Murder of a Barbie and Ken (13 page)

Teenage twins Elvira and Elvis were seated at the kitchen table, along with a woman who looked older than Stonehenge. The Formica tabletop was littered with playing cards and piles of toothpicks. Cletus and Bambi were sitting on the floor, racing toy cars over the dirty linoleum.

Earl’s semitoothless mouth flapped as he yelled, “I was not cheating!”

Yolanda screamed back, “There are only four aces in a deck of cards. You had the fifth one up your sleeve.”

Skye tensed. Even though Earl was as thin as a blade of grass, except for a modest beer belly that hung over the elastic waist of his sweatpants, she feared what would happen if Yolanda pushed her brother too far. Everyone in Scumble River knew you didn’t accuse a Doozier of cheating at
cards, at least not to his or her face. Obviously, the heat of the moment made Yolanda forget.

Earl’s face was now redder than the king of diamonds, and he thrust both arms in Yolanda’s face. “I ain’t wearing no sleeves, you stupid bi—”

Skye cleared her throat. Both combatants swung around to face her.

Junior pushed her forward, saying, “Pa, look, Miz Denison is here. She wants to talk to Auntie Yolanda.”

Earl glared and Yolanda frowned.

“Hi,” Skye said. “I guess this is a bad time, huh?”

“No, Miz Skye.” Earl smiled meanly at his sister. “We’re just havin’ some old-timey family fun.”

She decided to accept Earl’s statement at face value. “Well, good, then.” She turned to Yolanda. “Hi. You probably don’t remember me. I’m Skye Denison. We went to high school together. I’d like to talk to you about Ken Addison, if you have time.”

The brunette looked her up and down. “You’re Vince’s sister, right?”

“Yes.” Skye wondered how Yolanda knew her brother. She hoped it was because he cut her hair, and not because he had dated her. Vince’s love life tended to be complicated.

“You’re the one who solves all the murders.” Yolanda’s violet eyes were thickly lashed, and her sable-colored hair was intricately curled and artfully arranged on top of her head.

“I’ve helped the police with a couple of cases.”

“Are you working on Ken’s murder?”

“Sort of.”

“Then I have time. This game is over with.” She shot a malevolent glare at her brother.

The twins slunk off without acknowledging Skye, although she knew them both from school. The old woman sat and stared but didn’t speak, and no one introduced her. Skye
figured she had to be the infamous MeMa, the clan matriarch.

Yolanda said, “Have a seat.”

Skye sank into a chair. Interesting. Yolanda spoke without the Dooziers’ unique speech pattern.

“So, what did you want to know about Ken?”

“Well, anything you could tell me would be great. But specifically, I’d like to know about him and Dr. Zello, and what’s going on in their practice.”

Before Yolanda could answer, Glenda Doozier trudged up the steps carrying a huge purple-and-green purse. From her stiletto-heeled silver boots to her Frederick’s of Hollywood blond wig, she was the quintessence of Red-Ragger womanhood.

Earl, beaming like the proud owner of a blue ribbon hog, rushed over to her and put an arm around her waist. “Glenda, honey, Miz Skye come here to talk to Yolanda.” He turned to Skye. “You remember my lovely wife, Glenda, doncha?”

“Of course.” Skye waved. “Hi.”

Glenda ignored her and stared at Earl. “What’d you do to your hair?”

Skye noticed for the first time that Earl’s greasy brown hair was sticking up in uneven clumps all over his head.

He looked down and mumbled, “I should never’ve tried to give myself a haircut after drinking a case of beer.”

Glenda cuffed him on the side of the head. “Fool.” She stormed out of the kitchen, followed by her daughter, Bambi.

Earl didn’t seem upset by his wife’s assessment. He and the boys pulled chairs up to the table and looked at Skye. “So, you gonna ask Yolanda something, or just sit there with your mouth hanging open catching flies?”

Junior and Cletus giggled.

“Sorry.” Skye refocused on the matter at hand. “Let’s
start with the medical practice. Have they been losing patients?”

“Lord, yes,” Yolanda answered quickly. “I’d say not a day goes by that someone or other stops in and asks for their records to be transferred.”

“Any idea why?”

Yolanda snickered. “Those two had what you might call a monopoly on sick people for a long time, and their attitude toward their patients showed it. But about five or six months ago, a couple of lady doctors opened up an office in Clay Center. Tony and Ken were sure people wouldn’t drive the ten miles to go see them. They were wrong.”

“Attitude? What do you mean?”

“Well, let me give you a for instance.” Yolanda pursed her mouth in thought. “If you came in with a cough and Tony didn’t know what the problem was, instead of sending you for a chest X ray, he’d prescribe whatever the drug companies were slipping him big bucks to push. It got to be whenever I heard him say, ‘This should fix you up,’ I’d shudder, knowing he was at it again.”

“Did Ken do the same thing?”

“He was worse.” Yolanda picked up the playing cards and started to shuffle. “Whenever I heard him say, ‘Let me schedule you for some tests,’ I knew that translated to ‘I have a forty-percent interest in the lab and want to buy a new car.’”

“Boy, I may never go to a doctor again.”

“Oh, honey, you don’t know the half of what goes on.” Yolanda smiled thinly. “Ever since those two started doing research, I wouldn’t let them work on my dogs.”

“Tell me about this research project,” Skye urged, perking up. Joy had mentioned something about that, too.

“It’s two projects. That’s another part of the problem.”

“Oh?”

“At first they worked together, but then Ken had some sort of breakthrough on his part of whatever they were
doing, and so the next time they had to apply for a grant, he did it on his own.” Yolanda held up her hand. “Don’t ask me what it was. I have no idea, and it doesn’t matter. The important thing is that it caused Tony and Ken to have a huge fight.”

Skye chewed her lip. “So, did Tony get cut out of the loop completely?”

“No. But Ken got the big money and an article in some fancy doctor’s magazine.” She dealt out a hand of solitaire.

“How did Tony take that?”

“’Bout like you’d expect for someone with an ego the size of a semi truck.”

Skye thought that over, then asked, “Did it bother Ken that Tony was upset with him?”

“Nope. Not at all. He said that a couple of more breaks in his research and he could put Scumble River in his rearview mirror for good.”

“So, he wasn’t happy living here?”

“He hated it. Almost as much as his wife did.” Yolanda shook her head. “They only moved here because Tony convinced them that they could make a lot of money, fast.”

“They sure seem to have done that.” Skye thought of their big house, Barbie’s jewelry, and their cars. “So, when Ken died, he and Tony still weren’t on very good terms?”

Yolanda snorted. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“Was old Doc Zello involved?”

“No, that sweet man only comes in a couple of mornings a week. He has no idea what his son and Ken were up to.”

Skye hesitated to ask her next question, and tried to ease into the subject. “I’ve heard that Ken was a bit of a womanizer.”

“You are the queen of understatement, aren’t you?” Yolanda started to turn over cards. “He would screw anything in skirts.”

“Do you know who his most recent mistress was?”

“No. And that was peculiar.” Yolanda studied her nails.
They were painted candy-apple red and manicured into perfect ovals. “Usually he liked to rub my nose in his conquests, but this time he kept it hush-hush. Even had me stop answering his private line. I figured this one must have a real jealous husband.”

“Maybe somebody jealous enough to kill him?”

Yolanda nodded. “That’s what I was thinking.”

“I hate to ask, but did you yourself ever, ah …” Skye trailed off, not quite knowing how to phrase her question.

“When I first started working for him, we had a brief fling.” Yolanda turned over a queen of hearts and put it on top of a king of spades. “But I knew it wasn’t ever going anywhere, and I ended it.”

Skye’s expression was skeptical.

“Look, that man’s idea of honesty in a relationship was to tell you his real name.”

“So everyone says. I wonder how he ever got women to go to bed with him, considering his reputation.”

“They were blinded by his prestige and money. And they were able to convince themselves that they were special. That they were the one who would change him.”

Earl had been silent while the women talked, but now he scratched his crotch and said, “The only woman who knows where her husband is every night is a widow.”

Glenda charged into the kitchen and whacked Earl on the head with a hairbrush. “You best remember, I’d better know where you are every night, mister, or I
will
be a widow.”

Earl mumbled, “Geez, I was just bein’ funny.”

Glenda grabbed his ear and pulled him from the room. “I keep telling you, you ain’t that amusin’.”

With that insightful observation, Skye stood up. “Thanks for taking the time to talk to me. Sure wish I knew more about his latest affair.”

“Well, you could always ask his ex-cleaning lady, Dorothy Snyder.” Yolanda didn’t look up from her card
game. “You might want to ask her about why she was fired, too.”

As Junior walked Skye out to her car, she mulled over Yolanda’s last comment. Her mom and Dorothy had been good friends since grade school. May would probably smack her the same way Glenda had hit Earl if she tried to question Dorothy. So how could she get the information she wanted without ticking off her mother? Junior’s tug on her sleeve interrupted her thoughts.

He gestured for her to lean down and confided, “Did you know that if you spray dust bunnies with hair spray and then run over them with Rollerblades, they catch on fire?”

“No, I didn’t.” Skye opened her car door. “It sounds sort of dangerous.”

“Nah, it’s fun.”

“Have you tried it?”

He nodded and grinned. “The basement has a cement floor, and it’s real good for skating. We took all the dust bunnies from under the beds and put them in a laundry basket and brought them there. It was sorta like fireworks.”

“What did your parents think of that?”

“Mom was mad that we used up all of her Final Net, but Dad said it was cool and he’d buy us our own can.”

  
CHAPTER 11
  

The wheel that squeaks the loudest… gets the grease.

—Josh Billings

“W
hat time are you leaving?” It was late Saturday afternoon, and Bunny was on Skye’s bed grilling her about her evening plans.

Skye stood in front of her closet. Some days it felt like she spent more time figuring out what to wear than wearing it.

Bingo was sitting on Bunny’s lap purring loudly as she brushed him. The feline and the redhead had become fast friends.

“Simon’s picking me up at six. We’re going to dinner, then to the GUMB dance.” Skye tensed, sure Bunny would beg to come along, and she’d have to tell her no. Skye hated being in the middle between mother and son.

“What’re you going to wear? How about the short black number?”

“This?” Skye reached into the back of the closet and withdrew a black silk sheath with a beaded V neckline and
a lace hem. When Bunny nodded, Skye asked, “How did you know I had this dress?”

“Every woman has a black dress,” Bunny said smoothly with no hesitation.

Skye narrowed her eyes. “Have you been going through my things while I’ve been away?”

“Of course not.” Bunny maintained eye contact and an innocent expression.

She was either telling the truth or a very good liar. Skye would wager it was the latter. “Have you checked with Charlie today?”

Bunny went rigid. “What do you mean? Why would I talk with Charlie?”

“About renting a cabin at his motor court.” Skye wondered about Bunny’s reaction. What had happened between her and Charlie after they left the bowling alley last night? “What else could I mean?”

“Renting a room. Right. I should go call him now. Last night he said some people might check out today.” Bunny lifted Bingo from her lap to the floor, stood, and backed out of the bedroom.

Bunny was acting odd. Skye shrugged. There was nothing she could do about it—short of interrogating the older woman—and she wasn’t quite ready to do that. Turning back to her closet, she pondered the age-old question: What to wear?

The flared skirt on the bronze velvet dress swirled around Skye’s knees as she twirled in front of the full-length mirror attached to the back of the bathroom door. Since this was the Thanksgiving Dance, it was a little more formal than usual. She just hoped this outfit was right. Most of the other women attending this function had rich husbands and could afford to purchase their clothing from stores at which Skye could only window-shop.

The doorbell rang while she was fastening citrine studs to
her ears, and she yelled, “Bunny, could you get that, please?” Did she need a necklace? No. The lace insert that veed down the bodice was enough. A swipe of cinnamon lipstick, a spray of Chanel, and she was ready.

When she opened the bedroom door, she found Bunny and Simon sitting on the sofa. Bunny was saying, “You remember what fun we used to have? Remember that day you ran naked through Grant Park, and skinny-dipped in Buckingham Fountain? You were three and the cutest little boy ever.”

Simon’s expression softened for a second, then iced over. “I remember you left the next morning.”

Bunny sagged. “Me and my big mouth. I guess I shouldn’t have mentioned that.”

“Time to go.” Skye walked over to Simon and pulled him from the couch. Over her shoulder to Bunny she said, “When you get hungry, there’s a couple of TV dinners in the freezer.”

The exterior of the GUMB Assembly Hall looked different at night. Shadows softened the shabbiness, and hinted at what the building had looked like when it was brand-new. A golden cone of light spilled from the fixture above the front door.