Murder of a Barbie and Ken by Denise Swanson Read Free Book Online Page A

rushed into the adjoining den.
    This room had also been ransacked. Sofa cushions were sliced open and stuffing was spilling out; chairs were upended, their bottoms slashed; and pictures were torn off the walls, their glass smashed. Either the killer was in a rage or looking for something. Maybe both.
    The killer. What if he were still here? She had to get out of the house. The front door was closest. She ran past the curving stairway, through the hall, and into the foyer. The inside key Barbie said was always kept in the deadbolt was missing. Had the murderer taken it and locked the door from the outside as he left?
    Skye hoped that was what had happened, because she wasn’t getting out this way, and since it now looked like she had to retrace her path and go out the garage, she didn’t want to run into the murderer. She started back toward the den, but had only made it to the staircase when she heard the thud of heavy footsteps. Which way were they coming from? She couldn’t tell. Skye took a deep breath and tried to think. Should she hide, try to get out a window, find a weapon?
    All three, she concluded. If she could make her way to the kitchen, she could grab a knife, see if the French doors would open, and, if not, hide among the cartons in the garage. But what if that was where the killer was?
    She had to make a decision. Better to go down fighting than stand there and make it easy for the murderer. She tiptoed over to the foyer’s dining room entrance and peeredaround the corner. It was empty. She slipped in, eased the pocket door closed, and darted across the room, pausing at the door to the kitchen, which was slightly ajar.
    She could no longer hear the footsteps—or anything else, for that matter. Had the killer left the house? Just as she started to push open the door a hand wrapped around the edge. Without thinking, she yanked the door shut. A grunt of pain rang through the wood.
    Great. She had just pissed off the killer. Now what should she do? She needed another way out. Monday night, when she had been forced to change clothes in the master bedroom for the Fashion Designer game, she had noticed French doors leading to a backyard patio.
    Skye bolted back across the dining room and flung open the pocket door. As she ran into the foyer, she slammed into something solid and unyielding, then felt a blow to her head and crumpled to the wooden floor.
    Everything was dark. What had happened? Shit! The killer must have hit her. Was he standing over her right now ready to plunge a knife through her heart?
    Her eyelids flew open. Sprawled opposite her was her father. Without speaking, Jed struggled to his feet, grabbed Skye by the arm, and jerked her upright. Silently, he pulled her through the den, kitchen, and utility room.
    As they entered the garage, Skye stopped. Her head was spinning, and she thought she might throw up. “Dad, wait, I need a minute.”
    Jed kept his grip on her arm. “First get to the truck.”
    “Just a second.” Skye freed herself from her father’s grasp and leaned back against one of the freezers. She put both hands on her thighs and dropped her head between her arms.
    “We gotta go.”
    He was right. Skye took a deep breath and put her palm on the freezer to help her stand upright. What? Instead of the cool metal she felt … oh, my God, it was hair. She leapedaway from the appliance, then reluctantly looked back. Yes, she could see a sheaf of blond tresses caught between the top and the chest.
    “Dad.” Her voice broke. “Come over here a minute.”
    Jed grumbled as he joined her. “Yeah?”
    Skye pointed to the hair, and he sucked in his breath. She put her fingertips under the lip of the lid and started to lift.
    “Don’t,” Jed said.
    But it was too late. The lid opened with a whoosh and Barbie Addison’s face loomed into view. A peach ribbon was wound tightly around her neck. She looked like a gift-wrapped doll.
    Skye snatched Barbie’s wrist. No pulse. She put the back