Murder of a Pink Elephant (18 page)

Everyone drank.

He added, “And to a successful grand opening.”

Even though she realized this wasn’t
Fantasy Island
, Skye was a little disappointed that Simon didn’t say, “Places, everyone.”

Bunny led the way to the front doors and Simon and Skye followed. Bunny looked at Simon, who nodded, then reached over and turned the key. She flung the doors wide, and people started streaming in.

Two hours later, Skye looked around smiling. There were at least three hundred people crowded into the various areas of the bowling alley. All twenty-five lanes were occupied, the stools in the grill were full, as were the tables in the bar, and small groups stood everywhere. The only noticeable absentees were Trixie and her husband. Skye was sad to see them missing out on this good time, but she understood they probably weren’t in the mood to socialize.

Simon and Bunny had hardly been able to move all evening as wave after wave of people surrounded them, asking questions and offering congratulations. Bunny glowed under all the attention, but Simon looked like he could use a break. Skye had just started over to him when a commotion by the bar entrance drew her attention. She quickly changed course and hurried over there instead. What was going on?

As she neared the bar, she could see half a dozen teenagers squared off against several adult men in front of the glass doors, Skye groaned. This couldn’t be good.

She groaned again when she spotted Arlen Yoder. First
the false fire alarm, now this. What had gotten into that young man? She sure hoped it wasn’t methamphetamine.

Skye knew all the kids present from previous dealings with them at school and in the community. They weren’t bad, just impulsive, and not too bright, or as her grandmother used to say, “all wax and no wick.” Unfortunately, the combination of recklessness and foolishness made it easy to steer them astray.

At the end of September, their leader had been removed from the high school, and Skye had thought she had gotten the rest of the group on the straight and narrow, but it looked as if they had drifted from the path once again.

Skye watched in alarm as the smallest of the teens drew himself into a boxing position and hollered, “Get your dukes up. I can whup all of you.”

The men looked bewildered, glancing at each other to see if anyone else would make a move, clearly not knowing what to do. The boy wasn’t even five feet tall and didn’t weigh a hundred pounds. Thank goodness no one seemed willing to be the first to beat up a munchkin.

Skye pushed her way to the front of the crowd and yelled, “Elvis Doozier, you stop that right now and get over here.” She had dealt with most of the Doozier clan in the years she had been the Scumble River school psychologist, and poor Elvis wasn’t even the sharpest thorn on a family tree full of stunted branches. Although he was nearly sixteen, physically he resembled a twelve-year-old and mentally he functioned a year or so below that.

Elvis’s quick glance at Skye indicated no recognition, which was strange, and he continued to try to punch the man blocking the door to the bar. “Get outta the way. Me and my buddies come to hear the music, and nobody’s gonna stop us.”

Usually he responded to Skye’s directions, and she was
concerned by how overly agitated he appeared to be. She tried to step closer but several hands held her back.

“What’s the matter with you?” One of the men Elvis was confronting thumped a sign to the right of the entrance with the back of his hand. “It says no one under eighteen admitted. Can’t you read? Are you some kind of dummy?”

Elvis took a wild swing and missed. His face was red and his eyes were glassy. “Who you callin’ a dummy? I ain’t no retard.”

Skye frantically searched for something to say or do before one of the kids got hurt or hurt someone else. Maybe one of the other teens would listen to reason. She raised her voice above the noise and shouted, “Arlen Yoder, make Elvis stop.” Arlen still owed her for getting him off the hook for pulling the fire alarm.

Arlen was another kid who wasn’t the sharpest pencil in the cup, but generally he respected adults and did as he was told. Tonight he wasn’t listening either.

What was up with these kids? Were they high on meth? Skye had no idea what to do next. Although she knew the other teens, they were even less likely than Elvis and Arlen to do as she asked. Things were turning ugly fast. She had no choice. She had to call the police.

The kids were crowding the bar door, and several more men had joined those defending the entrance. Both groups were shoving and pushing. In a few seconds a punch would connect or a knife would appear in someone’s hand, and that would be it. Once violence erupted there would be no going back.

Skye had turned to go for a telephone when without warning all the lights went out. The music died, the mechanical sounds of the lanes ceased, and there was a moment of complete silence before everyone started talking at once. Just as abruptly a dazzling beam of light appeared between the teens and the men.

Skye took advantage of the situation by moving through the crowd, hauling Elvis to her side, and whispering furiously into his ear, “Do you want me to call your brother Earl and have him come down here, or will you leave on your own?”

He tried to wiggle out of her grasp, but she had several inches and more than a few pounds on him. He wasn’t getting away that easily.

Finally, he focused on her face. “Aw, Miz D., we were just havin’ some fun. No need to go ape-shit.”

Skye tightened her grip, prepared to drag him out of the building if she had to, when a voice behind the high-powered flashlight spoke. It was Bunny, and she sounded seriously ticked off. “What’s the problem here?”

One man managed to be heard through the babble. “These kids were trying to go into the bar, and we pointed out they weren’t allowed.”

Bunny aimed the beam of light at the teens. “Is that what happened?”

One of them whined, “That’s bogus. We just wanted to hear the band.”

“Sorry, boys. We can’t take a chance with our liquor license.”

Angry teen voices rose in protest and Bunny directed the light into their eyes. They squinted and put up their arms up against the glare.

Bunny moved past the teenagers, leaned casually against the bar door, and said, “Here are your choices. Come with me, sit at the grill where you can hear the music and I’ll treat you to free sodas and French fries, or continue to try and push your way past all these men.” She paused dramatically before continuing. “Of course, I should probably mention that I called the police just before the lights went out. They’ll be arriving any second.”

The sound of sirens getting closer bore out her statement.

“What’s
it going to be, boys? Me or the cops?” The kids muttered but followed Bunny to the grill.

Unwilling to let Elvis go, Skye trailed the older woman and the rest of the teenagers.

Bunny turned to Skye. “Keep an eye on our guests while I turn the lights back on and talk to the police.”

Skye nodded mutely. She had never seen Bunny so together and in charge. The redhead must have learned crowd control when she worked the Las Vegas casinos.

The lights went on within moments of Bunny’s departure. Next the music started back up and within seconds, it was as if there had never been a problem.

After supplying the kids with sodas and asking Ivy to give them each a basket of fries, Skye went down the line trying to find out what had stirred the teens up, but no one was keen on chatting.

When Simon finally arrived in the grill area, Skye pulled him to the side and demanded, “Where were you?”

His hair stood on end, his shirttail was hanging out of his pants, and he was sweating. “I was in the bathroom.”

“Did you get locked in or something?”

“Something. Nate Turner was in there too, and when the lights went out he completely lost control.”

“How?” Skye knew Nate Turner, an obnoxious, pushy, Neanderthal whose son Nathan was the boy who had decided to take a shower during the dance. She couldn’t imagine Nate being afraid of the dark. “What do you mean?”

“Turns out he has a phobia about the dark.”

“You’re kidding.” Skye was amazed. Who would have thought that someone as pugnacious as Nate Turner would be afraid of anything, let alone something as harmless as the dark?

“I wish I were.” Simon smoothed down his hair. “As soon as the lights went out he grabbed me and said he couldn’t breathe and was having a heart attack.”

“What did you do?”

“Well, he’s too big for me to carry so I had him lie down on the floor. I kept trying to go for help, but every time I’d go to stand up, he’d grab my arm.”

“So what happened?”

“I had just found my cell phone and was getting ready to call 911 when the lights came back on.” Simon retucked his shirt. “Turner jumped up as if the floor was electrified, pushed me out of the way, and raced out the door.”

“He is certainly an odd duck.” Skye gestured with her thumb at the kids sitting at the counter. “Then you missed the whole hullabaloo with the teenagers?”

“Right. I ran into Bunny as I was coming out of the bathroom and she told me about the problem.” Simon frowned. “I didn’t think of it before, but I guess I should hire someone to work security.”

“Might be a good idea.” Skye took his arm and squeezed. “But Bunny was amazing.”

“She has a lot of hidden talents.” Simon’s expression was inscrutable.

Skye tipped her head. “I just noticed. The music’s stopped again. They’re probably just taking a break, but maybe we should check and make sure everything’s okay.”

“I suppose we’d better.” Simon put his hand on the small of her back and guided her toward the door to the basement. They climbed down the concrete steps. “I told Vince and his group that they could use one of the rooms in the basement. If they’re on break, they’re most likely down here.”

Simon and Skye found the band members sprawled on chairs guzzling the beverages of their choice from a cooler of beer and sodas.

“Everything okay?” Simon asked.

Two voices answered variations of yes, but Rod said, “Any chance of some food?”

“There was supposed to be a tray of sandwiches and
chips down here.” Simon turned to Skye. “Ivy must have forgotten with all the commotion. I’ll be right back.”

After Simon left, Skye sat next to her brother. “How’s it going?”

“Good.” Vince stretched and yawned.

“Heather’s really a good vocalist.” Skye shot a glance at the girl singer, who sat a little apart, filing her nails. “How’s that arrangement working out?”

“Okay.” Vince scratched his head. “It’s funny, but now that she’s singing with us she’s stopped trying to get us all to … uh, you know, uh …”

“Sleep with her?”

“Yeah.”

“So, did you ever think maybe she only wanted to boink you guys so you’d let her in the band?” Skye rolled her eyes. Men could be so dense.

“Yeah, but …”

“But what?”

Vince smiled. “But Macho Law prohibits me from admitting I might have been used.”

Skye socked him in the shoulder and then looked up when she heard a voice saying, “Hi, guys. Sorry I forgot your snacks.”

Ivy Logan was picking her way carefully down the stairs, carrying a huge serving dish of sandwiches and chips. As she reached the bottom, she glanced up and caught sight of Heather. Brown eyes locked with blue, and everyone held their breath.

Ivy broke off the stare-down, turned to the men, and her voice dripping acid, asked, “What is she doing here?”

Clearly, she had not been at Wally’s campaign rally, and no one had told her that Heather had joined Pink Elephant.

When they didn’t answer her, she repeated her question.

Vince, his face a dull red, mumbled, “Singing with the band.”

Ivy flung the tray at Vince’s head and lunged at the younger woman, screaming, “You bitch! You killed my husband!”

Heather tried to evade the enraged woman, but Ivy landed squarely on Heather. For a second it looked as if Ivy was giving Heather a lap dance, but then the chair toppled backward and both women landed on the floor.

Ivy grabbed Heather’s ears and started banging the singer’s head against the concrete. Skye glanced at the men, who weren’t moving. She blew out an exasperated breath and waded into the fray. She was getting really tired of breaking up fights.

Skye wrapped her arms around Ivy’s waist and tugged. At first it didn’t seem as if Skye could peel Ivy off Heather, but suddenly the two combatants popped apart, sending Skye and Ivy into an ungraceful heap.

Heather scuttled up the stairs. They heard voices, and a moment later May appeared at the bottom of the steps. She took one look at Skye sprawled on the floor beneath Ivy, and Vince still wearing the contents of the sandwich tray and screamed.

  
CHAPTER 17
  

“
V
ince is fine, Mom.” Skye wedged the receiver between her shoulder and ear and continued to sort laundry into piles.

“He needs to go to the doctor.” May was warming up to the subject like a batter taking a practice swing. “This is the second time he got hit on the head in a week.”

Actually it was the third, but Skye had no intention of correcting her mother, who didn’t know about the incident at the school dance. “You saw him playing drums last night
after
it happened. He was fine. The tray only glanced off his forehead.”

Skye smothered a giggle. Not that she didn’t feel sorry for Vince, but he had looked so funny covered in ham and cheese, with a ring of raw onion hanging from his ear and a tomato slice pasted to his cheek. All he needed was a pineapple hat and he could have doubled for the Chiquita banana lady on the old TV commercial.

“He’d play even if he had a concussion. I went through two handkerchiefs and half a box of Kleenex before that cut on his temple stopped bleeding.”

“Vince is fine,” Skye repeated. “Even superficial head wounds bleed a lot.”

“
My hankies are ruined.”

Skye saw a chance to divert her mother, especially since they had been over this ground at least five times already—three times at the bowling alley last night and twice this morning. This was May’s second call. “Maybe not. I found this new detergent that works really well on blood.”