Murder of a Barbie and Ken (2 page)

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.”

Skye made her way to the gilt and brocade dressing table on the far side of the enormous bedroom. As her reflection came into view she gasped.

Sheets of wallpaper had been secured from her waist to her ankles. Additional pieces were wrapped mummylike around her torso. And the whole thing was topped off with a flowing veil that hung from the crown of her head to her derrière. She looked as if
I Dream of Jeannie
and
The Flying Nun
had been mutated into one TV show, and directed by someone on LSD.
Ridiculous
was too kind a description.

Once again, Skye contemplated fleeing. She could probably make it out of the house without being caught, but her car keys were in her purse, which she had foolishly left in the living room.

Before she could formulate an alternate plan, her team led her out into the living room where she was lined up with the other “models.” One wore a paper evening gown, another a maid’s uniform, and the third a peignoir set.

Skye cringed. No way could this evening get any worse. The flash of a camera proved her wrong. Whoever had just
taken her picture would have to either hand over the film or die.

Back in the bedroom, after the judging was completed, Skye tore off the wallpaper. She had tried to be a good sport. The other women seemed to be enjoying themselves. Even the ones who had been dressed up like Skye had laughed and pranced around as if they were having a great time. What was wrong with her?

She shrugged. This wasn’t the time for self-analysis. Right now she had to get dressed, paste a smile on her face, and return to the party.

After putting on her black pants and red twin set, she scanned the area for her shoes. One lay near the side of the bed, but its partner was missing. Skye got on her hands and knees and lifted the dust ruffle.

At first she didn’t see anything in the darkness. Finally a glint from the decorative buckle on her loafer caught her eye. It had somehow gotten shoved to the very center underneath the king-size bed. She couldn’t reach her shoe from where she was, and she certainly couldn’t fit under the bed. There had to be another solution.

Skye thought a minute, then went to the walk-in closet. Wow! Barbie had enough clothes to outfit all of Scumble River and most of the next town over. Unfortunately, they were all on padded satin hangers. Shoot! Now what?

Just as she was about to turn away, she spotted a sheaf of dresses in dry-cleaning bags. She grabbed a wire hanger from one of them and straightened it out.

Back on her knees, Skye shoved the curved end as far as she could, and felt it thud against something solid. She put her head horizontal to the floor and peered into the murky depths. What had she hit?

After several seconds, her eyes focused and she noticed a dark opaque plastic box. The shadows made it nearly invisible.
Skye briefly wondered what it contained, but quickly returned to the matter at hand, retrieving her shoe.

Skye thrust the hook toward the errant loafer. Within seconds, she pulled it out. She wrinkled her nose. Phew! Barbie’s perfect world obviously did not extend to places guests weren’t expected to see. A dust bunny the size of Harvey the rabbit clung to the toe of her shoe. Skye frowned. Since when did she care about how clean others kept their houses? Great, she was starting to think like her mother.

What next? Would she get a sudden urge to wash windows, scrub toilets, and iron clothes? Skye shuddered, pushed that thought away, and continued dressing.

She was dragging a comb through her hair when Hilary burst through the bedroom door. “Hurry. Barbie’s about to give out the grand prize.”

“Great.” Skye forced a false perkiness into her voice. “I’m right behind you.” She followed the excited woman into the living room, and joined her on the sofa.

Something smelled delicious. Skye’s mouth watered. The odor of onion, cheese, and dill drifted from the front of the room. Barbie stood by a long table covered by a crisp white linen cloth, with platters of food exquisitely arranged across its surface. Silver candelabra and crystal vases of roses completed the picture-perfect display.

“Before I award the grand prize, I’d like you to taste the superb fare you could have each and every day if you sign up for the Instant Gourmet program.”

Skye licked her lips, then blinked. Once again, appearance seemed to be more important than substance. The portions were all small enough to have been cooked in an Easy Bake oven. Maybe that was how all these women stayed so thin: they thought two bites constituted dinner.

Barbie’s smile was predatory as she continued. “Each dish comes fully prepared. All you need to do is pop it into the microwave for a few minutes. If you buy the entire system, you will not have to grocery shop or plan a menu again.
You pick up your week’s worth of meals on Wednesday afternoon, and are set for the next seven days.”

Oohs and aahs came from all sides of the room. The guests descended on the food, and there was silence as everyone dug in.

After a few minutes, Barbie announced, “The first three people to sign up for the deluxe package get one week free.”

Several women rushed toward her.

Barbie turned to the rest of the crowd. “If you sign up tonight for any program, I will personally give you a ten-percent discount.” She paused. “Of course, the best deal is to become a distributor like me. Then you get your own meals at cost.”

Skye looked around. Most of the guests were now clutching pens and balancing clipboards on their knees. She noticed that Joy, Lu, and Hilary were helping the others fill out their order forms. They were already part of Barbie’s Instant Gourmet army.

Barbie’s gaze swept the room and a smug smile lifted a corner of her mouth. “Now for the grand prize.” She reached into a basket and pulled out a ticket. She quickly scanned it and announced, “Our winner is … Skye Denison. Congratulations! You’ve won a month’s worth of Instant Gourmet food.”

As the applause wore down, Barbie said, “Just complete this paperwork.”

While Skye filled in the required information, Barbie and the rest of the guests started to drift into the foyer. Good-byes wafted into the living room as Skye reached the last page of the contract.

Why did they want her credit card number? Wasn’t this supposed to be free? She paused and read the small print. Ah, she had to agree to buy a month’s worth of food in order to get the free month. Skye chewed the end of the pen. She knew from other parties of this sort that she was expected to make a purchase. But a whole month was too much.

She crossed out the original amount and substituted an order for the trial package—a week of food for one person. Skye winced as she wrote a check for fifty-seven dollars and forty-three cents. This stuff had better be good—at that price she certainly couldn’t afford to buy any other groceries.

Okay, she had fulfilled her duties as a guest and bought something, so where was Barbie? Skye listened. It sounded as if her hostess was still in the foyer talking to someone.

Skye put her clipboard with the others, grabbed her purse, and made her way out into the hall. She could hear raised voices, then the sound of a hand striking flesh, and finally a door slamming.

Rounding the corner, Skye saw Barbie holding her cheek and asked, “Are you okay?”

The blonde’s hand flew from her face and she forced a short laugh. “Fine. I just bumped into the closet door. I’m such a klutz.”

“As long as you’re not hurt.” Skye knew Barbie was lying, but wasn’t sure if she should force the issue. “I guess I’ll get going, then. Unless you want to talk.” They weren’t that kind of friends, and it really wasn’t any of Skye’s business, but she felt she had to offer Barbie the chance to open up.

Barbie ignored Skye’s words. Instead she handed Skye her coat, turned the key in the deadbolt, and opened the front door. Snow gusted against the glass storm door and the wind rattled its hinges.