Murder of a Barbie and Ken (6 page)

All three, she concluded. If she could make her way to the kitchen, she could grab a knife, see if the French doors would open, and, if not, hide among the cartons in the garage. But what if that was where the killer was?

She had to make a decision. Better to go down fighting than stand there and make it easy for the murderer. She tiptoed over to the foyer’s dining room entrance and peered
around the corner. It was empty. She slipped in, eased the pocket door closed, and darted across the room, pausing at the door to the kitchen, which was slightly ajar.

She could no longer hear the footsteps—or anything else, for that matter. Had the killer left the house? Just as she started to push open the door a hand wrapped around the edge. Without thinking, she yanked the door shut. A grunt of pain rang through the wood.

Great. She had just pissed off the killer. Now what should she do? She needed another way out. Monday night, when she had been forced to change clothes in the master bedroom for the Fashion Designer game, she had noticed French doors leading to a backyard patio.

Skye bolted back across the dining room and flung open the pocket door. As she ran into the foyer, she slammed into something solid and unyielding, then felt a blow to her head and crumpled to the wooden floor.

Everything was dark. What had happened? Shit! The killer must have hit her. Was he standing over her right now ready to plunge a knife through her heart?

Her eyelids flew open. Sprawled opposite her was her father. Without speaking, Jed struggled to his feet, grabbed Skye by the arm, and jerked her upright. Silently, he pulled her through the den, kitchen, and utility room.

As they entered the garage, Skye stopped. Her head was spinning, and she thought she might throw up. “Dad, wait, I need a minute.”

Jed kept his grip on her arm. “First get to the truck.”

“Just a second.” Skye freed herself from her father’s grasp and leaned back against one of the freezers. She put both hands on her thighs and dropped her head between her arms.

“We gotta go.”

He was right. Skye took a deep breath and put her palm on the freezer to help her stand upright. What? Instead of the cool metal she felt … oh, my God, it was hair. She leaped
away from the appliance, then reluctantly looked back. Yes, she could see a sheaf of blond tresses caught between the top and the chest.

“Dad.” Her voice broke. “Come over here a minute.”

Jed grumbled as he joined her. “Yeah?”

Skye pointed to the hair, and he sucked in his breath. She put her fingertips under the lip of the lid and started to lift.

“Don’t,” Jed said.

But it was too late. The lid opened with a whoosh and Barbie Addison’s face loomed into view. A peach ribbon was wound tightly around her neck. She looked like a gift-wrapped doll.

Skye snatched Barbie’s wrist. No pulse. She put the back of her hand to Barbie’s lips. No breath.

Suddenly, Jed grabbed Skye and hauled her away from the freezer. He continued to pull her behind him, not stopping until they were in his truck with the doors locked.

Skye gasped for air while Jed snatched his shotgun from the rack behind the seat, wrenched the mike from his CB, and put in a call to the police.

“They’re both dead.” Skye sagged against the backrest.

“Yup. Saw the doc when I came through the kitchen looking for you.” Jed took a red hanky from his pocket and wiped his face. “Why’d you slam the dining room door on my hand?”

“I thought you were the killer.” Skye looked anxiously at her father. “Are you all right?”

“Yup.” He sat straight, his eyes scanning back and forth, the gun cradled in his arms.

“Why did you hit me in the foyer?” Skye asked, touching the tender spot near her hairline.

“Didn’t. You ran into me and we bumped heads.”

“Oh.”

A minute or two passed in silence. A painful sense of comprehension was beginning to replace the shock she’d felt when she first saw the bodies—Ken and Barbie Addison
were dead, and someone had killed them. Skye realized how precariously close to crying she was. She buried her face in Chocolate’s brown fur and hugged the dog, forcing the tears to stay unshed. Her father had been through enough. She wouldn’t add a sobbing female to his ordeal.

A squad car squealed into the driveway, lights flashing and siren screaming. Walter Boyd jumped out and headed toward the pickup. He was the chief of the Scumble River Police Department, a handsome man with warm brown eyes, curly black hair with just a touch of silver, and a striking year-round tan. His crisply starched police uniform emphasized his muscular chest and arms.

Although they had never dated, Skye and Wally had a history that wasn’t easy to explain. She’d had a crush on him when she was a teenager and he was a rookie cop, but when she came back to Scumble River as an adult, he was married. His wife had left him about the time Skye had become involved with Simon. They had a
The King and I
sort of relationship—attraction without fulfillment. Recently they had taken to pretending that the attraction never existed.

Wally conferred briefly with Jed and Skye, then spoke into his radio. Officer Roy Quirk was next to arrive, with two county cruisers roaring in soon afterward. Before entering, the lawmen surrounded the house, peering into windows and creeping around corners.

The police took a long time to search the premises. As Wally later explained, they had to make sure the killer wasn’t hiding anywhere and that there were no more bodies tucked away.

Skye watched as one of the deputies started to string yellow plastic tape around the perimeter of the property. She knew that an evidence technician from the county would arrive soon. He’d have his work cut out for him, going over such an enormous crime scene.

Finally, Wally came out of the house and spoke to Jed
and Skye. “It’s all clear.” His breath hung in the frigid air like a cotton ball. “Jed, Quirk’s going to talk to you for a couple of minutes, then we need for you to go to the station and make a formal statement.”

Jed said, “Gotta drop the dog off at home first.”

Wally nodded. “Fine. Skye, you come with me.” He jerked his head toward the cruiser. “Let’s go sit in my car.”

She followed him, toting her bags of groceries along with her. The front seat felt like a block of ice, and she shivered.

He started the engine and turned the heater to full blast. “What were you and your dad doing here?”

“I had to pick up my Instant Gourmet order, and Dad was driving me because the roads were too icy for the Bel Air.”

“Instant Gourmet?”

“It’s a product Barbie sells, I mean sold, at parties she held in her home.”

“Like Tupperware?”

“You are so behind the times. But, yes, like Tupperware.”

Wally stroked his chin. “Why would she bother selling stuff like that? It couldn’t be for the money. She was married to a doctor—they had to be rolling in dough.”

“That’s a question I had, too. I’ll be interested to hear what you find out.”

“You mean you haven’t heard any of the ladies talking about it?”

“No. Which is unusual—gossip being the most powerful commodity in Scumble River. The ‘ladies’ have been strangely quiet on that subject.” Skye paused. There was something else she wanted to tell Wally before she forgot. “That reminds me. Monday night, at the party Barbie hosted where I ordered the Instant Gourmet food, Barbie and one of the other women must have had some sort of fight. I heard someone slap her as they were leaving, but I didn’t see who it was.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Wally made a note on the pad he
took from his breast pocket, then said, “Now, tell me what happened from the minute you got here.”

Skye started with her knock on the Addisons’ front door and described her movements up until she found the first body. Then she said, “I blame the cold medicine I took earlier this morning. I knew I shouldn’t go into the house after finding the garage empty, but nothing seemed real.”

Wally’s expression was skeptical, but he didn’t challenge her statement. Instead he asked, “What happened then?”

As she finished describing her movements, a hearse glided into the driveway and Xavier Ryan, Simon’s assistant at the funeral home, climbed out of the driver’s seat.

“Didn’t Simon make it back from Chicago yet?” Skye asked Wally.

“No. He’s on I-55. We beeped him and he called back from a pay phone at a gas station along the way. Traffic is tied up with accidents, and he’s not sure when he’ll get here.” Wally nodded toward Xavier as he entered the house. “We were going to wait, but there are some samples that Simon wants taken ASAP.”

Skye’s thoughts flew to Bunny. Simon would probably be too busy to see her today. It seemed she’d be getting a short reprieve. Too bad the Addisons hadn’t been as lucky; fortune had certainly smiled at them in every other aspect of their lives, but it had not protected them when it really counted.

Her gaze swept the imposing house and expensively landscaped grounds, and she said, “Isn’t it ironic that one moment Barbie and Ken could be on top of the world, the rulers of all they surveyed, and the next instant they could be murdered like some homeless couple living in an alley in Chicago?”

  
CHAPTER 5
  

Let the dead Past bury its dead.

—Longfellow

S
kye stumbled out of the squad car, waving listlessly to Wally as he reversed the cruiser and pulled away. Her throat hurt, and in the hours she was at the police station, she had developed a hacking cough. Her plans for the immediate future were a hot cup of tea, another hit of cold medicine, and bed. Although she was afraid that when she closed her eyes, all she would see would be Barbie and Ken with those hideous ribbons cutting into their throats.

Her first hint that, even if she could put the Addisons out of her mind, sleep was not in her future came when she noticed Charlie’s car in the driveway. Wonderful. She loved her godfather, but right now the last thing she wanted was more company. Swallowing a sigh, she plodded up the front steps, pushed open the unlocked door, and went inside. Voices and music drifted from the back of the house.

Skye plunked the bags of groceries on the kitchen table and trudged back into the foyer, pulling off her gloves, unwinding her scarf, and shrugging out of her coat as she
walked. Her boots were more of a challenge. She had to sit on the hall bench to remove them. The moment she sat down, a wave of weariness washed over her and, for a second, she contemplated just staying there and letting the world revolve without her. A burst of annoying laughter made her change her mind.

In her stocking feet, she moved noiselessly into the great room. Uncle Charlie and Bunny were dancing. Shoot. This couldn’t be good. Uncle Charlie never danced.

He wore his standard uniform of gray twill pants, limp white shirt, and red suspenders. His clothes varied only by the length of his sleeves—short for summer and long in the winter.

It took Charlie and Bunny several moments to notice Skye. When Charlie finally saw her he stumbled, let go of Bunny, and took a step backward. Bunny raised an eyebrow at Skye, and gave a tiny shrug. Charlie was probably not the first man who sought her out in private but disavowed her in public. Bunny looked from Skye to Charlie and said, “I need something to drink. Anybody else want something?”

Skye nodded at the redhead. “Hot tea would be wonderful. Thanks.”

Charlie shook his head.

After Bunny left the room he hesitated for a second, then swooped Skye into a suffocating bear hug. At six feet and three hundred pounds, he overwhelmed most people.

Intense blue eyes under bushy white brows scrutinized her face. “You don’t look so good.”

“Thanks a lot.” She struggled free of his hold. “I have a terrible cold, maybe the flu.”

“Why aren’t you in bed?”

Skye quickly told Charlie about the murders, but refused to answer any of his questions. After the hours she had spent at the police station, she couldn’t face talking about it anymore. Instead she said, “Did you come by to tell Bunny that you have a room for her?”

The big man looked sheepish. “No, the motor court is still full.”

Skye’s lips thinned with irritation. “The roads are clearing up. Why aren’t people checking out?”

Charlie edged toward the foyer. “It’s way past noon, so I have to charge ’em for the day, and the highway patrol is still advising against travel because more snow is predicted within the next hour or so.”

“Swell.” Skye walked Charlie to the door. She lowered her voice. “Why did you send Bunny here?”

He looked chagrined. “She needed somewhere to stay, and I got the feeling money was a problem. She asked me if she could send a check later.”

“But why me? We don’t know anything about her. She could have murdered me in my bed.”

“I think you could whip her.” Charlie grinned. “Considering your past experiences with subduing criminals.”

“You make me sound like Buffy.”

“Who?”

“Buffy the Vampire Slayer from TV.”

“I don’t reckon Bunny’s the undead.” Charlie frowned. “She seems pretty lively to me.”

“But why didn’t you just give her directions to Simon’s house?”

“She said she couldn’t stay with Simon.”

“Why?” Skye demanded.

“I didn’t ask.” Charlie pulled big rubber boots on over his shoes.

“If you wanted to be a Good Samaritan, why didn’t you let her sleep on your couch?”

“That wouldn’t be proper. Your mom would have a fit.” Charlie looked shocked. “Anyway, half a good deed is better than none.”

Skye huffed. “But why me?”

“She just seemed sort of, I don’t know, desperate. And, after all, you are a psychologist.”

“I’m a school psychologist. I’m not allowed to counsel people over twenty-one.” Sometimes Uncle Charlie’s faith in her frightened Skye. “You know, this puts me in a really awkward position with Simon.”

“Things will work out.” Charlie donned his jacket, opened the door, and stepped outside. “No matter what, she is his mother.”

Skye fed her houseguest, then planted her in front of the TV. She could still hear Bunny’s complaints about the lack of cable as she escaped into her bedroom. Skye closed and locked the door, then went into the bathroom and swallowed a couple of cold tablets. She’d meant to buy some daytime pills at the grocery store, but with all the shoppers acting so crazy, she had completely forgotten.