Murder of a Barbie and Ken Read online

  Praise for Denise Swanson’s Scumble River mysteries “Swanson’s Scumble River mysteries are marvelous.”

  —Jerrilyn Farmer

  “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

  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 which 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, lighthearted 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…. When this book reaches your local bookseller, 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.”

  —Edgar Award—winning author Earlene Fowler “A lighthearted, entertaining mystery.”

  —Fort Lauderdale Sun-Sentinel

  “A charming, insightful debut mystery.”

  —Carolyn Hart

  “The start of a bright new series. Swanson captures the essence of small-town life in Scumble River, and Skye is a likable heroine.”

  —Romantic Times

  “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, fiesty, 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) “With a light touch, [Swanson]’s crafted a likable heroine in a wackily realistic small-town community with wonderful series potential. I suspect we’ll be seeing a lot more of Denise Swanson and Scumble River.”

  —The Mystery Morgue

  Other Scumble River Mysteries

  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 Barbie and Ken

  ___________________________

  A Scumble River Mystery

  ___________________________

  DENISE SWANSON

  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), 10 Alcorn Avenue, Toronto,

  Ontario M4V 3B2, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R ORL, England

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  Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

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  Auckland 1310, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

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  Penguin Books Ltd., Règistered Offices:

  80 Strand, London WC2R ORL, England

  First published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  First Printing, November 2003

  10 9 8 7 6

  Copyright © Denise Swanson Stybr, 2003

  All rights reserved

  EISBN: 9781101567517

  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.

  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 Center Cass District 66, particularly the staff of Lakeview Junior High and especially Sue Guinand, Sue Hagansee, Madeleine Maguire, Barb Albrecht, Karin Snodgrass, Julie Peterson, Valerie McCaffrey, Carole Adams, Barb Ulie, Becky Foellmer, Jan Heckman, Marilyn DeYoung, Mary Ann Grembler, Nona Jones, Erika Sullivan, William Ward, and fellow school psychologist Heidi Santucci, who have supported me by buying books, coming to signings, and letting me know they’re proud of me.

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

  Acknowledgments

  My sincere thanks to:

  Ellen Edwards and Laura Blake Peterson for their continued support of my writing career.

  The booksellers who have hand-sold my books, the librarians who have ordered them for their collections, and the readers who have read them.

  Cindi Baker for putting me in touch with Robin Partin, and to Robin for filling me in on the details of Drug Court in Illinois. Any mistakes I’ve made about the procedure are my own fault.

  Linda Rutledge for liking my books well enough to want her friend to be a character in this one.

  And hugs and kisses to the D
eadly Divas for their help, especially Susan McBride.

  Special thanks to my personal assistant and Der Webmeister, Dave Stybr, for supporting me in countless ways and for composing the Scumble River Legend. How many mystery series have their own signature music?

  Table Of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  CHAPTER 1

  “Will you walk into my parlour?” said a Spider to a Fly…

  —Mary Howitt

  Skye Denison’s eyes popped open as a scream ripped through the elegant living room. She had been half dozing, hidden behind a huge schefflera, when what sounded like a screech owl brought her to full alertness. She peeked through the plant’s dense foliage, and was disappointed to see that the shouting was just a result of her hostess, Barbie Addison, awarding the next door prize.

  The object of all the fuss appeared to be a circular piece of rubber about the size of a small saucer. Skye scratched her head; surely Barbie wasn’t giving away diaphragms.

  The mystery was solved when a loud voice exclaimed, “Oh, Hilary, you’ll love it. This is the best jar opener I’ve ever found. Of course, as Barbie’s been demonstrating, all of the Instant Gourmet’s products are wonderful.”

  Skye snorted, and eased back behind the plant. This contrived testimonial had been imparted by Barbie’s best friend, Lu Ginardi, another Instant Gourmet dealer.

  Skye had hoped that the shriek was a result of something a little more serious, something like a fire alarm, something that would cause the house to be evacuated, and the guests to be told to go home. A product-demonstration party was the last place she wanted to be on a snowy Monday night, or any night for that matter.

  She looked at her watch. Seven-thirty. Judging from past experience, it would be at least another ninety minutes or more before she could make her excuses and escape to her quiet cottage. She just hoped she could remain out of sight until that time.

  No such luck. Barbie was heading in her direction. Skye frantically searched for an escape route. Damn. Barbie was in front of her, and the living room wall was at her back. She was trapped.

  “Skye, what are you doing hiding over in the corner?” Barbie demanded, her hands on her hips. She was one of those flawless women who always looked like she had just stepped out of the beauty shop or off the pages of a magazine. Her champagne-blond tresses had never experienced a bad hair day, her makeup never smudged, and her burgundy cashmere turtleneck and matching wool pants encased a perfect figure that never gained a pound.

  Skye shrugged. “Just taking a little breather.” She mentally shook her head, and wondered, for perhaps the twentieth time since meeting Barbie and Ken Addison, how a mature woman could stand to go by the name Barbie, especially when she was married to a man named Ken. It was just too cute.

  “I’ll bet you’re feeling a little shy.” Barbie perched on the arm of Skye’s chair. “You haven’t been a Bette for very long, have you?” She answered her own question. “No. Of course not. Simon only joined the GUMBs in August, and it took him a while to persuade you to become a Bette.”

  Barbie was referring to Simon Reid: Skye’s boyfriend, funeral home owner, coroner, and a recent member of the Grand Union of the Mighty Bulls. When he had told Skye he was joining the GUMBs, he’d claimed it was to network with the other businessmen in town—but more and more he’d been sucked into the social activities of the club.

  When Skye confronted him, he had pointed out the scarcity of places to go or things to do in Scumble River. Its size—fewer than three thousand people—and location—the heart of the Illinois prairie—limited the available forms of entertainment to watching the corn grow, sitting at a bar, or riding around the back roads with a six-pack. There was one restaurant, a run-down bowling alley, and four taverns. The closest movie theater was in Laurel, forty-five minutes away.

  Using this logic, Simon had convinced Skye to join the GUMBs’ ladies’ auxiliary, the Gumbettes. But no one had warned her about the dark side of the Bettes. No one had told her that almost every member peddled some sort of useless product, which they sold from their homes at high-pressure sales events disguised as parties. And worst of all, no one had even suggested that as soon as she joined the club, her name would be inked in at the top of each and every guest list.

  As far as Skye could tell, the other Bettes dabbled at selling—content to have a party once in a while, make a few dollars, and earn the most recent hostess gift—but Barbie appeared to be intent on creating an empire full of her clones, all selling Instant Gourmet.

  “No reason to be bashful.” Barbie interrupted Skye’s thoughts. “Now that you’re a Bette, we’re all your friends.”

  Skye wondered about Barbie’s definition of friendship. The only things these women seemed to have in common were rich husbands, big houses, and membership in the GUMBs, an organization that wouldn’t even give them equal status with the men.

  Abruptly, Barbie popped up and grabbed Skye’s hand, dragging her out of her chair. “Come on. We’re about to play another game. It’s a great way to get to know everyone.”

  Skye’s nose twitched and her eyes watered. Barbie’s musky perfume engulfed her, closing her sinuses. She sneezed, then smiled weakly and tried to edge back to her seat. “Maybe I should sit this one out. I had a tiring day at school.”

  Barbie ignored her words and turned to the other women, announcing, “You all know Skye’s the school psychologist in town, right?” She looked back at Skye. “So, whose little darling went berserk today?”

  Before Skye could answer, there was a loud crash, and all eyes turned toward the sound. Joy Kessler stood with her hand covering her mouth. Shards of glass and greenish-yellow liquid oozed over the hardwood. The sharp odor of tequila permeated the air.

  Joy’s gaze briefly met Skye’s. The message was clear: Don’t you dare tell about my son. Skye tipped her head in a half nod. Joy quickly looked away as she knelt and tried to soak up the mess with a napkin, saying, “I’m so sorry. The pitcher just slipped.”

  Barbie’s face went stiff. She whipped the linen napkin out of Joy’s hand and hurried into the kitchen. Her irritated walk spoke volumes. She was back in an instant with a mop. Once the floor was restored to its original pristine shine and the mop disposed of, Barbie responded to Joy, who had continued to babble apologies throughout the cleanup.

  “No harm done. At least you didn’t get any on my Aubusson carpet.”

  Joy fanned herself with her hand and sank into a chair. “Thank God!”

  Barbie turned to Skye with a determined smile. “You were going to tell us about your day.”

  “Sorry.” Skye kept her face neutral. “I can’t talk about it.” Barbie’s lips thinned with irritation, and Skye quickly added, “I’m sure you understand the importance of confidentiality, being married to a doctor and all.”

  “True, Ken knows everyone’s secrets, that’s for sure.” Barbie preened for a moment, then got back to business. “Okay, ladies, let’s play Fashion Designer. There are twenty of us, so split into groups of five. I have wonderful prizes for the winning team.”

  Skye found herself in her hostess’s bedroom with several women she hardly knew. They had been given a partial roll of wallpaper, twelve safety pins, and the instruction to make an outfit using one of them as the fashion model. Skye suddenly realized they were all eyeing her.

  “I think it would be easiest to make an
outfit for the smallest member of our team,” Skye said hastily, trying to get off the hook. Her generous figure was never the smallest in any group.

  Hilary Zello, the winner of the jar opener, said, “Oh, no, honey. The object of this game is to make your team’s model look the funniest, so we tend to pick …” She trailed off, obviously thinking better of what she was about to say. Suddenly her eyes lit up—clearly an idea light bulb had gone on in her head—and she continued, “We tend to pick the newest one to our little circle. Which would be you.”

  “Thanks, but really, I’d rather not.”

  “Now, don’t be like that, sweetie. It’s all in good fun. You aren’t an old party pooper, are you?” For someone who appeared to be quiet and pleasant, Hilary was relentless.

  Skye shook her head. It crossed her mind that she could be out the bedroom’s French doors, across the patio, and in her car before anyone would think to stop her. Of course, that would probably be a major social faux pas.

  “Good. Strip to your underwear and stand still.”

  “Shit!” Skye said underneath her breath. It looked like she was about to be dressed in wallpaper, and it was all Simon’s fault. Why had she ever let him talk her into joining the Bettes?

  Skye understood only too well the limitations of Scumble River, but the GUMBs and the Gumbettes were not the answers. She sighed and closed her eyes. She was now officially living the life she had tried to run away from.

  The day after she had graduated from high school, Skye had fled her hometown. She had managed to stay away for more than a decade, but had finally been forced to come crawling back two and a half years ago after being jilted, getting fired, and maxing out her credit cards. She’d been stuck in Scumble River ever since.

  Skye’s thoughts were interrupted by a sharp jab in her butt. She jumped and Hilary murmured, “Sorry, angel, the safety pin slipped. We’re almost done.”

  Another minute or two crept by while Skye planned her revenge on Simon, then Hilary said, “Done. Go look in the mirror.”