Murder of a Barbie and Ken (30 page)

May gasped. Her face glowed. Clearly she thought Simon was about to ask Skye to marry him.

“Since it would be kind of hard to miss the big sign out front,” Simon went on, “everyone knows that the bowling alley has been up for sale for the past year. This week I had
my Realtor put in a bid, and yesterday it was accepted. So I canceled the bowling leagues and invited you all here to hear my proposal…” He looked at May and amended his word choice. “What I would like to suggest is that my mother manage the bowling alley for me.”

For a moment Bunny appeared to be stunned. Then she leaped from her chair and threw her arms around Simon’s neck. “Yes, yes, yes!”

After Bunny stopped hugging Simon, Charlie pumped his hand and said, “Congratulations. This business could be a gold mine if it’s run right.”

Jed clapped Simon on the shoulder, and May kissed him on the cheek before turning to Skye and whispering in her ear, “Did you know about this?” When Skye shook her head, May said, “Bunny sticking around Scumble River is not a good thing. She’ll bring us trouble. I can feel it in my bones.”

Skye shrugged. May was probably right. She turned, noticing Justin and Frannie talking to Bunny. All three wore wide grins.

People stayed for hours drinking and eating and talking. They toasted Simon and Bunny, laughed at the picture of Skye dressed in wallpaper that May had gotten from Joy Kessler, and heard Charlie’s story about his discovery that Bob Ginardi and Tony Zello had stuffed the GUMB ballot box in order to ensure Bob won the election. After the fake votes were discounted, Charlie had been the winner by a landslide.

As Skye and Simon cleaned up after everyone else had gone home, she said, “That was quite a change of heart you had.”

Simon polished a wineglass and held it up to the light. “After hours and hours of talking to Bunny while I was in the hospital, I realized that part of my problem with her is that I wanted her to be the ideal mom. I wanted her to be
June Cleaver and Donna Reed, and when she didn’t live up to the image I had in my head, I couldn’t forgive her.”

Skye nodded. “It’s hard to give up our childhood dreams, but you’re right to move on.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’ll never think what she did to my dad and me was right, but despite her faults I’m willing to start fresh because I do understand a little better now that appearances can be misleading.” Simon shook his head. “Look at the Addisons and the Ginardis. They seemed to be living perfect lives.”

Skye nodded again. “I liked what you said about fresh starts.” She wiped off the top of the tables. “It’s almost as if Scumble River is the place for people who need a second chance.”

“Well, Bunny definitely needs that. She finally told me the whole story about her sudden urge to visit me.”

“Oh?” Skye hopped up on a bar stool and leaned her chin on her hands. “Give.”

“It seems she was in a bad car accident a couple of years ago and broke her pelvis. She couldn’t dance anymore. An old friend who lives here in Illinois offered to let Bunny stay with her while she got back on her feet financially.”

“I take it those living arrangements didn’t work out.”

“No. What Bunny didn’t tell her friend was that while she was injured, she had been in a lot of pain for a long time, and she got hooked on prescription painkillers. Recently the doctor had refused to give her anymore. So, while she was staying with this woman, she tried to use a forged prescription. She was caught, and her friend kicked her out.”

“How awful.”

“Yeah. It was pretty rough.” Simon came around the bar and sat next to Skye. “Bunny was sent to Drug Court.”

“Drug Court?”

“It’s a sentencing alternative. She has to report to the court every week for the first twelve weeks and then every
other week for the next six months. And she must have a permanent address and a job.”

“She was hoping you’d take her in, and she could find a job around here,” Skye guessed. “Bunny’s involvement with Drug Court explains her mysterious phone calls, and why she wanted proof she had attended Mass, too.”

“Right. Because she has to attend Narcotic Anonymous meetings and they’re held at the church. The bulletin lists the time and date.”

They sat silently for a few minutes, then Skye asked, “Did you buy the bowling alley so she’d have a steady job?”

“Of course not.” Simon’s ears turned red. “It’s just a good investment.”

“I think you’re the good investment.”

The music struck Skye Denison with the force of an ax blow. She stood in the open door of her brother Vince’s hair salon, with a cooler at her feet and a picnic basket in her arms, trying to determine if her ears would start bleeding if she ventured over the threshold.

When Vince had said his band was changing their name from Plastic Santa to Pink Elephant, Skye hadn’t realized that they’d be changing the type of music they performed, too.

Now she understood why her mother had asked her to drop off the food at the rehearsal. Evidently May had heard Pink Elephant rehearse before.

A blast of frigid air blew a strand of Skye’s hair across her face and reminded her that she was standing outside in the middle of one of the coldest Illinois Februaries on record. Steeling herself to the deafening sound, she kicked the plastic ice chest through the doorway and entered the waiting area.

White wicker chairs and settees, which usually held customers waiting for their turn to be cut, colored, or coiffed, were filled with instrument cases, amps, and cables. The stark black equipment was a jarring contrast to the sofa’s
garden print cushions, and the glass coffee table that typically displayed
People, Cosmo
, and
Glamour
was littered with guitar picks, sheet music, and drumsticks.

Skye paused at the entrance to the styling area. This was the juncture where the noise level went from merely painful to excruciating. She felt like there should be a sign saying, “YE WHO ENTERS HERE, ABANDON ALL HOPE OF EVER HEARING AGAIN,” posted among the red hearts and shiny pink-foil garlands that decorated the lattice archway.

The band members were scattered among the styling stations, curler carts, and freestanding hairdryers. The smell of testosterone battled with the acrid odor of perm solution, while the stink of cigarettes and beer lost the war to the sweet aroma of floral shampoo and conditioner.

Skye blinked. It wasn’t every day that she saw four macho musicians performing against a beauty salon background of delicate mauves and pinks.

Vince was crowded up against the far wall between the front windows, surrounded by drums of all sizes. Whenever he lifted his drumsticks too high they got tangled with the fronds of a potted fern on a shelf above his head. There were beads of sweat above his green eyes, and his butterscotch hair was tied back in a ponytail.

Opposite Vince, sitting at one of the freestanding hairdryers and hunched over the keyboard in front of him, was Finn O’Malley, a scruffy carrot top wearing faded jeans and a tattered T-shirt. At some point the dryer’s hood had slipped down and covered the top quarter of Finn’s head.

To Vince’s left, Rod Yager concentrated on strumming his guitar. Stringy brown hair obscured his face, and his blue jeans and T-shirt were only slightly less frayed than Finn’s. At first glance it appeared that he was doing some strange version of the Mexican Hat Dance, but then Skye noticed that he was actually trying to avoid tripping over the cords of the various hair styling implements that trailed across the salon floor.

Center stage, silver blond hair trailing down his back, blue eyes blazing with emotion, the lead vocalist Logan Wolfe screamed out the lyrics to an acid rock hit from the nineties. His tight black tank top was soaked in sweat and his black jeans rode low on slim hips.

Skye closed her eyes and tried to hear why someone would like this kind of music. As a school psychologist, she often watched television programs, went to movies, and listened to CDs that she would never choose on her own, in order to better understand the teenagers she evaluated and counseled. But this noise masquerading as a song was beyond her comprehension.

As Loǵan’s voice trailed off, Vince glanced up and waved Skye over. “What do you think of our new sound?” he yelled from across the room.

“It’s … ah, loud.” Skye tried to think of a polite lie but ended up saying, “I sort of liked the music you played before.”

“We’ll still play that when we do gigs for the older crowd.”

Skye gave him a sharp look. Was he saying she was old? She was only thirty-two.

Vince got up from his stool and gave her a quick hug. With his arm still around her, he said, “Guys, you remember my sister, Skye?”

Rod and Finn grunted hellos.

As they wandered away to investigate the food, Finn said to Rod in what was clearly the continuation of an ongoing conversation, “I still don’t understand why the chicks don’t seem to dig me.”

Rod slung his arm around the other man’s shoulder. “It’s how you talk to them, man. You gotta quit being so sexist. Broads really hate that.”

Skye was still shaking her head at Dumb and Dumber’s remarks when Logan strolled over, took her hand, and said,
“Of course I remember you. You moved back to town a couple three years ago, right?”

Skye shrugged. “It seems longer.”

“Nope, it was two years ago last summer.” He smiled seductively. “I keep track of all the pretty ladies in Scumble River—especially those with such beautiful emerald green eyes and sexy curls.”

Vince frowned and removed Skye’s hand from Logan’s. “I’m sure your wife would be thrilled to hear that.”

Skye shot her brother a puzzled glance. Considering Vince’s own reputation as a ladies’ man, she was surprised at his censure of Logan’s behavior.

The singer shrugged, not bothering to respond to Vince’s taunt. Instead he stepped closer to Skye and fingered a ringlet of her hair. “What color do you call this? It’s not brown, but it isn’t red either.”

“Chestnut.” She assessed the singer. He was handsome in a pop-idol sort of way. She could see the appeal he would have to a lot of women, but he wasn’t her type. Piercings and tattoos left her cold. Not that she thought he was really coming on to her. He was obviously the kind of guy who flirted with every female he met.

Vince moved between them, forcing Logan to step away from Skye.

She could feel the tension between the two men, and wondered what was causing it. She didn’t flatter herself that it had anything to do with the singer’s behavior toward her.

Vince and Logan continued to stare at each other, until Skye took each of them by the arm and moved them toward the food. “Mom sent over some supper for you guys. Don’t make me tell her you didn’t eat every bite.”

Skye watched as the men filled their plates, grabbed cans of beer from the cooler, and sat down to eat. It took her a few minutes to realize that they weren’t talking to each other. Well, Rod and Finn were talking to each other, but no one else was. Logan had his back to the group and was staring at
a poster of Monet’s
Water Lilies
, and Vince had retreated to behind the reception counter. Was something wrong with the band?

The mood among the musicians concerned her. She had recommended the group to play at the high school dance Saturday night. What if they were breaking up? Everyone would blame her if there were no music at the Valentine’s Day Ball.

Grabbing the manicurist’s chair, she wheeled it over to where Vince was sitting, and asked in a low voice, “So, what’s up?”

“Nothing. What do you mean?”

“You guys seem upset with each other or something.”

“Nah, just a difference of opinion.” He finished his sandwich and crumpled his napkin. “It’ll blow over soon.”

“Why were you so mad at Logan when he was flirting with me before?” Skye raised an eyebrow. “You know he wasn’t serious, and even if he were, I can take care of myself with guys like that.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Besides, he could never compete with Simon.”

“I know,” he repeated. “But the guy irritates me with his ‘never met a mirror he didn’t like’ attitude.”

“That’s what you’re upset about?”

“Nah.” He didn’t look her in the eye. “We’re trying some new music tonight and it’s just not sounding good. It makes me jumpy.”

“So, why don’t you just do the soft rock stuff you’ve been playing? The band sounded great at the last wedding reception I heard you at.”

Vince rolled his eyes. “Let’s just say we’re tired of playing the ‘Chicken Dance’.”

Skye hid her grin and suggested innocently, “You could always do the ‘Hokey Pokey’ instead.”

Vince swatted her arm. “Gee. Can we? Please?” Before she could return the conversation to why Vince was upset,
he sprang up from his chair and said, “We need to get back to practice.”

Skye was forced to let the matter drop. As long as the band showed up and played for the dance Saturday, she’d worry about their interpersonal relationships later. “Are you going to return the basket and cooler to Mom, or should I take them?”

“I’ll bring them over tomorrow, before I open the salon.” Vince moved back behind his drums, and the other guys took up their instruments. “Want to stick around and listen?”

“No, thanks. I’ll see you guys at the school’s Valentine’s Day Ball. I’m one of the lucky chaperones.”

“Right. I just hope we can get it together by then.”

Skye put her coat on and moved toward the door. “Don’t worry. By Saturday night I’m sure you’ll knock them dead.”