Murder of a Pink Elephant (30 page)

After the laughter died down, Wally concluded, “Regrettably, since the other candidate has also been forced to drop out of the race, the search for a new mayor will have to start all over again. The town council will be meeting Tuesday to restart the nomination process. Again, thank you all for coming and helping me celebrate my birthday.”

For a moment, Skye was speechless. Finally she said to Charlie, “I had no idea Wally was dropping out of the mayoral election.”

“He told me a couple of days ago but asked me to keep his decision quiet. He wanted to tell everyone at once rather than have the rumor mill grind away at the truth.” Charlie leaned back and crossed his arms. “Wally’s a great police chief, but I don’t think he has the stomach to be a politician.”

Skye nodded. “It certainly seemed to change him, and not for the better. He’s been mean and distracted and withdrawn. Do you have any idea what’s been wrong with him?”

“Yeah. I talked to him about that after he told me he was dropping out of the mayor’s race.”

“And?”

Charlie sighed. “I don’t think there’s any one answer. It seems to me that it’s a combination of a lot of things that sort of snuck up on him at once. He could handle any one of them alone, but as a bunch he was just overwhelmed.”

“What things?” Skye asked.

“Well, mainly the election and Darleen. Both were pulling him in directions he didn’t want to go.” Charlie shook his head. “He’s just too honest for either one.”

“You said mainly. What else was wrong?”

“Oh, turning forty, realizing that this was probably what the rest of his life was going to be like.” Charlie glanced at Simon, who was busy talking to Owen and Trixie, then lowered his voice and leaned closer to Skye. “And the situation with you.”

“My sleuthing?” she asked hopefully.

“No.” Charlie gave her a disappointed look. “You know that’s not what’s bothering him.”

“Well, there’s nothing I can do about the other.” Skye looked at Simon, then over at Wally. She was happy with her decision … wasn’t she? “You know, Wally’s never made any real attempt to change things between us. Did he
say
I was one of the things bothering him?”

“Not exactly, but it’s pretty clear.”

Skye was silent. There was nothing to talk about. She was with Simon and that was that.

Charlie got up. “I’m going to get another beer. Do you want anything?”

She shook her head, Charlie’s words churning in her thoughts. He had to be wrong. Wally was not suffering from unrequited love for her. The idea was too stupid to consider. In order to force herself to think of something else, Skye tuned in on her mother and Bunny’s conversation.

Bunny was saying, “I think there’s more crime and corruption in Scumble River than there was in Las Vegas.”

May shook her head. “Not quite. But we do have more secrets than a locker room full of teenage girls.”

Skye nodded in agreement and added, “And more raging hormones than a locker room full of teenage boys.

C
ookie
Caldwell died the third Sunday in August, and the Scumble River First Annual Route 66 Yard Sale almost died with her. She had lived in town only a few years, and no one seemed to really know her.

Cookie’s death raised a lot of questions, the most puzzling ones being: What was she doing at the Denison/Leofanti booth in the middle of the night? And how did a piece of jewelry manage to kill her?

For the next week, until the crime was solved, these questions were asked over and over again on the TV news, while a picture of Cookie stuffed in Grandma Denison’s old Art Deco liquor cabinet, one hand thrust out as if she had tried to claw her way to freedom, flickered on the screen.

The Heartland TV channel was on location taping a program about the Route 66 Yard Sale and managed to get exclusive footage of the post-discovery activities. Their news coverage included a much wider angle of the crime scene, which exposed a group of locals who were ignoring the dead woman and arguing among themselves. It was not an attractive depiction of the citizens of Scumble River, Illinois. It was an especially unflattering portrayal of its mayor, Dante Leofanti.

Leofanti’s
niece, Skye Denison, didn’t look much better. The photo of her playing tug-of-war with her uncle over Cookie’s purse was not the one she wanted to project as the town school’s psychologist.

It was how Skye was spending her summer vacation, not her winter employment, that had got her into her present predicament. And that story started nearly eight weeks before the murder, after she had already lost two summer jobs and started looking for a third. The first loss of employment was due to geese with loose bowels and poor toilet habits, and the second was because of her inability to keep her mouth shut.

Skye stood silently next to her new boss, Cookie Caldwell, the proprietor of Cookie’s Collectibles, as the woman carefully examined a ceramic vase. When Cookie turned it upside down, Skye squinted to see the words inscribed on the bottom. They read: “Curtain of the Dawn.”

Alma Griggs, the elderly woman on the other side of the counter, twisted the cracked handles of her white patent leather handbag while she anxiously watched Cookie inspect every inch of the vase’s surface, then repeat the process with the interior. Finally, the old lady quavered, “Mr. Griggs bought that for me in Texas on our honeymoon in 1932.”

Skye did some quick arithmetic in her head—even if Mrs. Griggs had been married at sixteen that would make her eighty-nine years old. Skye snuck a peek at the woman. There was no sign of frailty. Mrs. Griggs was nearly the same height as Skye, about five-foot-seven, and even at thirty pounds lighter, a solidly-built woman. Her white hair was worn in a braided crown on top of her head, and her jewelry consisted of a necklace of red plastic raspberries with matching earrings and bracelet.

Cookie interrupted Skye’s inspection of Mrs. Griggs by
placing the vase on the counter and saying, “I’ll give you five hundred dollars for it. It is in good shape for its age, but unfortunately there’s not a lot of call for this style around here.”

The older woman’s shoulders slumped under her calico print cotton dress. “Only five hundred? I need at least three thousand to pay the taxes on my house this year. Mr. Griggs always told me it was very valuable.”

Skye impulsively reached out and patted her blue-veined hand. “Maybe he meant sentimental value.”

Cookie nodded approvingly at Skye, and ran a caressing fingertip around the vase’s metal rim. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Griggs, but the market isn’t very strong right now, and I’ll probably have to hold on to the vase for quite a while before I find a buyer.”

“I need to think about it,” Mrs. Griggs said. She hesitated before packing the vase back into its box. “I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

“I won’t be here tomorrow, but I’ll leave a check with my assistant.” Cookie walked the older lady to the door and watched it shut behind her before returning to where Skye stood. “If she doesn’t come back by closing tomorrow, I want you to call her and persuade her to sell that vase to me.”

“Me? But why?” Skye stammered. “You didn’t seem all that interested.”

“Oh, I’m interested, all right.” Cookie smiled thinly, and smoothed her ash blond chignon. “I just don’t want her to know that I’m interested.”

Skye frowned. “But you’ve offered Mrs. Griggs a fair price, haven’t you?”

Cookie shrugged. “Fair is such a relative word.” She toyed with the sapphire ring on her left hand. “Anyway, mat’s not your concern.”

“But why do you want me to call? Wouldn’t it be better for you to talk to her? I’m not sure what to say.”

“You’re a psychologist, aren’t you?” The storeowner narrowed her cool blue eyes. “I’m sure you’ll think of something soothing to tell our Mrs. Griggs. I don’t care if you hypnotize her. Just get that vase.”

Before Skye could explain the abilities of a school psychologist, Cookie glanced at her watch and stated, “It’s past noon.” She made an impatient face, and added, “I have to attend a luncheon for local business owners at city hall. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

All in all, this was not turning out to be a good summer for Skye. She’d already lost her usual summer job because of goose poop. The Scumble River Recreation Club, where she had worked the past few summers as a lifeguard, had been forced to shut down its beach when an invasion of geese polluted the swimming area. Who knew that bird crap could be so toxic?

As she stood idle, Skye’s thoughts returned to Mrs. Griggs, and Cookie’s desire for the elderly woman’s vase. Skye wondered how much it was really worth. She checked her watch. It was only twelve-thirty; surely her boss wouldn’t be back for at least another ninety minutes, maybe more.

Skye moved closer to the window and looked both ways down the sidewalk. The coast was clear. She spun around and headed toward Cookie’s office. It was small, but exquisitely decorated in the style that reminded Skye of a Victorian lady’s parlor. An ornately-carved walnut settee, upholstered in moss green velvet, faced a delicate porcelain inlaid writing table that served as a desk.

A bookcase full of reference books stood against the far wall. Skye moved a gilt chair out of her way and scanned the shelves. She selected a couple of volumes on ceramics and quickly returned to the sales counter.

Half an hour later, she reached a section on art pottery and there it was. The vase was one of a series made by Frank Klepper, a Dallas-based artist who worked in ceramics during the early 1930s. A similar vase, “Curtain of the Night,” had been sold at auction a couple of years ago for eight thousand dollars.

Before Skye could assimilate the fact that her boss was about to cheat a little old lady out of thousands of dollars, the bell above the front door tinkled and a high, thin voice called out, “I’m back.”

Skye’s heart stopped for a quarter-second, until she recognized the returnee as Mrs. Griggs, not Cookie, but then it started to pound at double speed when she realized she had to decide immediately whether or not to tell the woman about Cookie’s deception.

Mrs. Griggs came up to the counter and asked, “Could I see Miss Caldwell please?”

“I’m sorry, she’s stepped out for a while.” Skye pasted a smile on her face, her thoughts racing. “Can I help you?”

“Well, I went home and thought about it and decided that if my vase was only worth five hundred dollars, I’d better figure out some other way to raise money, so I wondered if Miss Caldwell would be willing to come out to my house and see if there’s anything else she’d be interested in buying.” The older woman’s voice broke. “There has to be something that I can sell to save my house.”

Skye felt her face start to burn. How could she not tell this sweet old lady what the vase was really worth? She couldn’t let her invite Cookie into her house to cheat her over and over again. Skye took a deep breath, “Mrs. Griggs, that may not be such a good idea.”

“Whyever not?”

Should she sugarcoat it or tell it to her straight? Skye struggled to decide the right thing to do. “Well, uh, I think
Miss Caldwell may have made an error earlier when she appraised your vase.”

“What do you mean?” Faded blue eyes narrowed suspiciously at Skye.

Skye flipped open the book she had been consulting, pushed it toward Mrs. Griggs, and pointed to the relevant section. “Look here.”

The elderly woman clicked open the gold clasp of her pocketbook and drew out a pair of glasses. After adjusting them on her nose, she peered at the part of the page Skye had indicated. The minutes ticked by as she read and re-read the passage. Finally, she picked up the volume and held it close to her face, examining the small picture. Her chest strained the fabric of her dress as she took a deep breath and slammed the book close. “That bitch! She was going to rip me off.”

Skye blinked. She wouldn’t have been more surprised at Mrs. Griggs’ reaction if she’d started to speak Klingon. “Um, maybe it was a genuine mistake.”

“When pigs fly.” The older woman thumped her purse down on the counter. “When is she coming back?”

Skye looked at her watch. It was nearly two. Cookie would be back any time now, and then the goose poop would surely hit the fan.

The
New York Times
bestselling
Scumble River Mysteries

When Skye Denison left Scumble River years ago, she swore she’d never return. But after a fight with her boyfriend and credit card rejection, she’s back to home-sweet-homicide.

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MURDER OF A BARBIE AND KEN

MURDER OF A PINK ELEPHANT

MURDER OF A SMART COOKIE

MURDER OF A REAL BAD BOY

MURDER OF A BOTOXED BLONDE

MURDER OF A CHOCOLATE-COVERED CHERRY

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MURDER OF A WEDDING BELLE

MURDER OF A BOOKSTORE BABE

Available wherever books are sold or at penguin.com