Murder of a Barbie and Ken (3 page)

Skye shot a puzzled glance at the elaborate lock. This was Scumble River, Illinois, not New York City. Why did the Addisons have such a substantial piece of hardware guarding their door?

Catching Skye’s look, Barbie explained, “Our insurance company insists we have extra security because of my extensive jewelry collection and the pharmaceuticals that Ken keeps on hand.” She pointed to an alarm box. “So we had everything they wanted installed. We just don’t turn it on,
and we leave the inside key in the deadbolt.” She laughed, and echoed Skye’s earlier thought. “After all, this
is
Scumble River.”

“Right. Nothing exciting happening here.” Skye moved toward the door. “I had a nice time,” she lied. “Thanks for inviting me.”

Barbie stepped closer, and at first Skye thought she was about to tell her the truth about the slap, but Barbie only said, “If you’d like to make some extra money in your free time, you ought to consider selling Instant Gourmet. As a distributor you can really make a killing.”

  
CHAPTER 2
  

Look homeward, Angel
…

—Milton

W
hat was a hooker doing on her front step? As a school psychologist whose first job had been in New Orleans, Skye thought she had seen it all. But a woman who looked like this one, showing up at her isolated Illinois river cottage on a snowy Tuesday evening the week before Thanksgiving, definitely made her revise her opinion.

When Skye had moved back to her hometown, she had fully expected to live a very quiet life—after all, Scumble River was barely a dot on the map. And although several past events had already proved her wrong, a trollop on her porch was a spectacle she hadn’t anticipated.

Bingo, Skye’s black cat, rubbed against her ankles as she took another look out the window. The woman’s obviously dyed hair tumbled in scarlet ringlets from beneath a white Stetson. A fringed miniskirt barely covered her essentials, and there was a vast expanse between its hem and the red vinyl, high-heeled cowboy boots that had not been designed to wear in a Midwestern blizzard.

Skye spoke to the feline. “I should pretend not to be home.”

The cat regarded her with bright golden eyes, but offered no opinion.

Another round of pounding pushed Skye’s curiosity quotient over the top, and she impulsively flipped on the outside light while opening her front door a few inches. Being nosy but not stupid, she kept the safety chain firmly in place. “Yes?”

The woman blinked a couple of times, probably surprised by the sudden brightness, then smiled widely. “You Skye Denison?”

Skye nodded, wondering if she should have denied the identification.

“Hi there, honey. My name’s Bunny. I’m your Simon’s mother.”

Skye was sure there was some mistake. “Simon Reid, who owns the funeral home and is the coroner?” This trashy-looking woman couldn’t be Simon’s mother. He was one of the classiest men she had ever met, while this female was decidedly at the other end of the well-bred scale. Besides, she was sure Simon had said that his mother had died when he was fourteen. This woman didn’t look dead—rode hard and put away wet, yes, but not dead.

“Yep, that’s Sonny Boy.”

Skye stood in silent disbelief until a sharp wind blew a plume of snowflakes into her face. Bingo’s sharp yowl, the needles of ice, and the redhead’s shivers all worked to snap her into focus. She unchained the door and swung it open.

Bunny adjusted the tote bag on her shoulder, then twisted and bent over, hoisting a large worn suitcase off the sidewalk behind her. Skye narrowed her eyes, but the older woman seemed not to notice as she maneuvered her luggage into the cottage and dropped it on the foyer’s hardwood floor. Melting snow immediately formed a puddle.

Without stopping, Bunny strolled into the living room, a
wave of stale cigarette smoke and alcohol fumes drifting after her. She shed her fuchsia fake fur jacket and dropped it on the floor before settling on the sofa. Skye followed her and perched on one of the two director’s chairs that faced the couch.

Bingo padded in after them and began sniffing the older woman’s ankles. She reached down to pet him, but he moved a few inches out of her reach, his expression none too happy—he didn’t like anything, or anyone, new coming into the house. Bunny sighed and sat back, saying, “I love kitties. Mine passed away a few months ago, and I miss her so much.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. It’s really hard to lose a pet.” Skye commiserated, then paused, not exactly sure where to go from there. Finally, she said, trying to regain control of the situation, “So, Mrs. Reid, is Simon expecting you?”

“Call me Bunny.” The redhead’s attention was focused on a small hand mirror she had dug out of her purse as soon as she sat down. “What? No.”

“Wasn’t he home when you called him? Did you leave a message saying you were coming here?”

“No. Not exactly.”

“So, we should call him, then.” Skye felt as if she were talking to someone who hadn’t quite mastered the English language. “Let him know you’re here.”

“No. Later.” Bunny finished fixing her hair, and moved on to applying lipstick.

Skye waited for Bunny to explain. When she remained silent, Skye said, “Mrs. Reid, I’m afraid I don’t understand. It almost seems like you don’t want me to call your son.”

“Bunny, my name’s Bunny. You’re making me feel old with that Mrs. Reid stuff.”

“Bunny, why don’t you want me to call Simon?”

“It’s sort of a long story.”

“I have a feeling you’d better take the time to tell it.”

“Well, I tried to check into the local motel.” Bunny
briefly looked away from her image. “Charlie, the nice man at the Up A Lazy River Motor Court, was so upset he didn’t have a cabin for me. Said a lot of people had checked in at the last minute. Because of the weather being so bad and all, they were afraid to keep driving.”

“I see.” Skye had no idea what this had to do with her or why she couldn’t call Simon.

“So Charlie said you wouldn’t mind putting me up for a few nights—just until he gets an opening.”

“My Uncle Charlie sent you?” Skye was getting more and more confused. Why had her godfather sent this strange woman to stay with her? And why wasn’t she staying with her own son?

“Yes, he was ever so sweet.” Bunny rummaged around in her purse, then looked up. “Damn, my gold compact is missing. I wonder what happened to it?”

Skye wouldn’t be distracted by lost makeup. “But I still don’t understand why we aren’t calling Simon.”

“Hey, could I use your little girls’ room? I gotta tap a kidney pretty quick.”

“Sure, it’s off the foyer.” Skye gestured the way they had come. Bingo, startled by her sudden movement, ran into the bedroom. He would probably spend the rest of the night hiding in his favorite spot under the bed. Too bad she couldn’t join him.

Bunny jumped up, grabbed her purse, and scurried toward the foyer. She stopped before entering and said, “Boy, a cup of joe would sure hit the spot.”

Skye sighed. It was hard for anyone raised in the rural Midwest to turn down a request for refreshments, even from an unwanted, uninvited visitor who was already making herself too much at home.

By the time Bunny emerged from the bathroom, Skye was back in the living room. A tray with a thermos, cups, sugar and creamer, spoons, napkins, and cookies waited on the coffee table.

After pouring for Bunny, Skye continued to lean forward. “So, how about we give Simon a call now?”

“That’s not a good idea.”

“Why?”

“Well, he’s not really expecting me.” Bunny’s gaze was fastened to her cup, as if she could read the coffee grounds like tea leaves.

“All the more reason to call before it gets too late. This way, he has time to get a room ready for you.” Skye hadn’t been a school psychologist for several years without learning how to keep reluctant teens going in her preferred direction. Somehow, despite her age, Bunny seemed to fit the adolescent category.

“The truth is I need to sort of gradually let Sonny Boy know I’m in town.” Bunny fluttered her false eyelashes at Skye. “I’m sure you understand. Sometimes a woman has to help a man into right thinking.”

“Right thinking?” Skye did not like the way this was sounding. “What does Simon need to be helped into right thinking about? Is there a problem?”

“Maybe a teeny little one.” Bunny selected a cookie and took a dainty nibble. “These are yummy. Homemade, right?”

“My mother made them. They’re chocolate-topped short-bread.” Skye answered automatically. “What’s the teeny problem?”

“Well, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen Sonny.”

“Uh huh.”

“And, to tell the truth, we didn’t part on the best of terms last time.”

“Okay.”

“So I sort of need to ease into seeing him. Maybe run into him somewhere.” Bunny’s pink tongue darted out and licked the icing from the cookie she was holding.

“I see.” Skye didn’t see at all. “Are you from around
here? I mean, would it be natural to just bump into him at a store or something?”

“Yes … no … I was born in Laurel, but I blew that Popsicle stand the minute I turned eighteen,” Bunny said, a far-away look in her eyes. “I didn’t care where I ended up, as long as it was some place where a traffic jam wasn’t considered ten cars waiting to pass a tractor.”

Laurel, the county capital, was the largest of Scumble River’s neighboring towns. “But Simon grew up in the city, didn’t he?” Skye felt as if she were trying to take a social history from an unwilling parent. “So you ended up in Chicago?”

Bunny shrugged. “I lived there a while. I’ve lived lots of places.”

That explained the way she mixed idioms in her speech. “Most recently, where?”

“Las Vegas.” Bunny looked relieved. “I lived there for the past twenty years.”

“Let’s see if I have this straight. You’re Simon’s mother, but you haven’t seen him in a while. You grew up around here, but haven’t lived here in years.” Skye waited for Bunny’s nod. “Okay, then, what brings you here now?”

“Thanksgiving, of course. I always told him I’d be home for the holidays.”

“You just didn’t say which ones, right?” Skye muttered under her breath. No way was this woman telling the whole truth. Should she pursue that avenue, or move on to why Bunny was at her house? Self-defense won. “There’s still something I don’t understand.” Bunny stiffened, but relaxed as Skye continued, “Why did Uncle Charlie send you here?”

“Why, honey, because he figured since I’m going to be your mother-in-law, you wouldn’t mind me bunking in with you for a few days.” Bunny grinned. “A chance for you to get on my good side, so to speak.”

Mother-in-law! Had Charlie lost his mind? Skye knew that both he and her own mother, May, desperately wanted
her to get married. And they both thought Simon would nicely fit the role of husband. But if they were telling people that she and Simon were engaged, she would have to kill them. Any jury of her peers—her peers being single females over thirty with interfering families—would never find her guilty.

Skye refocused on the woman sitting across from her. Bunny’s face held a bright, expectant look. Skye tried to come up with something tactful to say. Instead she blurted out, “Simon and I are not engaged.”

Bunny leaned forward and patted her hand. “Oh, I know it’s a secret. But Charlie said when he found out you and Sonny had spent the weekend in Chicago together, he knew you’d be making the announcement soon.” Bunny reached for another cookie. “Don’t you worry. I’m sure Sonny Boy will make an honest woman of you before too long.”

Skye’s head was pounding, and she felt the area under her right eye start to twitch. “I’m really sorry, Mrs. Reid, but Uncle Charlie was wrong. Wishful thinking on his part, understand?”

“If you don’t want to call me Bunny, you could call me Mom, but I told you, cut the Mrs. Reid crap.”

Skye had a brief vision of calling this woman Mom, and how well her own mother would react to that. “Mrs…. Bunny, look, I’m really not your future daughter-in-law, and we really ought to call Simon.”

The redhead shrugged, her suspiciously firm breasts hardly moving. “If you want to keep it a secret, I understand, but couldn’t you just let me stay with you for a night or two without calling Sonny?”

“I’m sorry, it just doesn’t feel right to keep this from Simon.” Skye always got into trouble whenever she tried to keep secrets from the men in her life.

“But …”

Skye watched the other woman’s face crumple, and hurried to continue. “And, you know, I don’t even have a guest
room. There’s just this room, the kitchen, and my bedroom. There’s nowhere for you to sleep.”

Bunny bounced up and down a couple of times on the sofa. “Honey, this little old couch will do me just fine.”

“But Simon has a really nice guest room, with a queen-size bed and everything.”

Bunny raised an eyebrow. “And how do you know that, Missy, if you and him aren’t getting married?”

Even though Skye suspected that Bunny, of all people, had no right to question where anyone else slept, she felt herself blushing and stammered, “He showed it to me once. I didn’t stay there or anything.”

The sly grin that appeared on the redhead’s face confirmed Skye’s thought.

“Anyway, I have to call Simon. I’m sorry.”

Bunny trailed Skye into the kitchen, and sighed as Skye punched his number into the telephone. After four rings Simon’s voice answered. “I’m not available at this time. Please leave a message after the tone.” She tried the funeral home number and his cell phone, and got similar announcements. She told all the machines to have Simon call her, but didn’t say why. It was too confusing to explain in a short message.

“Looks like Simon’s not home yet,” Skye said, looking at the clock. Only seven. It seemed later. “When I talked to him yesterday, he said something about a meeting in Chicago. He must not be back yet.”

“Sure. I know Sonny would never cheat on you, honey.”

Skye opened her mouth, but shut it without speaking. What was the use? She had learned quickly that Bunny heard only what Bunny wanted to hear. Instead she asked, “Did you have supper? Are you hungry?”

“A little. I had a big lunch, but I could go for something light.” The older woman patted her flat stomach. “Gotta watch my figure, or no one else will.”