Murder of a Barbie and Ken (18 page)

During this exchange, Bunny had tried to sneak past Simon and into the bathroom. He grabbed her by the hood of her fuchsia fake fur jacket. “Let’s hear it.”

“Hear what?” Bunny attempted to shrug out of the coat and escape.

“For starters, why the police wanted to question you.” Simon put Bingo on the floor, steered his mother into the great room, and sat her down on one of the director’s chairs.

“I need to use the little girls’ room first.” Bunny rocked from cheek to cheek.

“Fine, but don’t think you can stay in there until I give up and leave.”

She scurried away without responding.

Skye put an arm around him. “Want some tea, coffee, a stiff drink?”

“There isn’t enough alcohol in the world to make that drink stiff enough.” Simon hugged her. “Why did she have to come back?”

“So you two could get straight with each other?” Skye guessed.

He sighed and buried his face in Skye’s neck. “She’s not going away, is she?”

“Not for a while. Wally wants her to stay in town until the Addison murders are solved.”

He became rigid. “She’s involved with that?”

“I am not,” Bunny said, returning from the bathroom and plopping down on the sofa.

“Glad to hear it.” Simon moved in front of her, and stood looking down. “Then why is the chief of police telling you not to leave town?”

“Well.” Bunny twisted a red curl. “You see…” With some prodding from Simon, Bunny ran through the whole story and finished by saying, “So, he gave me a ride, and my compact must have fallen out of my purse.”

Simon zeroed in on the part his mother had skimmed over. “But you are on court supervision for forging a prescription.”

“I explained all that. It was just a silly misunderstanding.”

“You seem to get involved in a lot of misunderstandings.” Simon refused to let her look away. “And they all seem to involve you trying to get something that you’re not entitled to—like Dad’s money.”

“Now, don’t be like that.” Bunny tried to take his hand, but he shook her off. “That’s not how it happened at all.”

“No?” Simon raised a brow. “Funny, I remember it clearly, almost as if it had been videotaped.”

“I loved your father.” Bunny played with her hair. “But he and I wanted different kinds of lives.”

“You loved him so much you went to his bank, withdrew ten thousand from his savings, and left.” Simon stared at his mother. “What am I missing?”

“He told me I could have the money. He understood I had to give my dancing one last chance.” Black mascara trails forged their way down Bunny’s cheeks. “A friend called me and said that a new hotel was going up in Las Vegas, and a friend of a friend was in charge of putting together the show. But I had to get there right away so I could audition. And if I got a spot, I’d need enough money to live on while we rehearsed. It was my last chance to be a star.”

“And how’d that work out for you?” Sarcasm dripped from his voice.

Skye frowned and opened her mouth, but quickly closed it. This was not the time to interfere.

“Not too bad.” Bunny spoke into her chest. “It was good for a while.”

Simon’s expression softened, but then he shook his head and his mouth took on an unpleasant twist.

Neither mother nor son seemed to know what to say next. Bunny’s makeup had long since dissolved, and the years of bad decisions were a road map on her face. Simon’s shoulders drooped. Skye could feel her neck and head throbbing with tension. They all needed a time-out and some rest.

Skye moved over to Simon and whispered in his ear, “It’s too late to take her to the motor court. She can stay here one more night, then we’ll get her settled over there tomorrow after school. Okay?”

He nodded and Skye relayed the message to Bunny.

“Yeah, we girls gotta get our beauty rest.” Bunny yawned and stretched.

Simon frowned at his mother and whispered to Skye, “It seems like forever since we were alone together.”

“You two don’t have to keep whispering.” Bunny moved toward the bathroom. “I’ll go take a shower and give you some privacy.”

Skye scooped up Bingo and led Simon into her bedroom. She closed the door, wanting to make sure her houseguest couldn’t hear them.

Skye had met Simon when she returned to Scumble River a little more than two and a half years ago. They had dated for ten months, broken up over Skye’s unwillingness to take their relationship to the next level, and then started seeing each other again six months ago.

In September they had finally taken the big step and spent the night together. Since then, they’d been trying to find a way to continue the intimate side of their relationship without the whole town finding out that they were sleeping together. This had been harder than they expected.

Scumble River was a small town, and both of their jobs put them in the public eye. In addition, each drove extremely distinctive cars, and Skye’s mother worked as a police dispatcher. The result was no privacy and a lot of frustration.

As soon as the door closed, Simon pulled her into his arms. She buried her face against his chest. They stood like that for a long moment. She could feel him trying to let go of his negative emotions.

He brushed a gentle kiss to her temple and put his hand under her chin, urging her to look up. His lips slowly descended to meet hers. She shivered at the tenderness of his kiss. There was a well of sweetness in him that he didn’t often let anyone see.

Raising his mouth from hers, he said softly, “I needed that.”

“Me, too.” Skye caressed his cheek with her hand. “Why do we let so many things get in the way of this, of us?”

“It’s who we are.” He kissed her palm. “We realize that our actions affect others. Both of us have seen what happens when people forget that point, and only care about themselves.”

Skye thought of the problems she dealt with at school. Simon was right. She started to move away, but his lips recaptured hers, more demanding this time. She let the heady sensation wash over her and parted her lips.

Gently he eased her down on the bed. He had the first two buttons on her blouse undone when the television in the next room blared into life. Skye went rigid, then quickly slid out from beneath him. She knew she was being a prude, but the thought of Bunny on the other side of the wall drained all the desire out of her.

Simon sat up and scrubbed a hand over his face. His expression was grim, but he shrugged in mock resignation. “Bunny strikes again.”

“I’m sorry, it’s …” Skye struggled to explain, without
sounding like she had just been transported from Victorian England.

“Sit down.” He scooted over so he could lean against the headboard and patted the bed. “I understand. Bunny in the next room is a definite mood breaker.”

Skye was grateful he wasn’t angry. She snuggled against his side.

“Guess I should go home.” He looked at the clock. “It’s nearly midnight.”

Neither made any movement to get up.

“You know what?” Skye said suddenly.

“What?”

“Bunny was right. Sex is a lot like air. It’s no big deal unless you’re not getting any.”

Simon’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. “You’ve really hit rock bottom when you start quoting Bunny.”

“Very funny.” Skye made a face.

“I need to figure out what to do about her. Clearly she’s here for a reason and until I figure it out, she’s going to stick around. It makes me feel…” Simon trailed off, at a loss for words.

“Sort of like when you’re sitting on a chair and you lean back so you’re perched on only two legs, then you lean back even farther and you almost fall over, but at the last second you catch yourself?”

“Yeah, that’s it exactly. Off balance.”

“I’m used to it.” Skye squeezed his arm. “I feel like that most of the time.”

“Well, I don’t want to get used to it. I want things to get back to normal.”

“I know,” Skye said soothingly, but thought,
There is no such thing as normal.
They were silent for a while, then Skye said, “Hey, did I mention Bunny went to Mass with me Sunday? And it was her idea.”

Simon rolled his eyes. “Going to church doesn’t make you a good person any more than moving to the country
makes you a farmer. But thanks for trying.” He hugged her. “Time for me to go.”

They walked out of the bedroom and to the front door. Bunny was asleep on the couch, pink curlers in her hair and green cold cream on her face.

Skye stood on tiptoe and kissed him. “Night.”

“Call me when you leave school tomorrow.” Simon put on his coat. “I’ll come over and help you move Bunny to the motor court.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

  
CHAPTER 15
  

‘Tis strange but true; for truth is always strange,— Stranger than fiction
.

—Byron

S
kye spent Tuesday morning at the junior high school, meeting with Joy Kessler and the sixth-grade team. They came up with a behavior plan to help Alex be more successful at school. Some of the teachers were skeptical, but everyone agreed it was worth a try.

After lunch Skye drove to the high school. She stopped to empty her mailbox, then went on to her office, by far the nicest of the three in the district. Originally, the guidance counselor had used it, but when the board made that a part-time position and assigned one of the coaches to those duties, Skye had successfully argued that he already had an office near the gym and didn’t need this one, too.

Now that they had moved out the metal filing cabinets that contained the guidance records, the room was spacious. It even had a window. Granted, the old metal blinds needed replacing, but considering what she had at the other schools, this was the Taj Mahal.

Skye hung up her jacket on the coat tree she had brought in, a garage sale bargain at two dollars, and sat behind the big wooden desk. The comfy old leather chair welcomed her bottom, and she smiled in contentment before she started to write yet another psychological report.

In the three months they’d been in school this year, she’d already tested twenty-nine kids, and had at least that many coming due for reevaluation. Heaven only knew how many new referrals the year would bring. And they would all need reports written about them. She suffered from permanent writer’s cramp, and longed for a computer.

Skye had finished one report and started on another when there was a knock on her door. She looked at the clock. The afternoon had flown by. The dismissal bell must have rung a few minutes ago without her noticing.

She quickly closed the files she had spread out over her desk, turned her legal pad over, and checked that her visitor could see nothing confidential. Only then did she call out, “Come in.”

Frannie Ryan, followed closely by Justin Boward, swept through the door and flopped into the visitor chairs facing her desk.

As usual, Frannie spoke first. “We’ve got to tell you something.”

Justin sat forward. “We heard some kids talking, and it could be a clue to the murders.”

Skye asked, “What did they say?”

Frannie looked at Justin. “You go first.”

“Bert Ginardi was talking to some of his buddies in the locker room while I was changing for PE.”

“Is he Bob Ginardi’s son?”

Justin said, “Yes. He’s always bragging about how rich and successful his old man is.”

“Go on.”

“Anyway, as usual Bert was me-deep in conversation and didn’t notice me.” Justin checked to see that Skye had
caught his witticism. She smiled and he continued, “He said that his mom and dad were in this group that did some kinky kinds of sex stuff.”

“Mmm.” Skye wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but since both teens were looking at her, she tried to seem interested without being
too
interested.

“What got my attention was when they said that the Addisons had been in the group, too.”

“Did they mention any other names?” Skye asked.

“No. They were headed in one direction, and I had to get to class in the other.” Suddenly Justin pounded his knee with his fist. “I think talking about your parents that way should be a smiting offense.”

“It feels like a betrayal, huh?” Skye knew from Justin’s home situation that the subject of parents was a touchy one for him. His father had a chronic illness, and his mother was clinically depressed.

Frannie didn’t wait for Justin to respond. “And I heard a girl talking to her friends about this party her parents were having tomorrow at nine o’clock. She was saying it was too bad her folks were making her stay at her grandma’s house, or she could get some really incriminating pictures of the town’s leading citizens.” Frannie twirled her hair. “By the way they were giggling, and the stuff they were saying, it’s got to be the same group as the one Justin heard the boys talking about. How many sex perverts can there be in Scumble River?”

That was a question Skye didn’t want to think about, let alone discuss with a sixteen-year-old. “But tomorrow’s the night before Thanksgiving,” she said. “That’s an odd time to hold that kind of get-together.”

“No,” Justin chimed in, “don’t you see? That’s the perfect time to hold a sex party. Everyone’s so busy, and lots of people are coming and going and visiting.”

Skye nodded. He was right. No one would notice anything funny going on, because they’d all be occupied with
the holiday. Another thought occurred to her, and she asked, “Who was the girl?”

Frannie shot Justin a calculating glance. “Bitsy Kessler.”

He frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“I’d explain it to you, but your brain would explode,” Frannie taunted, the look of hurt on her face contradicting her tone.

Uh-oh, trouble in paradise. Frannie might actually have to admit she likes Justin as more than a friend, or she’ll lose him to Bitsy
.

“Well, you two sure have come up with some interesting information,” Skye said, “but the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced this isn’t something we can write about in our school paper. Anyway, this probably has nothing to do with the murder.”

Justin stood up so suddenly his chair wobbled. “That’s bogus!” He stalked out of the office.