Murder of a Barbie and Ken Page 8

  Another, Joy Kessler, was the mother of one of Skye’s problem students. She nodded to Skye before saying to everyone, “Marriage is tough. I admired Barbie for sticking with Ken despite his extracurricular activities. There are worse habits than infidelity. My first husband and I divorced over religious differences. He thought he was God, and I didn’t.”

  “That’s why I believe in starter marriages,” countered a woman Skye didn’t know. “It’s like practice—short-lived, no kids, and no regrets.”

  Skye rolled her eyes with the rest of the group, then asked, “Were Barbie and Ken involved in any groups other than the GUMBs?”

  Lu answered, “Between the GUMB activities and Ken’s medical practice, there wasn’t a lot of time for anything else.”

  “Did Barbie ever work, other than selling Instant Gourmet?”

  “She was a flight attendant when she met Ken, but she quit when they got married.” Lu frowned, as if suddenly remembering she was talking to someone she didn’t like. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Just curious,” Skye answered. “So they didn’t entertain a lot, except for the Instant Gourmet demonstrations and the GUMB bridge evenings?”

  “I would say most of their parties were for business purposes.” Lu narrowed her eyes. “Any more questions, Miss Snoopy?”

  Skye shook her head, realizing it was time to back off. She had gleaned what she could from this clique.

  She had moved a few feet away when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

  Theresa Dugan, the teacher she had loaned money to at the grocery store, stood smiling at her. “Skye, you don’t usually come to the business meetings.”

  “Theresa, hi. I decided it was time to get more involved. Do you go to all of them?”

  “We try to get to most.” Theresa gestured to a man standing a few feet away with two other business types. “Ted thinks it’s important to have a say in how things are run.”

  “I agree. Do you think they’ll ever let the women members vote?”

  Theresa made a face. “No, that’s why they keep us as auxiliary members, so they won’t have to.”

  “We should do something about that someday.”

  “Yes, we should,” Theresa agreed. “Say, I wanted to thank you again for rescuing me yesterday at the store. Here’s the money I owe you.”

  Skye tucked the cash into her purse. “That was such a stupid policy. Glad I could help.”

  Theresa glanced back at the women Skye’d been listening to. “I hope you weren’t offended with the chatter back there.”

  “Not at all. I enjoy a good gossip as much as the next woman.”

  “I know what you mean. It can be sort of fun.” Theresa frowned. “But occasionally I think some of them have turned pro.”

  “Pro?” Skye had no idea what she meant.

  “A pro gossip will never tell a lie, if the truth will do more damage.”

  Skye snickered. “That’s a good one.”

  “Well, I’d better get over there before they start talking about me.” Theresa left with a wave. “See you at the bowling alley tomorrow night.”

  It was harder to eavesdrop on the men. Skye would stick out like a prom dress on a basketball player if she entered the unofficial male-only area as a participant. But no one would question her standing next to Uncle Charlie if she kept her mouth shut.

  Skye sidled up to her godfather, and he put an arm around her before speaking to the men. “This feels a lot like Déjà Moo: I’ve heard all this bullshit before.”

  A tall, rawboned man with thinning mouse-colored hair frowned at Charlie, then said, “As I see it, it’ll boil down to two choices.” He paused and made eye contact with each individual in the group.

  Skye recognized the speaker as Tony Zello, Hilary’s husband. His father, old Doc Zello, was the Denison family physician. Tony and his dad had shared a practice with Ken Addison.

  She whispered to Charlie, “He seems awfully sure of himself.”

  Charlie shook his head. “Tony’s sure he’s right, even when he isn’t.”

  Zello cleared his throat and glared at Charlie and Skye before continuing. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, it’ll come down to a contest between that blowhard, Nate Turner, or our reliable town lawyer, Bob Ginardi. Obviously, we want Bob to win.”

  Bob had pulled a fast one on Skye’s grandmother’s trust, so Skye was not one of his biggest fans.

  All eyes turned to the handsome man standing next to Zello. Muscles rippled under his camel crew neck sweater as he reached up and ran a hand along the side of his sleek black hair. Ginardi had been a football star in high school, and still looked the part. “Thank you, Tony. I believe I could do a good job as acting Imperial Brahma Bull for the Grand Union of the Mighty Bulls. I would be honored if you gentlemen would vote for me.”

  Heads nodded, and the men pressed forward to shake Ginardi’s hand and reassure him of their support.

  The crackle of the public address system being activated drew everyone’s attention, and a voice announced, “Would you please be seated? The meeting is about to begin.”

  Skye spotted Simon standing toward the back, and started to head toward him. Charlie gripped her arm and guided her to a chair in the front row, gesturing to Simon to join them.

  While everyone was getting settled, Skye told Charlie about Nate Turner’s behavior at the grocery store and asked, “What do you think of him?”

  “The gates are down, the lights are flashing, but the train isn’t coming.”

  “Then you’re supporting Bob Ginardi?”

  “That’s the problem. Bob’s a charming man, with plenty of smarts, but he tends to cut corners, as we found out with your grandmother’s trust.”

  Simon leaned around Skye and said to Charlie, “The guys I was talking to seemed to think there might be a dark horse candidate. Do you know anything about that?”

  “Could be.”

  A man mounted the stage. He tapped the microphone, which squealed in protest, then spoke. “Thank you all for coming. It’s a sorrowful occasion that brings us together today. Our brother GUMB has been slain, and although I would like to stand up here and extol his accomplishments and virtues, I must instead turn to the urgent matter of who will now lead this great and glorious organization.”

  “We come to bury Caesar, not to praise him,” Skye murmured to Simon. “Who is that pompous boor?”

  He squeezed her hand and grinned. “That’s Quentin Kessler. He owns Kessler Dry Goods. I’m surprised you don’t know him.”

  “I know of him, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before,” Skye answered. “I know he’s Joy’s husband, but he’s never been with her around me.” She asked, “Why is he running things? I thought there was no assistant head honcho.”

  Charlie answered her. “He’s the secretary-treasurer.”

  The meeting was long and tedious. Several men got up and spoke. None of them made much sense.

  Skye muttered to Simon, “It sounds like English, but I can’t understand a word they’re saying.”

  Finally the floor was open for nominations.

  Both Turner and Ginardi were named. Kessler looked around and asked if there were any further candidates.

  The room hummed when one of the older members slowly rose to his feet, leaning on a cane. “I nominate Charlie Patukas.”

  Voices from all parts of the audience seconded the nomination. Skye looked at her godfather, who was grinning.

  No other names were put forward, and it was decided that the vote would be held a week from Saturday. A crowd quickly formed in the vestibule, as everyone tried to be the first to retrieve their coats and boots. Simon and Skye stood to one side, waiting for the more impatient people to clear out.

  Simon was telling her about a new restaurant opening up in a nearby town when Skye heard someone say, “Who does that old fart think he is? You don’t have a thing to worry about, Bob. The day those dinosaurs start running the GUMBs again is t
he day I wear a pink tutu to the office.”

  Skye searched the area to see who had spoken, and she saw Tony Zello and Bob Ginardi huddled together.

  “Did you hear that?” Skye demanded.

  Simon nodded. “If they really think that, they’re seriously underestimating Charlie and his pals.”

  “Some drink from the fountain of knowledge. Others are waiting for the water to turn into wine,” Skye quipped.

  When they got into his car, Simon said, “Wally wants us to stop by the police station and fill him in. Is that okay?”

  “Sure. He usually works the day shift. He must really be anxious to hear our report.”

  Simon put the Lexus in reverse. “I don’t think he has any other leads at this point.”

  The police station was nearby, as was everything else in Scumble River. Skye’s parents lived just outside the city limits northeast of town, and she lived just inside the limits on the southwest side. It still took her less than ten minutes to go between the houses at peak travel time. Even if the light at Basin and Kinsman Streets was red, it took only a minute or two longer.

  Scumble River’s police department was housed in a red-brick, two-story building bisected by a cavernous garage. The dispatcher’s area and the interrogation/coffee room occupied half of the first floor. The chief’s office was at the top of the stairs. There was a rarely used holding cell in the basement—most prisoners went directly to the Stanley County jail in Laurel.

  City hall offices were on the other side of the structure, with the town library on their second floor. Recently there had been talk of the library getting its own building. Skye hoped the librarian wasn’t holding her breath. Although, maybe, at the next town meeting, the librarian should hold it until she turned blue and fainted—–it was probably the only way the city fathers would authorize that kind of money for something as frivolous as a place to house books.

  Few other vehicles were present when Simon eased his car into a spot next to May’s white Oldsmobile. During the day the parking lot would be full, but hardly anyone used it at night.

  Wally was sitting in the dispatch area with May when Skye and Simon entered the station. May immediately spotted them and buzzed them through the security door and behind the half-counter, half-bulletproof-glass partition.

  Simon said to Wally, “The GUMB meeting just let out.”

  “Anything interesting?” May asked Skye.

  “Uncle Charlie is running for grand pooh-bah.”

  “He told me.” May’s expression was smug.

  Skye figured Charlie had used that information as a bribe to get out of the hot water he was in with May due to the Bunny incident.

  Wally entered the conversation. “Who else is running for Ken Addison’s position?”

  “Nate Turner and Bob Ginardi,” Simon answered. “I thought the lines were firmly drawn, but with Charlie’s hat in the ring, things will get messy.”

  Everyone nodded.

  “You two hear anything else?” Wally looked from Skye to Simon.

  “I suppose you know that Ken Addison couldn’t keep it in his pants.” May’s quick intake of breath made Skye re-phrase her comment. “I mean, it appears he had several affairs.”

  “If it weren’t for how the bodies were found, I’d wonder if Barbie hadn’t killed the good doctor herself,” May commented.

  “Right, but I doubt Barbie would strangle herself with ribbon, then climb into the freezer,” Wally said.

  “Poor Barbie.” Skye tsked. “Bad enough she had to put up with a husband who slept around, but now it’s starting to look like she might have been killed because of his cheating ways.”

  “Who was his current mistress?” Wally asked.

  “Now that you mention it, it’s odd that no one said who it was.” Skye scratched her head. “But I bet I can find out pretty easily, either at bowling tomorrow night or the dance Saturday.”

  “That would be a real help.” Wally frowned. “Just be careful. Remember, one of those people you talk to may be the murderer.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Snips and snails and puppy-dog tails …

  —Robert Southey

  Friday morning Skye sat in her office at the junior high staring at the stained white ceiling tiles. The janitor had originally used the space for storing cleaning supplies. Its windowless walls were painted yield-sign yellow, and the whole room was no bigger than a walk-in closet.

  Skye had attempted to dispel the claustrophobic effect by arranging old curtains around a travel poster. But there was nothing she could do about the faint smell of ammonia that lingered, despite the pine-scented air fresheners she plugged into the only outlet.

  Still, she was grateful for the private office. Not having to share, or beg, for a room every time she came to the building was a luxury for which many school psychologists would give up their Christmas vacations and summers off.

  Skye took a sip of hot tea and pushed a damp tendril back into her French braid. She’d had time that morning for her daily swim, but hadn’t been able to get her hair completely dry before reporting for work.

  She looked at her watch. There was a half hour before her meeting with Joy Kessler. She should start writing a psych report, but instead her thoughts were drawn to last night’s GUMB meeting and the questions it had raised.

  Closing her eyes, she concentrated. What had she learned so far? Number one, Ken Addison was the male version of a slut, and number two, both Turner and Ginardi wanted to be head GUMB. Were either of those enough of a motive to commit murder?

  Wally had said that he was waiting for results from the medical examiner and the crime scene techs. He hoped their reports would give him a time of death and identify some of the fingerprints that had been found in the house. But surely there was something else they could do in the meantime.

  Skye hadn’t been close friends with the Addisons, hadn’t even liked them very much—they were too plastic, too perfect, too phony—but she had eaten their food, played bridge with them, and been invited to their house. By doing so she had entered into an unwritten social contract. One that said I accept your hospitality, and in exchange I agree to have a certain amount of regard for you. This regard included making sure that their murderer was caught and punished.

  On a legal pad, Skye started listing what she knew about the Addisons. She noted that Barbie spent a lot of time and money on her house and appearance. She shopped mostly in Chicago or Oakbrook, and thought it was tacky to buy things on sale. In Ken’s column, she wrote that he expected Barbie to be flawless at all times, but especially when they entertained.

  Skye chewed the end of her pen, remembering one bridge party when Barbie’s soufflé had fallen just as she brought it to the table. Ken had called her an incompetent fool and stomped out of the room. Barbie, in turn, had taken her anger out on the guests.

  While Skye was still absorbed in the memory of the Addisons’ failed dinner party, there was a knock on her office door. She jumped at the sound, but quickly called out, “Come in.”

  The door creaked open and Joy Kessler’s face appeared in the gap. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “That’s okay. Please, come in. Have a seat.” Skye gestured a welcome. She had brought a second chair into her tiny office, and didn’t want to attempt the ungraceful maneuver of climbing over it to shake hands.

  Joy stepped into the room, closed the door, and dropped into the metal folding chair. “Thank you so much for agreeing to see me.”

  Joy had the wholesome good looks of a Sears catalog model. She wore her dark blond hair in shoulder-length waves, and her light makeup emphasized a pale gold complexion. She was dressed in mushroom-colored wool slacks and a taupe silk blouse. The large gold beads around her throat looked real.

  “I’m happy you were able to come in. Alex seems to be having a difficult year.”

  Joy draped the coat she had been carrying over her lap, and smoothed the brown leather with her fingertips. “I don’t know where to start.”r />
  “Why don’t you tell me a little about him? I’ve watched him in a couple of classes and looked at his file, but I’d like to hear your observations.”

  “He’s always been full of energy and curiosity. As a baby he never slept more than two hours at a time. He still is a restless sleeper.”

  Skye nodded. This was consistent with what she had observed, and what the teachers had reported. “How did he adjust to kindergarten?”

  “Not very well.” Joy twisted her purse strap. “The teacher said he was smart, but couldn’t sit still, and he bothered the other students.”

  “That still seems to be a problem,” Skye said.

  “He seems to be getting worse. We thought once he got to junior high he’d start to mature, but …”

  Skye nodded sympathetically. “Summer magic. Sometimes kids really grow up during that June, July, August between elementary and middle school.”

  “There was no magic for us. Summer was a nightmare.” Joy shuddered and took a deep breath before saying, “Did you know that if you attach a dog leash to the ceiling fan and hold on, a forty-two-pound boy in a Superman cape can fly?” Tears spilled from her brown eyes. “At least until the fan comes crashing down from the ceiling.”

  Skye bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at the picture that popped into her mind.

  “And I’ll bet you had no idea that if you tape a paint can to the blades of a ceiling fan, there’s enough liquid inside to spatter all four walls of a twenty-by-twenty-foot room.”

  “Oh, my.” Skye was dying to ask if this was the same fan or a different one, but controlled herself. “What did you do in response to these incidents?”

  “We’ve tried punishing him by taking away television, by grounding him to his room, and having him go to bed without supper—nothing works.” Joy grabbed a tissue from the box on the desk. “We’ve tried rewarding him with stickers and trips to McDonald’s.” She shredded the tissue, the pieces falling like snow around her ankles. “It’s like he can’t stop himself.”