood had slipped down and covered the top quarter of Finn’s head, making him look like an alien from a 1950s science fiction movie.

  To Vince’s left, Rod Yager concentrated on strumming his guitar. Stringy brown hair obscured his face, and his blue jeans and T-shirt were only slightly less frayed than Finn’s. At first glance it appeared that he was performing some strange version of the Mexican Hat Dance, but then Skye noticed that what he was really doing was trying to avoid tripping over the cords of the various hairstyling implements that trailed across the salon floor.

  Center stage, platinum blond hair trailing down his back, cobalt blue eyes blazing with emotion, the lead vocalist Logan Wolfe screamed out the lyrics to an acid rock hit from the ‘90s. His tight black tank top was soaked in sweat and his black jeans rode low on slim hips.

  Skye closed her eyes and tried to hear why someone would like this kind of music. As a school psychologist, she often watched television programs, went to movies, and listened to CDs that she would never choose on her own in order to better understand the teenagers she evaluated and counseled. But this noise masquerading as a song was beyond her comprehension.

  As Logan’s voice trailed off, Vince glanced up and waved Skye over. She put the picnic basket on the counter, hung her jacket up on the coat rack, and walked through the arch toward him.

  “What do you think of our new sound?” Vince yelled from across the room.

  “It’s … uh … loud.” Skye tried to think of a polite lie but ended up saying, “I sort of liked the music you played before better.”

  “We’ll still play that when we do gigs for the older crowd.”

  Skye gave him a sharp look. Was he saying she was old? She was only thirty-two.

  Vince got up from his stool and gave her a quick hug. With his arm still around her, he said, “Guys, you remember my sister, Skye?”

  Rod and Finn grunted hellos.

  As they wandered away to investigate the food, Finn said to Rod in what was clearly the continuation of an ongoing conversation, “I still don’t understand why the chicks don’t seem to dig me.”

  Rod slung his arm around the other man’s shoulder. “It’s how you talk to them, man. You gotta quit being so sexist. Broads really hate that.”

  Skye was still shaking her head at Dumb and Dumber’s remarks when Logan strolled over, took her hand, and said, “Of course I remember you. You moved back to town a couple three years ago, right?”

  Skye shrugged. “It seems longer.” She had left her hometown right after she graduated from high school and returned only after finding herself fired, jilted, and broke.

  “Nope, it was two years ago last summer.” He smiled seductively. “I keep track of all the pretty ladies in Scumble River—especially those with such beautiful emerald green eyes and sexy curls.”

  Vince frowned and removed Skye’s hand from Logan’s. “I’m sure your wife would be thrilled to hear that.”

  Skye shot her brother a puzzled glance. Considering Vince’s own reputation as a ladies’ man, she was surprised at his censure of Logan’s behavior.

  The singer shrugged, not bothering to respond to Vince’s taunt. Instead he stepped closer to Skye and fingered a ringlet of her hair. “What color do you call this? It’s not brown, but it isn’t red either.”

  “Chestnut.” She assessed the singer. He was handsome in a pop idol sort of way. She could see the appeal he would have to a lot of women, but he wasn’t her type. Piercings and tattoos left her cold. Not that she thought for a minute he was really coming on to her. He was obviously the kind of guy who flirted with every female he met.

  Vince moved between them, forcing Logan to step away from Skye.

  She could feel the tension between the two men and wondered what was causing it. She didn’t flatter herself that it had anything to do with the singer’s behavior toward her.

  Vince and Logan continued to stare at each other until Skye took each of them by the arm and
moved them toward the food. “Mom sent over some supper for you guys. Don’t make me tell her you didn’t eat every bite.”

  Skye watched as the men filled their plates, grabbed cans of beer from the cooler, and sat down to eat. It took her a few minutes to realize that they weren’t talking to each other. Well, Rod and Finn were still discussing the mysterious ways of women, but no one else was saying a word. Logan had his back to the group and was staring at a poster of Monet’s Water Lilies, and Vince had retreated behind the reception counter. Was something wrong with the band?

  Skye had planned to leave right after dropping off the sandwiches, but the mood among the musicians concerned her. She had recommended the group to play at the high school dance Saturday night. What if they were breaking up? Everyone would blame her if there was no music at the Valentine’s Day Ball, and the superintendent would kill her.

  Grabbing the manicurist’s chair, she wheeled it over to where Vince was sitting and asked in a low voice, “So, what’s up?”

  “Nothing. What do you mean?”

  “You guys seem upset with each other or something.”

  “Nah, just a difference of opinion.” He finished his sandwich and crumpled his napkin. “It’ll blow over soon.”

  “Why were you so mad at Logan when he was flirting with me before?” Skye raised an eyebrow. “You know he wasn’t serious, and even if he were, I can take care of myself with guys like that.”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  “Besides, he could never compete with Simon.” Skye was referring to Simon Reid: funeral home owner, local coroner, and currently her boyfriend.

  “I know,” he repeated. “But the guy irritates me sometimes with his never-met-a-mirror-he-didn’t-like attitude.”

  “That’s what you’re upset about?”

  “Nah.” He didn’t look her in the eye. “We’re trying some new music tonight and it’s just not sounding good. It makes me jumpy.”

  “So, why don’t you just do the soft rock stuff you’ve been playing? The band sounded great at the last wedding reception I heard you at.”