Murder of a Barbie and Ken (22 page)

It was off to her left and, yes, it was gaining on her. She prayed,
Please, please let it be a nice, friendly dog and not a mean, hungry zombie
. She really had to quit reading Stephen King novels, or maybe just stop going into funeral homes and graveyards after dark.

In the moonlight, the Kesslers’ backyard glowed brightly about a hundred yards ahead. Once there, she could at least see what was chasing her. She didn’t want to use her flash-light and give away her location.

As Skye cleared the boundary between the cemetery and the yard, she kept running until she reached the side of the house and leaned against the rough brick. Taking huge gulps of air, she waited to see if whatever had been trailing her would follow her into the open area.

Nothing emerged from the cemetery. Could the whole thing have been her imagination? When her breathing got back to normal, she examined her surroundings. The windows were dark. At first she thought no one was home, but then she heard music and realized that all the drapes were tightly drawn.

To her left, a vapor light brightly illuminated the area in front of the garage. Skye kept to the building’s shadow as she crept toward it. She took a small notepad and pencil from her hip pocket and noted the license plate numbers of all the cars parked on the concrete apron.

She checked all around the house’s perimeter and throughout the yard, but there was no sign of Frannie or Justin. Maybe she had been mistaken, and they hadn’t come after all. But then, why had they lied to their parents?

With the drapes closed, there didn’t seem to be any way to see what was going on inside the house, which meant there was no use sticking around. She decided to take the long way back to her car: down the road, onto the next, and into the front of the cemetery. Somehow, going back among the tombstones did not seem like a good idea.

As she passed the side entrance to the garage, she saw that the door was ajar. She was fairly sure it had been closed the first time she checked. What was going on? She pulled off her mittens and shoved them in her pocket, then tugged on the latex gloves.

The last time she had entered an unlocked garage, it had turned out badly. She hoped this would not be a repeat performance. The sound of a teenage girl’s giggle spurred her forward. Frannie!

Before she could take more than a few steps inside, a hand descended on her shoulder. She let out a scream, but another hand quickly covered her mouth, muffling the sound. Slowly she was turned around and came face-to-face with her captor. A light was shined on his face from somewhere to his left, and he put his finger to his lips. When she nodded, he let her go.

Justin Boward stood in front of her, a smirk on his face and Frannie by his side. He pointed to a plain wooden stairway leading to a second-floor entrance and said in a low voice, “The door up there’s not locked.”

She pulled him and Frannie close and whispered, “How nice. Now let’s get out of here.”

He shook his head. “They’re all in the big room at the back of the house, and you should see what they’re doing.”

“No. We have to leave right now.” What
were
they doing in there? She didn’t want to know. Probably best not to get that mental picture stuck in her head.

Justin shrugged and looked at Frannie. The girl said, “Why? We’ve been inside twice and no one’s noticed.”

“Try being arrested for breaking and entering, that’s
why.” Skye was getting frantic. How would she make these kids leave if they didn’t want to?

Justin whispered something to Frannie, and she nodded. He turned back to Skye, “We’ll leave if you take a look inside first.”

“Why?” Both teens shrugged, their expressions impossible to read. Skye knew she would regret this, but she said, “Okay. A quick peek. But you two stay here.”

She walked up the stairway, eased open the door at the top, and stepped inside. A burst of laughter greeted her, and for a heart stopping moment she thought she had been discovered. She quickly realized she was standing in a loft area with a balcony that overlooked the living room below. On the other side of the loft was a large playroom with its own set of stairs leading into what she guessed would be the kitchen.

As Skye crept forward, the sound of music and voices got louder. She crouched down by the bottom of the balcony rails and stuck her face close to the opening.

A quick scan of the room confirmed that the gang was indeed all there. It was amazing how many people didn’t look good with their clothes off. Skye sat back on her heels and watched in open-mouth disbelief. She might not learn anything about the murders, but she was certainly being taught a lesson in deviant sexual behavior.

Polly Turner, wearing a black satin corset with a matching G-string, was lying on a long, cream leather sofa next to Tony Zello, who had on some sort of black rubber suit that squeaked whenever he moved. Judging from the expressions on their faces, neither seemed to be having a very good time.

Joy Kessler, dressed in an abbreviated French maid’s costume, was sitting on the lap of a man Skye had seen at various GUMB functions but never met. They were doing things with whipped cream, chocolate sauce, and maraschino
cherries that made Skye vow that she would never again eat a hot fudge sundae.

Hilary Zello had on some wire contraption that looked like a half bra and thong hooked together. Another GUMB member Skye couldn’t put a name to was kneeling in front of her as she ground her white stiletto into his backside. He was making the same sound Bingo made when Skye scratched the cat under his chin, but he wasn’t nearly as cute.

The more Skye watched, the more it seemed that the partygoers weren’t actually
doing
anything. It looked like they were all dressed up for their wildest fantasies, but more pretending to sin than actually sinning.

Still, Skye’s skin crawled. Seeing people she knew behave like this was profoundly repulsive.

Tony Zello tottered to his feet and grabbed a martini glass. “May I have your attention, please?”

Skye blinked. The way he was speaking, he seemed to think he had on a tuxedo rather than a rubber suit. What was he supposed to be, a condom?

Tony waited for everyone to stop what they were doing, then continued, “Let’s all raise our glasses to the late Ken Addison. The man who talked us into trying these kinds of parties by playing on our fears that we would seem too unsophisticated and ‘small town’ if we refused.” The guests complied and Tony added, “The biggest asshole that ever lived.”

Skye noticed that everyone toasted except Polly Turner, who surreptitiously wiped away a tear. Skye squinted. Were there parrots painted on Polly’s nails? She couldn’t tell for sure from this distance, but it made sense. Parrots were often named Polly, as in “Polly want a cracker?” Charlie had said that the fake nail he found had a picture of a parrot. Could Polly have been Ken’s last mistress?

Joy Kessler struggled to stand, and was finally assisted
by a shove on the derrière from her partner. “And to Barbie Addison, runner-up in the contest for chief asshole.”

A couple of the men looked puzzled, but everyone raised his or her glass.

Skye rocked back on her heels, and her stomach churned. A small voice inside her warned that it was time to leave. She got to her feet and backed away from the balcony. As she turned around, she smacked into what felt like a padded wall. A moist and smelly padded wall.

Her gaze flew upward. It was Nate Turner. He looked like Bigfoot in a tank top. Rolls of flesh covered with a dense overlay of oily brown hair oozed out of the armholes and from underneath the hem.

He and Skye stared at each other. She thanked God he was wearing boxer shorts. Being exposed to his package would have scarred her for life.

Turner growled, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Joy asked me to stop by,” Skye offered weakly, hoping he might be drunk enough to believe her, even though she was clearly overdressed for this party. “But I must have gotten the date mixed up. This isn’t the Instant Gourmet demonstration, is it?”

Turner was blocking her way to the garage stairs, and she didn’t think going down the ones leading to the kitchen would be a wise move. She tried to edge past him, but he refused to budge, and she was forced to back up. Coming in contact with that sweaty, disgusting skin again was not something she was prepared to do.

“You nosy bitch. You just couldn’t leave it alone, could you?” He lunged for her.

She danced out of his reach. “I was only trying to do what you asked me to—find out who killed Ken Addison. Let me go, and we’ll keep this between us.”

Turner made another grab for Skye. She stepped farther back and felt the balcony rail dig into her butt. She was
trapped. Too bad she wasn’t Supergirl. Being able to fly right now would come in mighty handy.

Turner stuck his hand out, and Skye slid to the left. She tried to sound tough. “Did I mention the kick in the groin you’ll be receiving if you touch me?”

Before Turner could respond, Quentin Kessler appeared at the top of the playroom stairs, dragging Frannie by the arm. “Look what I found.” He smacked his thin lips. “I could go for a sweet young thing right about now.”

Skye and Turner both rushed into the playroom.

“I’m not your type.” Frannie shook him off and moved over to stand by Skye. “I’m not inflatable.”

Quentin grabbed Frannie by the throat, and Skye jumped on his back, clawing at his eyes. “Let her go!”

Turner peeled the three of them apart. “Are you out of your mind, Kessler?” He glared at the other man.

Frannie poked her head around his bulk and taunted Quentin, “What’s the matter? Did I step on your poor, little, itty-bitty ego?”

Skye put her hand over the teenager’s mouth and hissed, “Shut up.”

“You two better keep quiet about this,” Turner exclaimed, then added over his shoulder, “I don’t want to hear that you’ve been talking about anything you saw tonight. Now that Ken’s out of the way, this will be our last party, and we don’t want anyone else knowing they ever took place. Got it?”

Skye nodded vigorously.

“Good. Remember, I know where you live. Now get out of here!”

He didn’t have to tell Skye twice. She gave him a quick nod and grabbed Frannie’s hand, then they both ran down the stairs and into the garage. “Where’s Justin?” Skye paused at the door to the outside.

“He sent me to see if you were okay,” Frannie replied. “We unlocked the kitchen patio door when we went inside
the first time. The manual says it’s important to plan a second escape route.”

Skye wondered what instruction booklet the teen had been reading.

Skye thumbed on her flashlight and swept the garage with its beam. No Justin. “Let’s look for him outside.” She urged Frannie through the door and followed close behind her.

Justin came sprinting around the corner as Skye stepped through the door. He was pale, his expression worried. He panted, “You two okay?”

“Yes, but we have to get out of here right now,” Skye said, grabbing hold of his arm.

Frannie took the other arm, and the three hurried down the driveway toward the road.

After they had put some distance between them and the Kessler house, Skye slowed the pace. Once Justin caught his breath, she asked, “What happened?”

“I was about to go in the house when I heard a noise from outside, so I went to check it out. Just as I ran around the garage into the backyard, something disappeared into the trees in the cemetery.”

“What?” Skye asked.

“Who?” Frannie chimed in.

Justin shrugged. “All I saw was a flash of white and silver and some weird tracks in the snow.”

“Weird, how?” Skye stopped and faced Justin.

“They weren’t footprints or pawprints.” He paused and thought for a second or two. “They looked sort of like big ovals.”

Frannie’s eyes widened. “I’ll bet it was an alien.”

They discussed the possibility of ET arriving in Scumble River as they walked the rest of the way to the cemetery entrance. Frannie had parked her father’s pickup just around a bend in the road.

Fifteen minutes later Skye followed Frannie as the girl
dropped Justin off and drove home. It was nearly midnight when Skye pulled into her own driveway. Her cottage was blessedly quiet and empty.

She undressed, adjusted the shower to as hot as she could stand, and stood under its cleansing spray until the water turned cold. After drying off and slipping on her nightgown, Skye crawled into bed.

What had she learned? She ticked the points off in her mind. Ken Addison had been the driving force behind the sex parties. Polly Turner might have been Ken’s last mistress. Barbie was as disliked as her husband. And there appeared to be aliens in Scumble River.

As Skye was starting to doze, another thought occurred to her. Unless there truly were zombies living in the cemetery and aliens landing in Scumble River, someone was following her—and it was probably the murderer.

  
CHAPTER 18
  

Over the river and through the wood …

—Lydia M. Child

S
imon pulled his Lexus in between Vince’s Jeep and Gillian’s minivan, and got out of the car. “Didn’t you once tell me that Thanksgiving was your least favorite holiday?” He walked around to Skye’s side and opened her door.

Before getting out, she reached into the backseat and retrieved the tray of pâté and bread rounds. “If you recall, my relatives were driving us both crazy when I said that. And since Thanksgiving is the only holiday that both the Denisons and the Leofantis celebrate together, I just meant … Heck, I don’t know what I meant.”

“Whoa, this is slippery. Be careful.” Simon did a little tap dance to remain upright. Jed had plowed the driveway, but there wasn’t anything he could do about the thin layer of ice. Salt didn’t work on gravel.

Skye stopped and pointed. “Isn’t that beautiful?” The yard was swathed in a mantle of pure white, with an occasional pawprint decorating its surface.

“I thought you didn’t like the snow.”

“As long as I don’t have to hike through it, shovel it, or scrape it off my windshield, I like it just fine.”